tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18111982241357579002023-11-16T06:42:45.366-05:00Yes, Like the Princess in Star WarsIf I had a dime for every time I've said this in my life...leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.comBlogger169125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-17441846377983971722016-01-04T14:20:00.003-05:002016-01-04T14:20:39.737-05:00Thanks for following! Now follow me somewhere else...<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Hi, friends! I have migrated over to <a href="http://leiamjohnson.com/" target="_blank">leiamjohnson.com</a> for all future posts. Thanks for being loyal readers all these years. I promise to keep up the good work over there at that there fancy place.</span>leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-71503474920366317982015-10-27T14:21:00.000-04:002015-10-27T17:37:01.838-04:00Out of Sorts: Making Peace with an Evolving Faith by Sarah Bessey (A Book Review)<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In April of 2014, I was introduced to the writing of Sarah Bessey through her book <i><a href="http://sarahbessey.com/jesus-feminist/" target="_blank">Jesus Feminist</a></i>. I was intrigued, like most people I suppose by its title, but I was skeptical. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m often disappointed in books and music hyped by the Christian community. Many times, I feel like people are using Jesus to market watered-down, mediocre art. Oh, was I supposed to sugarcoat things? I’m not good at that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After reading <i>Jesus Feminist</i>, I had so much respect for Sarah because she said things out loud that aren’t popular in certain Christian circles (and took some serious flak from people who apparently aren't aware that other people can read what they write on the internet). At the time, I was part of a thriving congregation in Olympia, WA, where many of the "issues" she addressed weren’t really issues anymore. I’d moved away from some of the damaging teachings from my past that encouraged gender-based discrimination within the church into a family of believers that saw the image of God in me with no regard to my genitalia. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I walked away from <i>Jesus Feminist</i> with three thoughts: 1) thank goodness I no longer live in bondage to some of the theology that she challenges, 2) thank goodness someone is saying these things because I know so many people who need to hear them, and 3) this girl better write more books.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Fast forward a year, and there were rumors of another book. I found out through being on Sarah Bessey’s email list that she was looking for a “launch team” to help her spread the word. The benefit is that I got the advanced reader’s copy a few months before the book release.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>THIS BOOK </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>COULD NOT HAVE COME </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>AT A BETTER TIME.</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I've been advertising all over town in my launch team shirt.<br />Plenty of interesting conversations around these words.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Our family had moved to a new town and decided to attend the church closest to our home, the church connected to the school our kids attended. This made sense and fit in with our new-ish take on “church shopping” (what can be a terrible experience for military families), which was that we weren’t going to shop at all. We would be a part of our neighborhood church, and unless they were handling snakes or straight up hateful, we would as Tim Gunn says “make it work.” Not to hit the punchline too soon, but word of wisdom: there is probably a happy medium somewhere between “go to the closest church” and “shop for the ‘perfect’ church.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We are not people who need a perfect church because perfection and humanity are not friends. As long as there are humans involved—well, there’s a possibility things won’t be perfect. I should say this—the people at our church are pretty lovely. We love our Sunday school class, which is full of other parents who have become our friends as we’ve studied the Bible and ways to be better parents together. The church leadership is always friendly. Interacting with the congregation at potlucks and service projects has been delightful. We actually never have and probably never will have a problem with the people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The problems came when we started seeing “dealbreakers” that weren’t as extreme as handling snakes and hating people. Our kids were really upset when they learned this particular denomination has a closed communion table, one that was not open to them. We started looking around and realizing that there weren’t many women serving at the decision-making level, which is how we learned that this denomination does not ordain female pastors. It had been about ten years since I was part of a worship community that held these sorts of beliefs, so I wasn’t even sure how to approach the subject. I still don’t know what to do with this information. And honestly, I’ve been so settled on this issue theologically for so long that I’m kind of baffled as to why I would even need to have this conversation. So, here we are—surrounded by people we really like and/or love at a church where we want to engage, but what now? Do I have more deal breakers than I thought?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In a few words, I would say, I’m feeling:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">In <a href="http://sarahbessey.com/new-book-out-of-sorts/" target="_blank">Sarah’s new book</a>, which releases November 3rd, she talks about that tension we feel as our faith changes. She asks hard questions and doesn’t necessarily give all the answers. I read the book in one sitting (with a short nighttime nap of six hours in the middle) and felt like I was having tea with a friend to talk about my doubts and fears, about the things that make me angry, about the things I need to let go. Aside from having tiny personal epiphanies and revelations along the way, I also enjoyed (as I always do) reading someone else’s story. Sarah weaves her personal narrative seamlessly with her thoughtful theology.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">I am so honored to be part of the team of midwives (and a couple midhusbands) helping to birth this baby because I know I have friends interested in reading <i>Out of Sorts. </i>Like right this second. The bad news is you’ll have to pre-order because it releases next Tuesday. The good news is that you can read the first four chapters FOR FREE by clicking <a href="https://bookgrabbr.com/books/4836-out-of-sorts" target="_blank">here</a>!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I would love to hear some feedback from all my friends—how does this book challenge the parts of your faith that feel settled? How does it affirm the parts that are evolving? I know that I’m not the only one out there feeling tension as I navigate what faith means for me and my family because I have conversations about it ALL THE TIME. I’d recommend this book to anyone who has considered faith at all. Well, except those of you who have it all figured out already.</span></div>
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leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-45591543374130137412015-09-28T18:14:00.000-04:002015-09-28T18:29:53.947-04:00Monday Musings: Short and Not Really Sweet<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Let me just cut to the chase. I hate everything right now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For those of you who have only known me for a short time, I’ll point you to this <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/02/pain-in-neck.html" target="_blank">sad post about my ongoing back issues</a>. Suffice it to say my back is way out of whack again—a combination of resuming my regular work schedule since the kids went back to school (which involves sitting in a position that exacerbates the pain) and sleeping in strange beds for back to back conferences.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m doing all the things—massage, chiropractor, heat, cold, stretching, yoga, pain medication, head pulling (like I lie on a bed, and my mom tries to yank my head off)—in fact, the routine I’m in right now is ridiculous and consumes my day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was proactive this summer and scheduled an MRI. It took three weeks for them to get me in for the appointment, after which I was to wait until someone called me for a follow up. I waited…and waited…and waited…and waited…(do that for like 28 more days) and finally called to schedule the follow up despite having never been called by the doctor’s office. SPECIAL.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, I finally got an appointment…FOR OCTOBER 30TH. Yep, that’s the soonest they could get me in with the doctor who ordered the MRI. To be fair, they offered to schedule me with a different provider on the 16th, but this ain’t my first rodeo, and I know that adding another human to this process is not going to help. (Plus, I’ll be out of town that day anyway.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So. I’m in pain all the time, and I just have to live with it for another month at the very least. And by live with it, I mean devote hours a day to trying to not be in pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Let’s talk about something better, yes? Because I don’t actually hate <i>everything</i> right now. In fact, here are a few things I love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One:</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Someone in my friends list posted this, and YES YES YES! <br />I am still in purge mode and see no real end in sight.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Two: I failed at my mission to finish all the unfinished books I was reading and only have a couple going at once. This is my current stack:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">See that one at the top? </span><i>Mosquitoland</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> by David Arnold. GO OUT RIGHT NOW AND BUY IT AND READ IT IMMEDIATELY. I’m not joking. This is a matter of utmost importance. I’m only 1/3 done with it, but it’s my favorite book I’ve read this year. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Three: Ben came home from school today and told me that some girls were being mean on the playground to a kindergartener—making fun of her because she doesn’t know all her letters and numbers. He told me he told them to stop because she’s in kindergarten, and she’s not even supposed to know all that stuff yet. I hugged him and told him I was so proud of him for standing up for that little girl. I told him that I know it’s hard sometimes to be the only one to speak up. He said, “I wasn’t the only one. After I said it, Jacob and Catch stood with me and said the same thing.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This all comes on the heels of a conversation/confrontation I overheard on field day last week when a boy from Will’s class was calling another kid gay derogatorily. When the kid started yelling, “I’m not gay!” Will immediately stepped in and said, “STOP! He’s not gay, and even if he was, that’s not an insult. You shouldn’t make fun of people who are gay.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, basically, I thought I loved my children as much as humanly possible, but I was wrong. Apparently, I am doing something right if they both feel confident in sticking up for the kids who are getting bullied (which makes me feel a little better about shouting at them to bring me stuff like Gilbert Grape’s mom while I’m laid up in bed with a bad back).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Happy Monday, friends!</span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-17323819725385085242015-09-21T16:42:00.000-04:002015-09-21T18:24:20.233-04:00Monday Musings: All the Feelings<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This last week was a mixed bag of pleasure and pain. Last week, I told you <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2015/09/monday-musings-its-my-birthday-week.html" target="_blank">how I’d been celebrating my birthday for about a month</a>, working to complete 35 acts of kindness in honor of the 35 years I’ve been dancing across this planet. My village showed up BIG TIME when I asked them to join me in supporting Somebody’s Mama’s current project. I spent all morning writing thank you cards to people who helped me raise $496! Believe me when I say that every single dollar of that feels like a tiny miracle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What I wanted most for a present this year was to go to the SCBWI Midsouth conference in Franklin, TN. It came highly recommended by my writing partner, Katie, who road tripped down to TN with me. Without going into too much detail about what these conferences are like—my intention when I go is three-fold: learn about craft, network with other writers, and receive feedback about what I need to do to write the best books.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My writing partner, Katie, and our new friend, David. Everyone needs to <br />run to the store (or pull up your Kindle app) and buy/read David's book <i><a href="http://davidarnoldbooks.com/books/" target="_blank">Mosquitoland</a></i>. <br />I don't have the words for this book right now. It's just some kind of <br />special genius. Aaaaaaaad David is like...Santa Claus nice. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I came away from the conference feeling happy and sad. I've been told repeatedly that the book I’m currently querying is a story that needs to be told. The problem is that the people I’m talking to are skeptical that it can be <i>sold</i>. I get it. I really do. It’s just disappointing. I don’t think they’re wrong. I wrote a book told from the perspective of American kids and Ghanaian kids, and for the umpteenth time, I was told by an editor this isn’t accessible enough to the reader.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It has been suggested that I try rewriting the book completely from the American perspective. It has also been suggested that I change the main character from Ghana into a boy. Here’s the thing—I’m someone who is so willing to take direction and make edits that make the story better, but I believe wholeheartedly that neither of those things would make the story better. Not only that, but both of those things would be a disservice to the reader. When I set out to write this book my goal was to show both perspectives. I need an American boy to show the familiar. I need the African girl to give voice to a perspective that is not often considered in American children’s literature. Juxtaposing those two voices provides contrast and invites the reader to consider a perspective not his own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The idea that an American middle grader can’t handle switching narrators is just untrue. There are tons of books—contemporary books—that are doing this: the Origami Yoda series, Wonder, The Candymakers, just to name a few. I think saying that an American boy reading my book would put it down because the voice changes to a girl is insulting to our kids. (Also, hello? Have you met Katniss Everdeen? Or India Opal Buloni from <i>Because of Winn-Dixie</i>? Boys are reading those books because they’re good books.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Okay…so that turned into more of a ranty vent than I intended. I’ll say this—I have received such positive feedback about the content and style of my writing that I haven’t lost hope. I just need to find the right agent to take a risk with me and publish something that doesn’t fit the formula. Madeline L’Engle failed at publishing <i>A Wrinkle in Time</i> 400 times before someone said yes, so I have 395 tries to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On the flip side, I was inspired to begin a new story based on some of the comments I received in my critiques, and if I get to the end of those 395 tries with my book that just can’t sell, I’ll try querying this one instead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On the way home from TN on Sunday, Scott called to tell me that his Grandad Currie had passed away earlier that morning. He was in his nineties, still moving around pretty well for his age. In fact, I received a card signed “Love, Grandad Currie” on my birthday just a few days before he passed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">His wife, Scott’s grandmother, died a couple of years ago, and we last visited him in Bartlesville at Christmas. We set the timer on my phone to take a picture of all of us and emailed it to Walgreen’s in town so we could give it to him framed as a present. The things I will remember best about him are his love of Jamocha shakes from Arby’s, his stories about the Navy, and the fact that as long as he could hear you, he laughed the loudest at your jokes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Orin and Marge Currie, a petroleum engineer and a teacher, leave behind an incredible legacy in their family. I am so lucky to have known them and been welcomed into their home with open arms for the past fifteen years. They will be missed in body, but their spirits are with us, in us, in everything we do.</span></div>
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leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-2251190414928855102015-09-14T11:32:00.000-04:002015-09-14T19:07:31.336-04:00Monday Musings: It's My Birthday(-week-month)<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My 35th birthday is in three days. THIRTY FIVE. I don’t know why this seems like such a bigger deal than thirty. Perhaps it’s because I’m on the highest point of the hill before toppling down into my late thirties? That’s what it feels like. In the last few weeks, I’ve felt a sort of out-of-body slow motion thing happening—lots of reflecting and introspecting—and I wake up most days feeling like this can’t be real life. I need to say this out loud—I love my life, exactly as it is right now. The last year has been about connecting with my family, downsizing, and pursuing passions. It’s the kind of fulfillment that money could never buy—it’s peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’ve seen this line floating around social media lately in multiple forms, and it has really stuck with me—to raise your standard of living, raise your standard of giving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Like whoa, right? It’s exactly what I believe. As we’re looking another promotion in the eye for Scott (thanks, Air Force!), we are so excited to see how that affects our ability to give. We have everything we need and more. Why not give the rest away?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On August 17th, I set out to celebrate the month leading up to my birthday with purposeful acts of kindness; my goal: 35. I got this idea from my friend, Dena, whom I ran into one night when she was out for one of her friend’s birthdays. They were on a mission to complete 35 acts of kindness together. This year, my birthday week is hectic (as I am sans husband and starting up all the beginning of school year activities with the kids), so I gave myself a little grace and started a month early. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I won’t list everything I/we have done, but I will tell you about a couple of things that our family loves to do. First is the supertip. This started a couple of years ago when the boys and I were eating at Buffalo Wild Wings in Olympia, WA. Our waitress was 8+ months pregnant, and my mama heart beat for her. We left a 100% tip and snuck out as quickly as possible. It has become a bit of a trend. We don’t eat out a lot or this would break our bank, but let me tell you—there is nothing better than hearing my kids say, “Mom, can we supertip?” First, it feels good to brighten someone’s day obviously, but I also love that my kids are gaining an appreciation for the service other people provide us. It’s a privilege to walk into a restaurant, sit down, and have someone bring food to us. We do not take that for granted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Secondly, with the help of our church, we made up some baggies with snacks, chapstick, tissues, bandages, and water to hand out to people standing with signs. There’s a particularly busy intersection I frequent where almost every day at least one person is standing on the corner. If I’ve got a baggie in the car (I try to always have a few), I park in a nearby parking lot and walk across traffic to give them one. So far, this month, I’ve given baggies to Nick, Carl, and John. Every time, I ask their names and then ask if they’ve had lunch. If they say no (which is almost always the case), I give them enough to get something at the Wendy’s nearby. In each of these three cases, they immediately picked up their things and walked to get lunch. I’ve heard all that has been said about people experiencing homelessness—that we shouldn’t give them money, that they’ll just spend it on drugs and alcohol, that the best thing we can do is leave the work up to the professionals. Well, nobody is the boss of me, and when I actually talk to and touch these people, I’m acutely aware of how they feel the rest of the world views them. I will continue to support the missions and food pantries that serve this population with donations and volunteer hours, but I will also not sit by while human beings feel hated, judged, or invisible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over the last (almost) month, we’ve plugged expired parking meters, bought “just because” gifts for teachers and friends, left “coffee cash” in library books with notes saying “Your next treat is on us!”, sent care packages to friends recovering from surgery, and handed down clothes. We’ve donated to causes benefiting classroom teachers, <a href="https://fundly.com/for-the-love-of-embo-a-car-fund#supporters/donors" target="_blank">a lovely young girl who is killing it at life</a> despite some significant challenges, women in transitional housing, kids in Ethiopia, cancer patients, refugees, Make-a-Wish kids, and a program to train healthcare workers in Uganda. Basically, if someone asked, we gave—not a lot, but enough to say to the people asking—“We care about you, and we care about what you care about!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I honestly cannot think of a better way to celebrate being on earth for 35 years—I hope you all understand that this doesn’t come from a place of piety. Not even at all. I am overwhelmed by the love and generosity that permeate my life and my being. OVERWHELMED. It’s from that place of abundance that I’m inspired to share. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You know what the weirdest part about all of this is? The day after I started this, I got an email from the school saying we’d won a drawing at back to school night for $25 off our band fees. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Two days later, I was walking to school with the boys, and I glanced down. Tucked between the sidewalk and the grass was a piece of paper that looked like a dollar bill. I picked it up and thought it must be a promotional flyer because NO ONE FINDS $100 LYING ON THE GROUND. But I did. I did. (My dad took this super awkward picture of me as proof. I thought only the money was in the frame.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Four days later, we got a letter in the mail that there had been some sort of medical billing mix up when Scott injured his shoulder skiing in Breckenridge (15 years ago!!!), and we were owed $594. It’s completely legit. When does this kind of stuff happen? Seriously?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Aside from that, I’ve received random cards in the mail with encouraging words and a couple of unexpected gifts from friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I still have four days and 10 acts of kindness to go. We can take care of those no problem. You know what would make me the happiest girl in the world? If you would join me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Will you do something between now and September 17th in honor of my birthday? What I want more than anything else in the world right now is for more love and kindness to be purposely given.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If we’re friends, you know that I’m fighting sex trafficking in Sonagacchi, the largest red light district in Kolkata, India right now. I would love it if you considered donating $35 to this project. Am I shamelessly plugging right now? You better believe it. It’s my birthday, so I get a pass. If you’d like to give $5 because you’ve only known me for five years, that’s cool, too. Or if you want to give $1,000 because you are worth 1000 points of awesome, we will accept that as well. (We have $5,535.14 to go to see this project to its completion—our family gave $140…$35 for each family member.) If you want to give, you can <a href="https://www.eservicepayments.com/cgi-bin/Vanco_ver3.vps?appver3=HLv5OW77ktwW7DehGumoQeMjTmc5tAzEDcUXVJSSsTOPL2UMcH_dWGYzJhqte9bfBCQOSfzSWWd2FEDuo82dKY4S5oy2iagz7UOBSsJSSXqK7CqA03Fr8773Cu7jdm9QFFu3tz9oJHlZ4zhRpHwiwlv3F6XhGCH7lOIeYttH1RaS9QweVDxiALxEiyeexZ2HyemjQVwS3H1Rci7_9PTkXQ==&ver=3" target="_blank">CLICK HERE</a> and put your amount in the box for “Current Project—Tamar Project India.” As always, your donation is tax-deductible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Happy birthday to me, friends. What a gift it is to know you and a gift to be alive!</span></div>
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leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-69430598130903116062015-09-07T14:14:00.002-04:002015-09-07T14:14:26.659-04:00Monday Musings: My Friends Hate Me<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have this running joke every year at the beginning of September on Facebook. I act like I'm about to make some huge political statement, and then I basically just rant about how I hate pumpkin. So far, people still think it's funny, so I'm going to keep doing this. As my friend, Lars, says, "Funny once, funny every time."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, this year I was greeted with an onslaught of pro-pumpkin propaganda and otherwise funny memes, and since <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2015/09/to-will-on-your-10th-birthday.html" target="_blank">I used all my words for the week in my effusive post about Will yesterday</a>, I present to you all the pumpkin funnies sent my way since I posted my anti-pumpkin rant.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2kGgdtAHBOwWd9_ZQhVX5ZQyfcGIS3H1BlhNaBYtVWj7CaPEWS9sZg_0nyPtGK6jv8mDsVdMMCoq9FXXDCg0gt1eKC-VQJ79j_aukanvXfhl52ga-1MefpPll-xLEmJR_2lrIi9XCgM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-09-07+at+12.49.26+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2kGgdtAHBOwWd9_ZQhVX5ZQyfcGIS3H1BlhNaBYtVWj7CaPEWS9sZg_0nyPtGK6jv8mDsVdMMCoq9FXXDCg0gt1eKC-VQJ79j_aukanvXfhl52ga-1MefpPll-xLEmJR_2lrIi9XCgM/s640/Screen+Shot+2015-09-07+at+12.49.26+PM.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2so4TzBW7qnEbHyF4epS3kr7Zs-HhugSLcAIDL0oVVSlO07_SvnxD0LNfS4fJ4gl1OSpNhGm5lU85LDVHV_a59KFIwdj5wDu6GlIJupMMpCP9OFL7CiNrE_wG6BgMyYUGtrPTK5nM6Hc/s1600/11902514_1811653015727892_692591671225358240_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2so4TzBW7qnEbHyF4epS3kr7Zs-HhugSLcAIDL0oVVSlO07_SvnxD0LNfS4fJ4gl1OSpNhGm5lU85LDVHV_a59KFIwdj5wDu6GlIJupMMpCP9OFL7CiNrE_wG6BgMyYUGtrPTK5nM6Hc/s320/11902514_1811653015727892_692591671225358240_n.jpg" width="298" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6jnpE1wb3jum51p6ywGn08L3yiyMWMFZeCnzb-I6TuLH-ptaE0zVb_iEAtapIHVer8Cdynenosu_AKKgAfWtuAdsYr_RqBs8asCKesLS5w9bbyLoGWMerWMb__V8t1g8WdpPvCNyJko/s1600/10671339_937430666286119_4273858545350176396_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6jnpE1wb3jum51p6ywGn08L3yiyMWMFZeCnzb-I6TuLH-ptaE0zVb_iEAtapIHVer8Cdynenosu_AKKgAfWtuAdsYr_RqBs8asCKesLS5w9bbyLoGWMerWMb__V8t1g8WdpPvCNyJko/s320/10671339_937430666286119_4273858545350176396_n.jpg" width="251" /></span></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Special thanks to Jim for creating my very own meme.</span><br /></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyX_AWV3K1vZ123d5PZ4KrjoNjAgdhNrc6Z3y8lskxi1N9DWATIH5n7CmBU0xwuQo4hVg9bhla1apEJNxFKsYbx4i1TpBmwfVB0YdTmzT4xMmsaaPgtYze3MTKRvAUc04mgAwF20g2Jg/s1600/11138503_10153619908212244_3795709626850265338_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCknLiJ8hib37842nIrQJmXjdWoQ-Kw4JmZpzS4eh1XTgNtJm5N582BGEHk-m4Y_l0cKn1TaLkoMBNYCGL7XYvNgMoy-Zq_5BOBqM4wIi5lM9d34VVWYR7h22qLge2kO7nB4hqE15NWgY/s1600/IMG_5629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCknLiJ8hib37842nIrQJmXjdWoQ-Kw4JmZpzS4eh1XTgNtJm5N582BGEHk-m4Y_l0cKn1TaLkoMBNYCGL7XYvNgMoy-Zq_5BOBqM4wIi5lM9d34VVWYR7h22qLge2kO7nB4hqE15NWgY/s320/IMG_5629.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Carlin said she was going to pick some of these up for me on her trip to Target.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Oh, wait. That's just a picture of Lenny Kravitz staring longingly out a window. Kelsey sent me this which is why she's my favorite friend this week.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoHp2CS-KMpdShUWjd2Iv96ufWFGkin9JV4UG1uQ1pugyQUFJVaevy4NQ8B_At2cYyTyHEKOzTs0u3DdrKY5WqfmqudbCaSoFwp8fWV6ylpLEe3rYaqDZEgtkYPkIx4-og6n3-itxQ94/s1600/IMG_1236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And then of course, there was this article on <a href="http://www.people.com/people/greatideas/gallery/0,,20945833_30375293,00.html?xid=socialflow_facebook_peoplemag" target="_blank">People</a> with an extensive list of all the pumpkin-flavored things on the market right now. GAG ME WITH A SPOON.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'll be over here with my pecan brownies, friends. Enjoy your nastiness far away from me.</span><br />
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<br />leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-64904908306979697832015-09-06T08:59:00.001-04:002015-09-06T09:10:30.933-04:00To Will, on Your 10th Birthday<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I wanted to write you a letter because I love through words. </span>In reflecting on your first ten years, I found myself laughing and crying about all that you’ve taught me, and I want to use some of those experiences to give you advice about the <i>next</i> decade of your life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You see that look on your face? That look says, “Hey, Mom! Did you want me to take a nap? Yeah, I’m probably not going to do that.” As an infant, I could take you anywhere—the grocery store, art museums, restaurants, weddings, funerals—anywhere, and I never worried that you would throw a tantrum or cause a problem. The downside to this was that you were so happy observing your world that YOU NEVER SLEPT. I could have used you as a brownie timer because your naps were 23 minutes exactly. Every time. And at night? I guess you just wanted to hang out with me because I was so cool. Eventually (around 2 1/2), you figured out the sleep thing and never looked back. What hasn’t changed is the way you observe your world. One of the things I love about you most is how you don’t miss a thing—you’re engaged and aware, and you floor me on a regular basis with your commentary on how the world works. Stay engaged. Keep watching carefully and paying attention. Your world is a big, beautiful place, and it’s just going to keep getting bigger and more beautiful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You started cruising on furniture when you were eight months old. You would crawl over, pull yourself up, and hold on to the edge of the couch…or the windowsill…or the wall. Whatever you could hold onto. And you did this for SEVEN MONTHS. No matter what we did, you refused to take those first steps away from safety. And then one day, in the middle of a Christmas party, you stood up from my lap and walked across the room like you’d been doing it your whole life. We had no way of knowing, but the way you learned to walk is a lot like the way you do most things—you’re cautious and thoughtful and deliberate. When you make decisions, you’re confident because you’ve given yourself enough time to make sure it’s exactly what you want to do. I love this about you, and I hope it’s the way you continue to be as you get older.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So you know that Dad and I love dressing up for Halloween, and we are committed to dressing up with you as long as you let us. There was a time when <i>we</i> were the ones who picked the costumes, and this was the year we couldn’t help but make you Draco Malfoy. You ran around casting spells and saying “Harry Potter” in a snide British accent because even though you didn’t know about Harry or the wizarding world yet, you knew how to have fun. Since then, you’ve fallen in love with superheroes and cars and video games and book series, and your level of knowledge/obsession/nerdery with these fandoms is proof that you still know how to have fun. I love watching you discover new book characters and movies and TV shows. I love the way you can quote your favorite movies and how you want me to read the books you’re reading. I can promise you this—if you’ve got something you love, some kind of entertainment that brings you immense joy—you will always have me to nerd out with. Always.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I had a little over three years with you before Ben came along. You were infamous in the hospital the day you came to hang out with him as Batman. You loved him immediately and tried to share Skittles with him. You sat for hours on the floor reading board books to him in his bouncy seat or driving Hot Wheels around him while he had tummy time on his blanket. You were a perfect helper, never jealous, and mesmerized by this little built in friend who trailed after you wherever you went. He was equally mesmerized by you—emulating your every move, hanging on your every word, always ready for whatever game or alternate reality you’d created. Not much has changed now that you are older. Do you know the gift you have in Ben as your brother? Do you know how much he loves and looks up to you? As your mom, there are few things that bring me greater joy than the fact that the two of you are best friends. You are a dynamic duo, one that has the power to save the world. I love you individually, but together—you guys are magical.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I didn’t really intend to pick three costume-ish pictures in a row, but it makes sense that that would happen as your preschool years were about three things: imagination, imagination, and imagination. I never knew if I was going to wake up with the Hulk or a train conductor or a dragon. Some weeks, you refused to answer to the name “Will” and preferred to be called “Buzz Lightyear” or “Bruce Banner.” Your ability to stay in character was unrivaled and inspired us to introduce you to theater. I hope you’ll explore the world of acting more as you get older because Will—you are really, really good at it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is one of my favorite memories of you from the last ten years. We were living in Charleston, and one night, we had a freakish snowfall. You had been in bed for hours, and I was up reading in the living room. I got up to get more tea and realized there was snow actually accumulating in the yard. Knowing full well that it would be gone quickly in the morning, I woke you up at 11:00 at night, threw on the warmest clothes we had, and took you out in the backyard to make snow angels. We made a snowman and had Tang snow cones and threw snowballs, and you didn’t get back to bed until one in the morning. It was spontaneous and nonsensical. I love how serious you are about life, but I want you to remember that’s it’s okay to do things that don’t make sense sometimes—run outside when it’s raining, eat ice cream for dinner, wake up on Saturday morning and start driving. Some of your best memories will come from the days you don’t plan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The world will tell you that the way to get ahead, the way to keep up, the way to find success will be to do more more more, to stay busy busy busy, but let me clear about this: busy does not mean happy. Busy does not mean successful. Busy does not mean better. One of the biggest lessons you have taught me is to slow down and relax. You have an innate sense of capacity—those are just big words that mean you know when enough is enough. You crave days at home and quiet reading and alone time. I do, too—it is what you always say: #genesfrommom. In this picture, you’re fishing, something other kids your age then wouldn’t have wanted to do because it’s a lot of sitting around. (This summer, you reminded me it’s called “fishing” not catching for a reason.) You taught me that rest is restoration. And I hope you always strike the right balance when it comes to busyness and rest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have had the privilege of homeschooling you for two years of your formal education so far, and it was the greatest lesson in how plan B can be the best plan sometimes. I love watching you learn. I love seeing lightbulbs go off in your head. I love seeing you find creative solutions. I love hearing you ask questions. You aren’t just a student—you’re a lover of learning (I’d say #genesfrommom here again, but I think it’s equal parts #genesfromdad). Whether it’s a new math skill or a new novel, you jump in head first, devouring information like a life source—and let me tell you, it is. Your life will be infinitely more satisfying if you stay open. I’ll be 35 in a couple of weeks, and I’m still learning every single day things I didn’t know before—about myself, about the people I love, and about my world. NEVER. STOP. LEARNING.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When you were in 1st grade, you received a character award at school for being responsible. I know it drives you crazy when we say you are like an eighty year old man, but you need to know we say it because you are wise and responsible beyond your years. We opened a bank account for you when you were seven. SEVEN! Because you understood the value of money and had goals. You take life seriously. Be proud of that. Those of us who have witnessed you growing up are amazed at how steady and dependable and solid you are. We can count on you, which makes you a great brother, a great son, and a great friend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I took this picture on your ninth birthday when we had hot chocolate at IHOP (your pick on a day I said we would do anything you wanted). After that, you spent a little birthday money at GameStop, we had a meal at Longhorn (where the manager gave you free dessert because she was so impressed you ate an 11 oz. ribeye by yourself), and then we went home to watch movies and play video games together. I love that you are happy with simple things. Hot chocolate at IHOP. A good steak. Family time. Here’s a secret, Will, maybe the only thing you need to know to love your life: you don’t need much more than those things to be happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We snapped this shot half an hour before your first piano performance. Remember when you started piano, and you weren’t even sure you wanted to try it? Doesn’t that seem crazy now that you are so good at it? Proof positive of the power of trying something new. Can I tell you something, and you promise not to make fun of me? I cry sometimes when I hear you practicing. Your motivation and dedication makes me so proud. The fact that you take care of things like homework and making snacks when you’re hungry and practicing the piano makes me forget sometimes that you’re a kid. You are just so grown up, and while I miss the yesterday you, I am even more excited to see the tomorrow you. Because, Will, I don’t know how it’s possible, but you just keep getting more and more awesome every day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Happy double digits birthday, firstborn. If you don’t mind, I’ll steal a quote from you—“when I say I love you, I mean it. Like I really, really mean it, not like something people just say sometimes because it’s something to say, but like real love.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">P. S. I tried to make a four-minute video of your life and realized with a quickness that condensing ten years into four minutes was impossible, so I made <a href="https://vimeo.com/138258220" target="_blank">this ridiculous 17-minute video</a>. It's all for you. Well, and for the grandmas because they like that sort of thing, too. Enjoy!</span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-50696402354389367812015-08-31T14:49:00.000-04:002015-08-31T14:52:25.935-04:00Monday Musings: Solving All the Problems<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. In a few weeks, I’m attending the <a href="https://tmp.webconnex.com/place" target="_blank">Place Conference</a> put on by <a href="http://www.thementoringproject.org/" target="_blank">The Mentoring Project</a> in OKC. (There are still some tickets available, but the price goes up on September 1st, so get one now if you’re interested. The line-up of speakers is PHENOMENAL—plus you’ll get to hang out with me!) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have heard some of these speakers before and am familiar with several others on the list, but there was one I had never heard of. The organizers sent out a link to this 10-minute video of <a href="http://arrabon.com/about/" target="_blank">David M. Bailey</a> speaking about the role of the Church and non-profits in racial reconciliation. Much of the conversation I’ve seen on the subject via social media quickly devolves into squabbling, and it’s just not productive. I really like the way he frames the conversation. Take a listen (and I CANNOT WAIT TO HEAR HIM SPEAK! Go buy your ticket now, OKC friends!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. I’ve had three separate conversations with moms over the last couple weeks about how tough mornings are as they are getting back into the swing of things for the new school year. I say this all the time, and I’ll say it a million more times: children need sleep. We’re pretty crazy about guarding our kids’ bedtimes during the week—it’s why we don’t over schedule night activities and why I volunteer to run things, so everyone else has to be on my schedule…wink wink (more on that below). In my mothering experience, I’ve learned there are really only three things kids need when they are falling apart: food, sleep, or attention. I have yet to face a parenting dilemma that hasn’t been solved with one or more of those things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A teacher friend of mine posted this from an elementary school, and it is spot on for my kids. Our mornings are genuinely pretty drama-free (<a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">as long as I don’t make Ben wear new shorts</a>) WHEN MY KIDS HAVE HAD ENOUGH SLEEP. Now, I’m not telling you what to do. All kids are different, and if you’ve got a precious petal who only needs four hours of sleep and is still a tiny Mother Teresa, then stick with what you’re doing. But if the spawn of Satan crawls out from under the covers at your house, take a looky-loo and consider making adjustments.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For three years, Will has been a cub scout, and Ben has been tagging along. It has from the beginning been an activity that Scott was in charge of for reasons including but not limited to: his status as an Eagle scout, my extreme hatred of sleeping in sleeping bags, the general <strike>dorkiness</strike> male bonding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This year, Ben enters the world of scouting as a scout for the first time, and when we signed up last week, there wasn’t a Tiger leader. Several men shuffled their feet and mumbled about how they would help, but no one really wanted to commit to <i>leading</i>. So I voluntold Scott that he’s the Tiger leader and promised to be his trusty sidekick. I did this for a couple of reasons. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">First, I look for ways to connect with Ben out of second child guilt (#realtalk), and secondly, I know it will come as a surprise, but sometimes an organization that is run primarily by old man volunteers who love making coffee over fire on purpose and wearing slightly too short shorts is not always all that organized*. We’ve been lucky to have female den leaders for Will who have kept the dens running smoothly, and I really want the same experience for Ben. Scott will do the scout stuff. I will keep us organized with calendars and contact info and lesson plans and general “classroom management” techniques. Because secretly, this is totally my wheelhouse. But don’t tell the scouts because I don’t want to be recruited for anything else. *I acknowledge the sexist nature of these comments, but I do not take them back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Oh, also, we were worried that the den was going to be small, and then 13 kids showed up. Everyone has warned me that we should split the den because it’s going to be too hard. Will’s den leader said, “Your kids are well-behaved but not everyone else’s are.” I answered, “There’s a reason my kids are well-behaved.” MAMA J HAS GOT THIS. (Please feel free to mock me three months from now if I have to eat my words.)</span></div>
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leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-76649949819876702312015-08-24T10:36:00.000-04:002015-08-24T18:44:11.228-04:00Monday Musings: Technology and New Shorts<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. At any given time, I have like…twelve books going, which I’ve decided is too many, so I decided to try this thing where I finish all the books I’m currently reading, and I only read one at a time (I’ll keep you updated on how this goes). Except it’s really two at a time because I always have one I’m reading with my eyes and one that I listen to with my ears. I usually finish about three audio books to every one read with my eyes because I listen anytime I am doing anything but sleeping basically. (That, friends, is the answer to the question I get more than any other of “How do you read so many books?”) Does everyone know about <a href="https://www.overdrive.com/" target="_blank">Overdrive</a> at the public library? If you have a library card, you can get ebooks and audiobooks for free (because that’s how the library works). This is the reason Scott Johnson has not divorced me on grounds of book-related bankruptcy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, a long time ago I read<i> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Guernsey-Literary-Potato-Peel-Society/dp/0385341008" target="_blank">The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society</a> </i>by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows and LOVED it. Loved. It’s an epistolary novel (that’s a big word that means written in letter form), and I’ve recommended it hundreds of times. When I saw that Annie Barrows had a new book out, I put it on hold at the library immediately in both ebook and audiobook form. The audio came through first, so I started listening. First, the readers are DELIGHTFUL, and secondly, the book is exactly as good as I thought it would be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So here’s your homework: get a library card, get on Overdrive, download this book. Or just check out the real version or go to a bookstore and buy it. You’ll love it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. You know how people talk about preteens clamming up because they’re too cool to talk to their parents. Well, we’re not <i>quite </i>there yet, but I see it on the horizon, and I refuse to accept this reality without a fight. The thing I’ve figured out is that sometimes you have to enact Operation Sneaky Parenting. WonderBox is how I am sneakily loving my eldest who turns TEN in 13 days and is starting to show the telltale signs of being too cool for me (see: eye rolls, sarcastic comebacks, huffing loudly). I don’t want to talk about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, about the app—WonderBox is basically a collection of educational activities and videos. Example: Will watches a video from the art category about Leonardo DaVinci and then makes a talking Mona Lisa gif. He can choose to send it to his friends, and it shows up in their feeds. I am one of his friends, so I see it and can comment or click “Yay!” (like liking something on Facebook). It’s basically a way for us to talk without talking. When he woke up this morning, he asked where the iPad was. He wanted to check his Wonderbox (where he found a gif of me with my face painted like Groucho Marx saying Will and Ben are awesome). When I got home from walking the boys to school, I had an email of an environmentally friendly car he’d designed after watching a video about fuel efficiency. OH, DID I MENTION IT’S FREE!?!!! If your kids want to try it out, I can send you our friend codes, and we can share all of this ridiculousness with you, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Mornings in our house are pretty chill. Scott leaves before the rest of us wake up, and Will, Ben, and I have a serious understanding about our need for quiet. We don’t talk unless we have to, and this works for us. There’s a rhythm to what we do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My alarm goes off at 6:36, and I go downstairs to start making lunches. (If it’s a day when both boys are buying lunch, it goes off at 6:48.) I shower, and as I’m leaving the bathroom, Will enters. He wakes up at 7:00 on the dot like a robot. While he’s in the shower, I prep breakfast. Ben showers every other day (this is the compromise we came to because he would shower exactly NEVER if he didn’t have a mother). The boys come downstairs to eat breakfast at 7:20, while I go back upstairs to get dressed and/or take care of bills/start laundry/do other fun mom things. I pop back downstairs to brush hair, check backpacks one last time, and put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. We leave the house at 7:53.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Very rarely does this morning routine differ, which sounds glorious, right? It is. It really is. Unless I throw a wrench in the day like offering Ben new shorts that have never been worn. This results in fifteen minutes of crying while getting dressed because “shorts should never be touching my knees—that’s why they’re called shorts!” followed by a somewhat rushed breakfast, followed by more tears over the fact that I helped him with his shoes because Will is standing at the door, hair combed perfectly and shouting, “IT’S 7:54! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, yeah. That was Wednesday, and somehow we recovered on the walk to school. Ben even held my hand—the same hand of betrayal that tied his shoes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. We have a new development this week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And this is how our dog, Bokonon, feels about it.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D1811198224135757900%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D7664994981987670231%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D1%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fvideo-thumbnail.g%3FcontentId%3Dde7b6cd0eecd157f%26zx%3D75dvxle80fgc&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=CBuMVFnkcu31&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 3979px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D1811198224135757900%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D7664994981987670231%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D1%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fvideo-thumbnail.g%3FcontentId%3Dde7b6cd0eecd157f%26zx%3D75dvxle80fgc&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=CBuMVFnkcu31&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 3979px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-53698258829443505482015-08-17T18:38:00.000-04:002015-08-17T23:37:28.071-04:00Monday Musings: Goodbye, Summer!<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I spent the last school year writing/trying to publish books. For anyone keeping track—no, none of them have been published, but I’m still working on that. The result of doing that for about nine months was one completed book, one 1/2 finished book, and one 1/4 finished book—not bad considering I was running a non-profit, substitute teaching, and functioning as COO of Johnson Garden Estate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One thing I realized along the way was that I <i>reeeeeeeeeally</i> miss blogging. In the beginning, it was necessary to stop blogging to find my book voice(s) and stay focused, but writing books is a solitary pursuit, and I missed the interactive nature of blogging.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’ve decided to allow myself one blog post a week—consider them my Monday musings if you will. In these posts, I’ll share recommendations for things you can’t miss if you’re attempting to live la vida awesome, tell stories about those two menchildren who sleep down the hall from me, and offer insight gained from my life lived in yoga pants. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If my mom and dad are the only people who read these, fine. I’ll still have a record of all the things I don’t want to forget that happened during this blessed (please read that as a two syllable word) stage of life. I’m going to keep all of them under 1,000 words because that’s the average person’s threshold (AKA long enough to read while going to the bathroom).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>WHAT I’M ABSORBING</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFfGF3CdiWfiXapidhKAa7nin0L5jyjs8evVdhc0Z_mNNVFplE8edv6qqoJvbOzhDeGu0hlii3NOKsg8xe4GG8k2xhkofudclWGxc7iLCoQNFuZ1a1rHg2VCUsobXZKRX7VYQij1u1m0/s1600/51eKgrKBTcL._SX324_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFfGF3CdiWfiXapidhKAa7nin0L5jyjs8evVdhc0Z_mNNVFplE8edv6qqoJvbOzhDeGu0hlii3NOKsg8xe4GG8k2xhkofudclWGxc7iLCoQNFuZ1a1rHg2VCUsobXZKRX7VYQij1u1m0/s400/51eKgrKBTcL._SX324_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="261" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My book club chose <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Boys-Boat-Americans-Olympics/dp/0143125478" target="_blank">this</a>, and I thought I was going to have to force myself to finish it because I’m anal and can’t stop reading a book I’ve started, but then I read the first page and was like WHOA. Hey there, sneaky non-fiction—high five to you for completely proving me wrong. I’m about halfway finished, and I can’t believe how much I love this book. (Here are the other books I’ve read in the past few weeks worth recommending: <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Am-Malala-Stood-Education-Taliban-ebook/dp/B00CH3DBNQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439849894&sr=1-1&keywords=i+am+malala" target="_blank">I Am Malala</a></i>, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Love-Fighting-Grace-Impossible-Standards-ebook/dp/B00QL9LFCG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439849920&sr=1-1&keywords=for+the+love" target="_blank">For the Love</a></i>, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Girl-Train-Novel-Paula-Hawkins-ebook/dp/B00L9B7IKE/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439849947&sr=1-1&keywords=the+girl+on+the+train" target="_blank">The Girl on the Train</a></i>, and <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Go-Set-Watchman-Harper-Lee-ebook/dp/B00T3DNKIE/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439849972&sr=1-5&keywords=go+set+a+watchman" target="_blank">Go Set A Watchman</a></i>.)<i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My friend, Derrick, sent me a text that said something to the effect of “listen to this, or I won’t be your friend anymore.” So I did, and then I bought the whole album, and you should too. Also, <a href="http://www.nathanielrateliff.com/" target="_blank">Nathaniel Rateliffe and the Night Sweats</a> release their first album on August 21st, and you should just take care of that right now, too. We saw them in Guthrie on the Gentlemen of the Road tour, and I’m pouting because there are no shows anywhere close to me anytime soon that aren’t sold out. If you can see them live, DO IT, for the love of all things holy.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.udemy.com/the-power-of-vulnerability/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PlDfKssixC0U8hBv2r11uKDqxfuSkVC-XVtyfrqhccL3FX0mRY6vNRrhBsHsTbXB50-plZRCLrpQBX1Zn57xB96anhRAY-ltA8WrHDy4KpwDLGRA42DAOf4eKcN2GQUznIhI55AQ3YU/s640/Screen+Shot+2015-08-17+at+5.23.17+PM.png" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Click on the screenshot to link to this awesome course!)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My friend, Missy, put out an all call on Facebook asking if anyone would be interested in taking this course online with her. She lives in Pryor, OK, and I cannot make the weekly commute to her debriefing/gathering, but I jumped on board anyway. We’re not supposed to be doing the course until the beginning of September, but I already finished the first four lessons because BRENE BROWN IS EVERYTHING. (If you haven’t read <a href="http://brenebrown.com/books/" target="_blank">her books</a>, do yourself a favor and forget that everything else in life is happening and move them to the top of your list. Your boss and family will understand your absence when they see how you have become such a better person after reading these books.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I found <a href="http://www.chloesfruit.com/" target="_blank">these popsicles</a> at Costco (only the strawberry and mango), and I’m certifiably obsessed. Run, don’t walk. You’re welcome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We took a vacation to Branson with my parents last week as a last hurrah before school started. One of the days was spent out on a pontoon on Table Rock Lake, fishing, tubing, and swimming. As happens on those sorts of outings, Will realized he needed to go to the bathroom. We told him it was time he learned how to eliminate waste like a hillbilly (pooing in the lake for those of you fancy people who aren’t smelling what I’m stepping in) to which he replied, “I’m sorry, Mom. I think I’m a land pooper.” Somehow my hillbilly roots have failed him. He did, however, pick up spitting sunflower seeds during the vacation, so we still have hope. (I included the above video </span>because<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> my mom took it thinking it would be embarrassing, but I have this new thing where I basically have no shame and don't care about stupid stuff like looking cool. It's working out really well, and I'm getting LOTS of practice.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We worked on tying shoes all year last year with Ben. I mean, that’s kind of what kindergarten is for—learning how to read short vowel words and tying shoes. Right? Well, it was the only thing on his end of year report that got the dreaded <i>needs improvement</i>. My friend, Ashlie, posted a video on Facebook, and I decided I could still get a passing grade as kindergarten parent if we learned before first grade actually started. I sat down with my favorite little prince of do it myself, and WE DID IT! WE CAN TIE SHOES! The experience was made that much sweeter by the fact that Ben yelled “Yesssssssssssssssss” as he ran through the house in his tied shoes, whistling through the gap in his newly formed first grade teeth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When Will’s friend, Jack, was over for a sleepover, I was informed that Jack was Abby’s boyfriend for like five minutes last year because as Jack explained, “I was held at mental gunpoint until I said I would be her boyfriend.” As Jack’s mom and I talked, I overheard Will say to Jack, “Yeah, I don’t think I’m a chick magnet like you because they all know I have a soulmate.” Oh, did I tell you that Will has decided "girlfriend" is too light a description of Becca (his girlfriend since 4K who lives in WA)? Later, he said, “I don’t know if soulmate is the right word either.” We consulted the thesaurus, and now Becca is his spirit kin. I die.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could barely keep up with Ben as we walked home from school today—talking a mile a minute about how first grade is WAY, WAY better than kindergarten. I mean, they have real desks, and the gym/lunchroom is soOOOoooOooOOOoo close, and they get to rip pages out of their math books. What more could you want? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks for reading, friends. See you next week!</span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-31741411782736180872015-06-18T16:13:00.000-04:002015-06-18T16:13:10.591-04:00On Being Not Black<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have used words in this essay that I would never use in normal conversation, but if we are going to HAVE this conversation, they need to be said.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am three, and we have just moved into our first house in a new neighborhood. The doorbell rings, and a woman on the other side offers my mom a piece of paper. The next Monday, my mom drops me off at a church for Vacation Bible School, along with my two friends, Denny and Robyn. When she arrives to pick us up, my VBS teacher says in a booming voice through the car window, “YOU MUST BE LEIA’S MOM!” It’s obvious because we are the only white children at an all-black Baptist church.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am five, and I am visiting my dad at the Safeway produce warehouse where he drives a forklift. We are in the lunchroom, and his friend, Marvin, is laughing and telling stories. He’s enormous and darker than any human I’ve ever seen with bright pink lips. His hands are like frisbees but so gentle when he touches my arm. I go home and draw a picture of his face and fill up the whole page with his football shaped head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am seven, and we are attending a new church in the suburbs. One of my first friends is Rachelle. She’s wears her hair in puffy braids. She comes over after church and plays in the sprinkler in my backyard with me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am eight, and I am playing tag. I’m running after my friend, Leslie, who is always so much faster than me. I reach out and grab her ponytail, and it comes off in my hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am ten. I go to a prestigious private school in OKC. My friends, Teryl and Jasmine, decide we are just like TLC—Teryl is T-Boz, I am Left-Eye, and Jasmine is Chilli.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am eleven, and it is Christmas Eve. My grandpa is telling a story about a man he worked with at the Pet Milk plant—one of the hardest working men he’s ever known, a Negro. My Grandma corrects him, “I don’t think it’s okay to say Negro, Leonard. It’s black or African-American.” She looks to my mom for assurance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am twelve, and my mom is telling me a story about when she was younger, about how there were only two black families in her town growing up, the Starks and the Clarks. She tells me about how angry she would get when her brother, a police officer, would talk about arresting dirty niggers or tell jokes about buying a nigger for a nickel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am fourteen, and I am reading <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i> for the first time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am fifteen, and a boy from my church says he is going to “drop the Cosby kids off at the pool,” and I say nothing when I realize he means he’s going to the bathroom to poop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am sixteen, and a white boy at our predominantly white high school in a suburb of Oklahoma City known for white flight in the ‘70s, stands up in a school assembly and announces that he’s wearing his nigger-kicking boots.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am nineteen, and I work at Red Lobster as a waitress. During a break, I sit in the smoking section with a girl named Carrie. She has blonde hair and tan skin, and she smokes Capris. She says flat out, “I won’t serve niggers.” When I ask her why, she says that she hates them. When I ask her why again, she says that her first job was at The Buckle in the mall, and one night, she left work, got in her car, and a huge ass nigger motherfucker had crawled in her backseat while she was at work. He told her to pull the car over and then raped her on the side of the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am twenty-six, and we are living in Charleston, SC because my husband is stationed at the Air Force base. We need to buy a new car, so we head to the Toyota dealership. During the test drive, the dealer says to my husband, “You ever shop at that Kmart? You shouldn’t. Owned by a bunch of niggers.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am twenty-seven, and I am in a Sunday school class. The leader is a pillar of the community, a white man in his seventies, life-long southerner. He says of the upcoming election, “If Obama gets elected, we better be ready and loaded for when they riot.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am twenty-seven, and in another Sunday school class, a white woman in her sixties makes the point that the Bible doesn’t actually say slavery was wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am twenty-nine, and my white friend Natalie tells me a story. She was taking her daughter’s friend home from school, and a young black man in a t-shirt and running shorts was jogging in place at the intersection. When she waved at him to let him know it was okay to cross, the five-year-old girl said, “Miss Natalie, you shouldn’t wave at that man. Black people are scary.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am thirty-one, and I mourn the loss of Trayvon Martin as I watch the story unfold. My boys wear hoodies every day. I am living in Olympia, WA where there are distinctly so few black people that I can’t believe a place like this actually exists. The next day, I overhear a conversation at the public library between two women whose children are enjoying story time, and I hear the word “post-racial” for the first time coming from the mouths of women who never actually interact with anyone who is not like them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am thirty-four. I am weary. I can’t engage on social media because it leaves me in tears. Nine people were shot in a house of worship because of the color of their skin. It’s June 18, 2015, but it feels like September 15, 1963. And as much as I want to stand up, speak out, do something—I feel paralyzed by the repeating narrative that is playing out on news stations and social media—the same damn conversation we’ve been having my entire life. The same damn conversation we’ve been having my mother’s entire life. I’d love to end with some words of hope, but I don’t have any. Frankly, I am just so damn tired of having a conversation full of empty words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, instead, I offer my story in an effort to encourage others to tell theirs. Racism is real and alive and as deadly as ever. These more recent stories are not surprises—they are exactly what I expect from a nation of people in complete denial about our heritage and history. They are exactly what I expect from a people unwilling to lay down their boxing gloves for one minute to realize that we are not supposed to be fighting each other. More people are dead. More people are going to die tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. And it’s our fault—all of us. I am tired, friends, and I can’t stop crying, and I am so, so angry and sad—at the circumstances—and at the fact that I don’t have the answers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My thoughts are with the people of Charleston, SC today, a place we called home for six years. May you find peace and solace in the arms of friends who are grieving with you.</span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-55352226993649417902015-02-25T13:46:00.000-05:002015-02-25T20:51:13.681-05:00New York, New York! Part 2<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I wrote a <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2015/02/traveling-alone-is-one-of-lifes.html">part 1</a> about my time at the SCBWI conference in NYC, so I guess that necessitates a part 2. If you don’t have time to read this whole thing, here’s a summary: either great things are going to happen, or I’m going to die because my brain explodes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, first a note about the conference itself—everything I attended fell into three categories: critique, industry information, and inspiration. Some of the things fell into more than one category.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some things that surprised me in a good way:</span></div>
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<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Many of the agents and editors were way more approachable than I expected. There is definitely a prevailing thought that industry insiders are aloof and too busy to smile. Not true at all. Some of them were less approachable, but it came off more as personality type, not ivory tower snootiness.</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some of the authors I have <span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: line-through;">stalked</span> <span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: line-through;">idolized</span> read have no idea how famous they are, or at the very least, fame seems to have had less of an effect on them than other “celebrities.” (On a related note, it must be exhausting being that nice to so many weird fangirly people.)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some things that surprised me in a bad way:</span></div>
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<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A disturbing number of people like to eat bagels+lox+capers at 8:30 in the morning.</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No one offered to publish my book on the spot. (I MEAN, IT’S BRILLIANT.)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Okay, just kidding. I’m not surprised that no one offered to publish my book. That’s not how these things work. But seriously, people. What is up with the lox and capers thing?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXM3U_5ND9sWlCF6YueRoNPJ9GYsSxiDiMX7UYBPLb6c84oHr_hOvj86uRnkSPU8vqvWTLGOR8nNCl-jL1mnt6xM8marKStKJgACndwNDfg0aoOcHFx42ZMQtr88IysAI9-88fxP6nF0/s1600/bagel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXM3U_5ND9sWlCF6YueRoNPJ9GYsSxiDiMX7UYBPLb6c84oHr_hOvj86uRnkSPU8vqvWTLGOR8nNCl-jL1mnt6xM8marKStKJgACndwNDfg0aoOcHFx42ZMQtr88IysAI9-88fxP6nF0/s1600/bagel.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">NOT breakfast despite what <a href="http://www.culinaryadventuresinthekitchen.com/2012/01/25/bagels-with-smoked-salmon/">this blogger</a> and many others believe. Gross.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, what now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, I have this book, and I think it’s a really good book. Based on the information I gleaned from sessions about writing, critiques with agents and editors, and panels, I think my book is ready for the market for three main reasons.</span></div>
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<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The market is begging for <a href="http://weneeddiversebooks.org/">diversity</a>. (See #WeNeedDiverseBooks on <a href="https://twitter.com/diversebooks">Twitter</a>.) My book is set in Ghana and Togo and chronicles the relationship between two Ghanaian girls and two American boys who are visiting them. I am relatively knowledgeable about what is on the shelves for children—I’ve <span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: line-through;">spent half my life sitting in the children’s section of bookstores and libraries</span> done extensive research about what is out there for kids re: stories about Africa, and I think there is room for my book. In our house, we’ve read picture books like <a href="http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/book/boundless-grace-pb#cart/cleanup"><i>I Lost My Tooth in Africa </i>by Penda Diakite and Baba Wague Diakite</a> (set in Mali) and <a href="http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/book/boundless-grace-pb#cart/cleanup"><i>Boundless Grace</i> by Mary Hoffman and Caroline Binch</a> (set in Gambia). I’m familiar with what the middle grade world has to offer re: African stories, and it is overwhelmingly stories about Egypt and South Africa. Anthony Horowitz (who was a pretty dynamic speaker at the conference) set one of his <i><a href="http://www.alexrider.com/">Alex Rider</a></i> books in Kenya. I have yet to find a successful middle grade novel set in Ghana and/or Togo (please let me know if you know of one because I’d like to read it!). There are other great books out there about Africa, but <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2011/01/would-you-like-to-pet-my-peeve.html">as I have said before</a>, Africa is a continent made up of many diverse countries/people groups, and I’m on a personal mission to stop this nonsense where we talk about Africa as one big ambiguous place.</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The second thing I heard that comes as no surprise is that agents and editors are looking for something “brilliant and original.” Here’s the truth about writing—we’re all writing the same story over and over and over again. There are only really about five themes that get tossed around and spit-shined into something “new.” My book is about family and friendship and traveling. It’s about breaking down stereotypes and personal biases after being exposed to new information. It’s about a clash of cultures so to speak, but I attempt to offer balance in perspectives through multiple narrators. This isn’t a story about people from the West traversing the “dark continent”—that’s been done far too many times (and is frankly offensive), and our world is ready for nuance. I believe my book provides a fresh take; it’s a story that needs to be told.</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://twitter.com/thisjordanbrown">Jordan Brown</a>, senior editor for HarperCollins Children’s said in his “Seven Rules for Writing Middle Grade” session that there aren’t actually any rules. There are some significant suggestions based on what the industry tends to publish, but the overwhelming theme of his talk was <b>“You can do anything you want, as long as it works.”</b> For every “convention” out there that tells me what not to do, I can find you an example of a book that defies that convention. Don’t start a book with dialogue—oops, <i>Charlotte’s Web</i>. Narrators can’t be dead—oops, <i>The Lovely Bones</i> and <i>Before I Fall</i> and <i>Thirteen Reasons Why</i>. Middle grade MUST be completely plot-driven—oops, <a href="http://www.bookinaday.org/">Kwame Alexander</a> just won the Newbery for his book <i><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/05/11/books/review/the-crossover-by-kwame-alexander.html?_r=0">The Crossover</a></i>, and the plot is tertiary to the character development/family dynamic and the beautiful verse in which it’s written. I’ve taken some risks with my book—it’s set in Africa; it has multiple narrators; it relies heavily on characters over plot (not that the plot is lacking, but it lacks some of the BOOM POW action/crazy twists/comedy of errors plot elements that are found in much of what is being published in middle grade right now). </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Bottom line: I still think it works, and I think it works well enough to start querying agents.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My current plan of action is this: </span></div>
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<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Make more lists because this post does not have enough lists.</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Spend this week going over all my notes/business cards/handouts from the conference.</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Spend the next two weeks working on tightening the beginning of the book and doing a major revision of the last two-thirds of the book (while balancing family/Somebody’s Mama/sub jobs).</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Attend one more conference in March, and then spend the rest of the month querying agents.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It’s an odd feeling sitting on this kind of energy. One minute, I feel like a cast member from <i>Girl, Interrupted </i>and the next I feel like Hermione punching Draco in <i>The Prisoner of Azkaban</i>—I, of course, am Hermione, and Draco is all the serious doubts and insecurities telling me my book sucks and I should just go get a job at Burger King.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, that’s all I’ve got right now. I’m working closely with a couple of beta-readers who are picking apart my book line by line, and I’m sitting down every day to work. Wish me luck!</span></div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1811198224135757900" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1811198224135757900" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-81322730469540056322015-02-06T23:09:00.000-05:002015-04-06T19:54:47.608-04:00New York, New York! Part 1<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Traveling alone is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Traveling alone to NYC for a <a href="https://www.scbwi.org/2015-annual-winter-conference-in-new-york/">writing conference</a>—well now, get on back. I realized in sitting down to write this post that I essentially started blogging because I was inspired by a trip to NYC (which you can read <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2010/08/nightlights-and-lullabies-part-1.html">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2010/08/nightlights-and-lullabies-part-2.html">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2010/08/nightlights-and-lullabies-part-3.html">here</a> because it’s three parts and ridiculously long because I didn’t understand how blogging works). So, this feels all sorts of full circle right now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m writing this post for my mom, who is nearly bursting because she needs to know everysingledetailabouteverythingrightthissecond, and for Sarah, who wants to know why I’m not posting all over Facebook. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I left Belleville Thursday afternoon via Metro to fly from St. Louis to New York City. I settled in with a book (<a href="http://hmhbooks.com/thetestingtrilogy"><i>The Testing</i> by Joelle Charbonneau</a> for the sake of anyone interested) for the hour-long ride. On the very next stop, a man got on, sat directly in front of me, and proceeded to pen the great American novel via text WITH ALL OF THE SOUNDS ON HIS PHONE TURNED ON. All of them. Oh, and it was a flip phone, like the very first cell phone I ever had a million years ago, so every single button was deep deep deeping. Forty-five minutes into the ride, I developed a tick and used every ounce of energy in my body to not grab the phone out of his hands and throw it out the doors right before the lady voice said “Please stand clear, doors closing” at the next stop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Luckily, he got off before I had a chance, and at that stop, another man got on and sat on the opposite side of the aisle two rows in front of me and immediately started barfing all over the train floor. The rocking of the train and angle of the floor spread his reverse liquid lunch in a ten-foot radius.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, um, rough start.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_pHyugy8yM6-w_HDmmhZtV2Y6C8cALOd0H0uV8Vq45TBIDgohbKhQTN8kDuFLD5ORabc6zW5ijwXnJsBN4_lJOgR54hHKfXxJ-V7MdzT5AvETphvygM8dCWx5WnVJwIFRMXM7XfcIFZc/s1600/IMG_1035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_pHyugy8yM6-w_HDmmhZtV2Y6C8cALOd0H0uV8Vq45TBIDgohbKhQTN8kDuFLD5ORabc6zW5ijwXnJsBN4_lJOgR54hHKfXxJ-V7MdzT5AvETphvygM8dCWx5WnVJwIFRMXM7XfcIFZc/s1600/IMG_1035.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">HOWEVER, I breezed through security (already checked in and carrying on) to find my flight delayed. I got out my mental juicer and made quick use of those lemons (or in this case limes) by enjoying a giant margarita while I waited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The flight was uneventful, and more importantly, my seatmate was THE PERFECT TRAVEL COMPANION—and by perfect, I mean the only conversation we had the entire flight was when I said, “That’s me” when I pointed at my window seat, so he would stand up for me to scoot by. I take that back—he made a cooing sound (really, like a happy baby) as we were landing and pointed out the window as we passed New York City At Night. We smiled dopily together at the Statue of Liberty, and he cemented the fact that he was my people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">By the time I got to <a href="http://www.thepodhotel.com/pod-discount-hotel-locations">my hotel</a>, it was almost 10 o’clock. Let me tell you—I can not say enough about how awesome this hotel is. The concierge looks like Bo Jackson—like this Bo Jackson from 1986. I have no idea what 2015 Bo Jackson looks like.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHTLeiwKbsnorOVySRtuOaTkUM6nwbqxIBNhjbQmhb-FoaLtNZCujOaqPH34F5VzZBxGx9-Tzxnfc-p9ipdJ4etzGiH7GlIFfPY8IvL7i0BBQeZDnnBHRKNfGXWMzFhTpW-4aYO4thc3w/s1600/bo-jackson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHTLeiwKbsnorOVySRtuOaTkUM6nwbqxIBNhjbQmhb-FoaLtNZCujOaqPH34F5VzZBxGx9-Tzxnfc-p9ipdJ4etzGiH7GlIFfPY8IvL7i0BBQeZDnnBHRKNfGXWMzFhTpW-4aYO4thc3w/s1600/bo-jackson.jpg" height="189" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The manager on duty called me over and then apologized for the smell and told Bo to tell the potheads outside the main door to move on down the road. I told her, “No worries. I just lived in Washington state for three years. If anything, it makes me nostalgic for home.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Okay, wait—let me go back to why the hotel is awesome. So, my “pod” is teeny tiny and so efficient, and if I had a mini-fridge, I could just move in here full-time.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhdFbEVz9rlD2TouYVeWSjB_0T5inDoMnS4UgOmSeF9yZDFFEzZ5iRwSiE2DxwtMyxAtiRUHaYjbyc2-Uw8yd-udhsMDhvR-P7lvUR7nvwstexDUCWYUaIOoe4dfPySI3F5052bMSx-0/s1600/IMG_1041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhdFbEVz9rlD2TouYVeWSjB_0T5inDoMnS4UgOmSeF9yZDFFEzZ5iRwSiE2DxwtMyxAtiRUHaYjbyc2-Uw8yd-udhsMDhvR-P7lvUR7nvwstexDUCWYUaIOoe4dfPySI3F5052bMSx-0/s1600/IMG_1041.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm standing on my bed in this picture. Otherwise, the selfie <br />looked like a floating head due to my short stature.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhPFPLEdJa4fTceHLg1G3ueorMIkr-IYSJ_XrHNauuk-01xbVcBEK9PJ76_FVXm4k-qJvUSqKj2ZRzJgTcK5FvGXZ9-WJc8SndPhYgq-Vk2o8HJJaXYdOa9H7hNLYsUiSSs9XQx4jfWY/s1600/IMG_1050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhPFPLEdJa4fTceHLg1G3ueorMIkr-IYSJ_XrHNauuk-01xbVcBEK9PJ76_FVXm4k-qJvUSqKj2ZRzJgTcK5FvGXZ9-WJc8SndPhYgq-Vk2o8HJJaXYdOa9H7hNLYsUiSSs9XQx4jfWY/s1600/IMG_1050.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I closed these blinds because I was feeling a little Rear Windowish.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Downstairs is this hip restaurant/bar called <a href="http://salvationtaco.com/">Salvation Taco</a>, and there are jars of peppers and Jesus statues everywhere. I told the waiter <span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: line-through;">I was starving but needed something that wouldn’t give me indigestion because I’m an old lady</span> I needed a snack. He suggested the al carbon quesadillas but warned me that they were a little spicy. Aaaaaaaaand, I ordered another margarita because I’m on vacation, and nobody is the boss of me. (P. S. New York spicy is not spicy. It’s weeny crybaby spicy, but the quesadilla+tomatillo salsa was still amazeboobs.)</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEca47x51rbc33I83QlFL3EvrOnecE6z2SJ9EnbqJkiLl9tyxpUzurUsXq6sSE349iQ5bXetJx2Gk6qiV_AHX3C8cUrkW8xby7TZLFoTkC_U4O_WEX98aCOABR3POSR40NcpfaYgM5z0/s1600/IMG_1046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEca47x51rbc33I83QlFL3EvrOnecE6z2SJ9EnbqJkiLl9tyxpUzurUsXq6sSE349iQ5bXetJx2Gk6qiV_AHX3C8cUrkW8xby7TZLFoTkC_U4O_WEX98aCOABR3POSR40NcpfaYgM5z0/s1600/IMG_1046.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Snapped a picture at the last minute because everyone else <br />in the restaurant was doing it, and I was trying to fit in.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_9I7FO0LWYp7XOBFiHio4sEYWvUl2tGhLXXv9IGspwf06AS5ZlDgYD0N7UYgXA7YNH841wA3huTQPbHqBpMfgpUAqJyDFBOC9N9sdUCQqN6qP9xgwO7R3FgtQdhC0bXkvIyAOomwxON0/s1600/IMG_1048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_9I7FO0LWYp7XOBFiHio4sEYWvUl2tGhLXXv9IGspwf06AS5ZlDgYD0N7UYgXA7YNH841wA3huTQPbHqBpMfgpUAqJyDFBOC9N9sdUCQqN6qP9xgwO7R3FgtQdhC0bXkvIyAOomwxON0/s1600/IMG_1048.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So many holy pepper jars.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After inhaling my snack, I inched my way out of the restaurant through the throng of beautiful people (men in their late 20s with light brown dress shoes and pocket squares and women with Brazilian blow outs) to make it back up to my room. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I prepared for the next morning by laying out my clothes and lining up all my toiletries in my cutesie little bathroom and crawled into bed. I called my boys to say goodnight and then flipped on the TV. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmr5Uri4Czy3jXJB5kuOzExci_I0Bm3v4PLZXUui2Rw7TCW_ZmB-m9wPlufRvvdlNXE9euwiFI00J_XJl-XfIIxof-EblatwINZTWFz7QdHzkxdMxRSbmvImxD4GHKtYEXfsoJNqcxfs/s1600/IMG_1052+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmr5Uri4Czy3jXJB5kuOzExci_I0Bm3v4PLZXUui2Rw7TCW_ZmB-m9wPlufRvvdlNXE9euwiFI00J_XJl-XfIIxof-EblatwINZTWFz7QdHzkxdMxRSbmvImxD4GHKtYEXfsoJNqcxfs/s1600/IMG_1052+2.PNG" height="223" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Allow me a moment to love them more than everything.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After scanning the late night drivel, I turned it off and willed myself to sleep. Unsuccessful. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What if I came on the wrong day, and no one is there tomorrow? (Turn on phone; check email; confirm dates.) What if I take out my pages at the roundtable and find out I printed the wrong pages? (Get out of bed; check pages; place pages back in bag.) What if there’s a fire in the middle of the night, and in my haste to not be burned alive, I run out into the frigid New York night in nothing but these sleep pants and this flimsy nearly see-through t-shirt I brought because it’s sooooooooooooooo comfortable but now all the hip guests in this fancy hotel will see my old lady nipples? (Get out of bed, pull suitcase out from under the bed; pull out sweater just in case.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Somewhere between ridiculously late and ridiculously early, I fell asleep and woke back up and dressed in what I thought would say, “Hey, no big deal. I’m a writer, and I take this very seriously, but I also like to be comfortable, and we writer types who do this all the time know how cold these hotel ballrooms can be, amIright?” I regret to inform you that I did not take a picture of said outfit, so you’ll just have to take my word(s) for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The conference went like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7:45 Smile and introduce myself. “You need to go to the writer check in. This is for illustrators.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7:45:30 Smile and introduce myself. “Registration opens at 8:00.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7:47 Stand in the bathroom taking down and putting up my very casual top knot over and over and over and over in an effort to look effortless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7:50 Get a piece of pound cake and a black coffee and stand near people I don’t know hoping they talk to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7:51 Talk to Lois, David, and Jodie and burn my mouth with coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">8:00 Be fourth person in line to get packet. Organize the million sheets of paper and find my place at table #9. Meet my tablemates and panic because I’m the only one not wearing purple.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">8:30 Sigh with relief when other tablemates arrive and are not wearing purple.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">9:00 Stop chatting and listen to panel of real live human agents discussing queries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">10:15 Round table with real live human agent and seven other participants. Receive feedback. Give feedback. Feel generally in love with the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">12:30 Business lunch with Becky Straw, co-founder of <a href="http://www.theadventureproject.org/">The Adventure Project</a>, current partner for <a href="http://somebodysmama.com/whats-new.htm">Somebody’s Mama’s quarterly project</a>. Forget to take a picture with her, but it totally happened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1:45 Second round table with real live human editor. Halfway through, fidget with earring, lose earring back. During break, climb under table to find it, aiming backside at said editor. Give up finding earring back because realize look like insane person. At end of session, editor finds earring back under her chair and graciously hands it back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3:45 <a href="https://twitter.com/bonniebader">Tweet at editor</a> apology for climbing under table and put phone away in time to listen to panel of real live editors talk about manuscript revisions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">5:00 Pack up bag and feel generally in love with the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Part of me really wanted to find a cohort for dinner, but most of me was exhausted from interacting with real live humans for nine hours and fifteen minutes in one stretch, so I headed to dinner alone at the <a href="http://www.samsplaceny.com/">Italian joint</a> across from my cutesie hotel. I had pinot grigio and fettucine alfredo (basically the adult version of grape juice and mac&cheese) and walked back across the street to prepare for Saturday’s festivities.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I still have two days at this conference, so stay tuned for another installment of “It’s been so long since I blogged regularly that I forgot that you can’t write pieces this long and expect people to read them.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In summary at the halfway point of this getaway, I can’t believe this is my life.</span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-88082365961686742252015-01-26T11:51:00.000-05:002015-01-26T11:56:25.853-05:00On Writing (for Real)<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Nearly two and a half years ago, <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-meaning-of-lifeor-whatever.html">I entered a new phase of life</a>—one in which I gave myself permission to write with a purpose. I’d been blogging to stay sane (like so many other mamas of littles), but I found myself looking at five hours a week with both of my children in school, and I was ready to be a real writer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, as life would have it, I did do <i>some </i>writing, but not nearly as much as I wanted, and then everything went topsy turvy when I found myself homeschooling and running a non-profit project, which took all of my waking brainpower hours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then, this past summer, almost two years after vowing I was going to be a <i>real</i> writer, I was in a completely new phase of life—with both children in school all day every day, living in a new state where I had very few true commitments or friends who required face time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For those of you who have been following my tiny saga on social media, let me just say THANK YOU for all of your kind words and virtual fist bumps as I updated you on my progress. I’m not vain enough to think that you’re all lying awake at night wondering how soon my book will be finished, but I do know that my village has carried me up the mountain with texts and phone calls and snail mail, as well as the barrage of ‘likes’ every time I update my word count.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I realized somewhere along the way that I was posting word count updates, but I wasn’t really filling anyone in on content. So, for anyone who is interested in what this process has looked like for me thus far, here you go.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcf3cadmQ96w1V9QLch4nKGN1bjzWdDg3q3-HgfXRAtnO_iz4GB3gS2AKbBM_pzA7ykbJQ8-U3sN0h8OAXYwwoa62w-lBYYB-3oYA7qVQhbctXODYu-BSxTzGoAIW1IMuhSBS1vedBK4/s1600/sit-at-typewriter-and-bleed-e1363082920273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcf3cadmQ96w1V9QLch4nKGN1bjzWdDg3q3-HgfXRAtnO_iz4GB3gS2AKbBM_pzA7ykbJQ8-U3sN0h8OAXYwwoa62w-lBYYB-3oYA7qVQhbctXODYu-BSxTzGoAIW1IMuhSBS1vedBK4/s1600/sit-at-typewriter-and-bleed-e1363082920273.jpg" height="181" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I committed to plopping my butt down for two hours five days a week. I wrote it on my to-do list every single day—8:30-10:30 WRITE. From mid-August to mid-November, I sat. There were a few days sprinkled in there when the piles of laundry won, and of course, there were a couple of days when life said, “Oops! You have a sick kid!" or "This appointment can only be scheduled in the morning.” But really—and this is HUGE—my butt was on the couch (or bed or chair) for about 91.5% of that scheduled time. A solid A-.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Just about every book on writing gives this as the first piece of advice—you have to have a schedule. Many of them also say viewing writing as an actual job and not a hobby is crucial to success. This is hard for me. Every job I have ever had has been paid by the hour or at the very least by tips. The idea that I could put hours and hours and hours of work into a project and never be compensated in any way gives me the tummy rumbles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I mean, yes—writing is an art, a craft, a hobby, an outlet. And there is intrinsic worth and satisfaction, not to mention therapeutic benefits in putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard). SURE. But when Scott and I came to the decision that I would take a gap year of sorts while both of our children are in school full-time before pursuing full-time employment (the kind with a guaranteed cash money check that comes every other Friday), it wasn’t so I could find myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am not lost. I do not need to be found. I want to be a writer who sells books.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I began by writing essays about ALL THE THINGS. My goal was to write a memoir-ish book in the same vein as what I’d been blogging for several years. Creative non-fiction for adults has been my jam since grad school when I wrote a book about my time on the Mercy Ship off the coast of West Africa. It comes easily, and it’s one of my true loves.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0IDpuQNVOv7ox61ETac-3rb2jhRYOVeGTaRjtO2G0QOY65gQeWO43NMpFtlXsbkP1TPinkv6rQSfURh-ikUUq2z49YGofRTufkwu1p7M0uef5_iqHuspMY1t6P0hBeTaAfe5LF4XcZfI/s1600/QuoteDiaries.com-intelligent-Madeleine-LEngle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0IDpuQNVOv7ox61ETac-3rb2jhRYOVeGTaRjtO2G0QOY65gQeWO43NMpFtlXsbkP1TPinkv6rQSfURh-ikUUq2z49YGofRTufkwu1p7M0uef5_iqHuspMY1t6P0hBeTaAfe5LF4XcZfI/s1600/QuoteDiaries.com-intelligent-Madeleine-LEngle.jpg" height="282" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My first true love, though, has always been writing for children. I wrote my first legitimate picture book in high school—a story about a little girl named Penelope who hates getting up for school in the morning (I can neither confirm nor deny the possibility of autobiographical content in this story). I have written bits of other picture books along the way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, when my adult non-fiction started feeling forced and unlovable, I fell into the loving arms of children’s lit and wrote a picture book called <i>My Name is Elikem</i>, based on one of our dear friends in Ghana. I joined the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and found a local critique group to help me figure out if the book worked at all. The overwhelming response was, “THIS IS NOT THE WHOLE BOOK.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The problem with that response is that picture books can only be so long, and the story people were asking me to tell was a longer one than would fit in 32 pages. Someone—I don’t remember who, but I’m going to say it was my friend, Katie, because I love her—suggested I try to morph it into a middle grade novel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Huh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This had never occurred to me, so I went home and stared at the screen for a few days trying to picture what that would look like. Over the next few weeks, an idea for a middle grade novel based on our travels to West Africa emerged like a group of old timey baseball players in a corn field. I started building, and it came.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I leave on February 5th for NYC, where I will present the first 500 words (gulp…) to a round table critique group including important-ish agent/publisher types. I’ll spend the rest of the weekend hobnobbing and trying not to stutter or draw too much attention to my nervous pit stains. This conference will be the first of its kind for me, and best case scenario, I’ll make some connections with people who can be guiding lights for me to figure out the best path for turning this book into a published book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Again, thank you to everyone who has encouraged me thus far. Cross your fingers and say a prayer or do whatever else you do that I have the right words at the right time to convince the right people that this is the right book for right now.</span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-60907960759493323542014-05-29T10:30:00.001-04:002014-05-29T10:51:08.663-04:00Why It's Okay That I'm Not in the Top 7<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook are overly aware that I’ve been competing in a competition to <a href="http://www.noondaycollection.com/styleforjustice">win a contest to travel to Rwanda with Noonday Style and International Justice Mission</a>. The top 7 will move on to the next round, and I ended the competition in 9th place.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Obviously, it’s disappointing. This trip would have taken me to a country I’ve wanted to visit since I was a child. I would have been able to network with some really great women about the issues <a href="https://www.facebook.com/somebodysmama">Somebody’s Mama</a> is working to address every day. And don’t get me started on the feelings I have about the outpouring of <strike>obsessive-compulsive voting</strike> love that I’ve experienced throughout this process. My village showed up in a major way, and that alone was worth being in this competition on a personal level.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, what now?</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, life. In the midst of the flurry that was this week, I was still an Air Force wife waiting to hear back about when my husband might come home from deployment. I was still a mom who got to feed and clothe and teach and snuggle two boys. I was still half of <a href="http://meetourmamas.blogspot.com/">Somebody’s Mama</a>, working to finish out a maternity unit in Sierra Leone. I was still a council member planning a spring stewardship fair at my church for this weekend. I was still the daughter who got to fly in and surprise her mom at her retirement party. All of those things happened while we were tap-tap-tapping away for votes on anything that would connect to the internet.<br />
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I shared this week—when I reached 8th for the first time—my thoughts on what would happen if I never moved up from 8th.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“…Because my heart is brimming, I'm questioning what happens if I never get past 8th place. What does any of this mean if this is as far as I get? So, in your honor, I have responded to every opportunity for kindness that has presented itself, keeping in mind the kindness that you have had for me this week.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">TOGETHER, we shared pizza with a man whose sign said "Hungry." Together, we threw change into the fireman's boot for MDA. Together, we bought a Sophia the First DVD for a stranger in the line at Target whose card was declined (he hugged us and cried with us). Yesterday, we took leftover wedding centerpieces to my friend <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ebuzzardwright">Erika</a>'s elderly neighbors. I wish that moment of watching our boys sharing fresh flower love with Carolyn (aged 102) could have been frozen in time. We did every single one of these things TOGETHER because I believe the love we take needs to equal the love we make.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started counting up the number of people who have liked or shared the link and decided something should be done in your honor. I lost track at some point when the number went over 100, so I'm just going to round up and donate $150 to the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/somebodysmama">Somebody's Mama</a> maternity unit project on behalf of all this social media love. So, this morning, whether I move up or not, we are being love together, and I can love because you loved me first.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And then, I DID move up from 8th. In fact, this morning, I was still in 5th place when I woke up. All day I watched as I fell further and further behind, baffled as person after person shared and voted in a frenzy. In the end, I’m not going to say something stupid like “everything happens for a reason.” The reason I didn’t get to 7th place is because other people got more votes than I did. We tried our damnedest. We really did.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We even made this awesome video that still makes me teary every time I watch.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I called on my village to rally, and rally you did. And when the clock struck 11:59 (or 9:59 in the Pacific time zone where I am), people immediately started sending messages of encouragement. Let me just tell you—I can die a happy woman after the nice things people have said during and after this competition. I mean that—it was like a week long eulogy for which I didn’t have to die to hear.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, THANK YOU again for all of it. I <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2010/10/headed-straight-to-failuretown.html">blogged a million years ago about failure</a>, and since then, I’ve been trying more and more things to get used to failing. Maybe that sounds stupid, but I think it’s an important life skill to hone. We’ve all heard the stories about how Michael Jordan’s high school coach cut him from the team and how Abraham Lincoln lost a gazillion elections before he became president. Those guys turned out okay, so I’m pretty sure I will, too.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This whole thing started because they asked for storytellers to apply. One thing I know about writing is that sometimes the best pieces go from good to great because of editing. I have removed sentences, paragraphs, sometimes entire chapters to a make a story better, so that's what I think is </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">happening here. This chapter doesn't fit in my story, and my story will be better for it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the meantime, I’m excited to see how the rest of the competition unfolds and to continue following the work of <a href="http://www.ijm.org/">International Justice Mission</a>. Excuse me while I go finish this maternity ward.</span></span><br />
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leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-89621965231294209652014-05-01T13:53:00.000-04:002014-05-01T18:11:19.858-04:00On Being Human<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thursday mornings are my Sabbath. I don't set an alarm, and I guard these hours from busyness with ferocity. Most often, I do a little laundry, give the kids cereal, and hunker down with a book and/or internet reading I've been saving throughout the week.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have to confess that the last two weeks I've been feeling a heaviness—one that comes and goes because I live with the curse/blessing of being unable to disconnect from sorrow—not the inner sorrow of being human but the bigger sorrow of being part of humanity (which I've found is actually the same thing). </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So as I scroll through the news stories about kidnapped schoolgirls and racist businessmen and death penalty debacles and D celebrity heroin overdoses, I have to stop and breathe and live with the tragedy. It hurts because as much as I'd love to stay above the emotions that bubble to the surface with these headlines, I can't. I don't have the ability to separate headline life from real life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">BUT.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And that is a big but—I also feel an overwhelming sense of hope in that inexplicable way that happens when life is hard. Let me just tell you about a few things that happened this week.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One of my kids in Togo posted a picture of a “photo de famille à CEHBED”—a photo of his family at the orphanage. Did you get that? HIS FAMILY. Because our kids—orphans—are being loved and encouraged and brought up to believe they are part of a family—one with a mom and a dad and dozens of aunts and uncles—and the siblings. So many brothers and sisters.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the moms and dads with pictures and videos of kids riding their bikes for the first time or singing in the talent show or telling jokes or falling asleep at the dinner table or sleeping next to the dog or throwing toys in the toilet—you know, doing all the things that kids do. It’s not minor minutia. These things matter—because these parents are recognizing the joys (and challenges) of parenthood and inviting us to be a part of their story.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the petitions we can sign to affect change in Washington and around the world, the invitations to write to our congresspeople, those activist friends of mine who take time out of their rat wheel living to say, “Wait just one minute—I won’t let this happen on my watch!” God bless the activists for waking the rest of us up.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Let’s talk about the devastation from natural disasters, but let’s talk more about the clothing, food, and water drives. Let’s talk about neighbors helping neighbors—about boyfriends rescuing their girlfriends from falling walls and children found alive in the rubble because rescue workers have gone without sleep for days. Let’s talk about beauty from ashes, mourning and dancing hand in hand.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And how about the people deciding today is the day to make the big step in the right direction? The new house in a new city because of a new job. The writing workshop that marks the start of a new dream. The first AA meeting—or the first in a long time. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And can we talk about all the new babies that were born in the last two weeks? So many—and I cry EVERYSINGLETIME someone posts those gooey, wrinkly pictures with their private parts waving hello to the world because even though they don’t know it yet, these mamas and daddies have just unleashed world-changing potential into the universe in the form of a wiggly, crying bundle of flesh and blood.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the pictures of all the fighters—the ones with bald heads and puffy faces and equipment in their noses. My loved ones, your loved ones, our friends’ loved ones—and we’re reading their blogs and raising money for their care by running races and shaving our heads and celebrating small victories in their fight because they’re OURS—they belong to us, and no matter what’s ahead we need the world to know that we’ll be right by their side the whole way.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And allow me a moment to reflect on <a href="http://meetourmamas.blogspot.com/">the work I’m doing</a> right now—my heart is shattered by the statistics about women and babies dying in Sierra Leone. My friend, Gay, who visited the hospital where we’re trying to build a maternity unit said, “I saw more women and children die in seven days than I did in my more than twenty year career as a nurse.” It’s enough to make me double over in physical pain, bringing me to my knees in prayer.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">BUT.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">More than sixty people have said NO. We won’t let this be their story—OUR story—we can do better. And we’re doing better. Together. Because that’s the best way to live.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, today, on my Sabbath, I’ll be watching my kids ride their bikes through the window as I fold a basket of laundry and build a maternity ward. In the immortal words of the prophet, Ben Harper, “I’ve felt pleasure, and I have felt pain, and I know now that I can never be the same.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Namaste, friends.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-79294868300545303832014-02-24T19:42:00.000-05:002014-02-24T19:54:14.954-05:00To Go to Togo 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3XdpV4jcfyk1GKLKCpUU4BRI6aSQY0pEdJvX-sG947mQ2-mzqYlfBNO2o8BFoxDZGXEhQISG210q-d3RQxjQTYITrKGKPLnPFcnNS_UV2gdjJ32yuEBO3AGkjBCxpLcJ5hfPfh7CPpU/s1600/leia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3XdpV4jcfyk1GKLKCpUU4BRI6aSQY0pEdJvX-sG947mQ2-mzqYlfBNO2o8BFoxDZGXEhQISG210q-d3RQxjQTYITrKGKPLnPFcnNS_UV2gdjJ32yuEBO3AGkjBCxpLcJ5hfPfh7CPpU/s1600/leia.jpg" height="270" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 2003, when I was but a wee lass, I hopped a ship to West Africa and found pieces of my heart I didn’t know were missing. I was young, unmarried, without children, and idealistic as anyone. Eleven years later, I’m humbled to think of the person I’ve become because of the relationships I’ve built with my Togolese friends. Since my initial trip with Mercy Ships, I have returned twice: once to introduce my dad to Togo and then six years later to introduce my husband and firstborn. When I started telling people that we are returning to West Africa in March, I was met with a myriad of responses. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From friends who have known us a long time, things like:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Wow, that’s exciting! </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What are you doing this time?</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How can we help?</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From people who haven’t known us as long:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Wait—what?</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You’re taking your children WHERE?</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where’s Togo?</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The whole story is a long one (hey…wait…maybe someone should write a book about it…), but I’m going to do my best to sum it all up in less than a thousand words.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I returned to the United States after my stint with Mercy Ships in 2003, I had a plan to help a pastor who was caring for 77 orphans who lived in his front yard—a monumental task to begin. Within months, we’d procured funding to cover the costs of food, education, clothing, and basic medical care. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Along the way, we’ve partnered with Pastor Celestine and the children of CEHBED (an acronym for something really long and French) to create a safer, more sustainable living environment for the children. (You can see the building we helped build <a href="https://www.woodlandschurch.net/woodiestv/cehbed-orphanage-togo#">in this video shot in 2011</a> by members of a partner church in Bristol.) Many of our kids have gone on to attend technical schools to learn how to be mechanics and seamstresses. The twelve-year plan has included building the new building, continuing to provide for basic needs, and helping them start small enterprise businesses to provide a sustainable income for the orphanage.<br />
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Aside from our work with CEHBED, we have partnered with two other pastors: Tomety, in the remote village of Badoughbe, and James, the leader of a fishing community in Lome. Both pastors run sustainable businesses that employ members of their communities and have facilitated micro-loan programs for widows and single mothers. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In rural Badoughbe, we partnered to build the first school in the community and to start a poultry farm that will make the school self-sustaining. In the fishing village, we helped Pastor James build a church, which serves as a true community center for many things, where they had been meeting in an open air hut that was vulnerable to the elements.<br />
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You may have noticed that I used some form of the word “sustain” several times, and that wasn’t on accident. When we talk about “changing lives” or “changing the world,” our organization believes in empowering people to do the hard work of changing their communities. 4HIM has a history of giving a hand up, rather than a hand out to our neighbors and friends, and we have learned that when we approach giving in this light, everyone learns, everyone feels loved, and everyone wins.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My family of four has committed $8,750 to our trip this time around. We’ve saved a good portion of that ourselves and asked some of our family members to consider giving us the gift of this experience as a family for Christmas this year instead of giving actual gifts. On the outside, that might sound like a sacrifice, but we consider spending this money an investment in pure joy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the past, when I or other friends have traveled to Togo, we have experienced situations that were so simple to solve. For example, we met a woman whose mode of transportation was two buckets. She was missing legs, and her system was to sit on one bucket, drag her second bucket in front of her, and then hoist herself to the second bucket with her arms. She did this repeatedly to get anywhere she needed to go. For $35, her life was changed when some team members purchased a wheel chair for her.<br />
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At other times, we’ve shown up to find that the children of the orphanage needed new mattresses because of a bed bug infestation or new shoes for school, but Pastor Celestine did not want to ask for help, and we are able to meet these needs with a few hundred dollars. When we do these things, we use money from our own pockets and from the general fund at 4HIM. It’s the kind of giving that has immediate, tangible results. Again, this is the kind of giving that equates with pure joy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, for those of our friends who have asked how you can help because you’ve been around long enough to know what great successes we’ve had, this is how you can help. Please donate to 4HIM’s general fund by clicking on the link below. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://give.idonate.com/nonprofit-donate/4-him/#/step1"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span>Click here to send your love to Togo!</a></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the special requests section, type “Johnson Togo Trip” and every dollar will go toward these sorts of amazing, immediate needs we see along the way. We have a couple of things in mind already—things that we believe will be a blessing to our friends in Togo. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Modeling some gifts from our friends during our 2011 trip!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Our friend, Jamie (pictured third in line above) shared her desire that the CEHBED orphanage have a library. She sent three popular picture books in French for me to pack in my suitcase. My desire is that we can add to this library while we are there at a bookstore in Lome (buy local!).</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. While we visit Pastor James in the fishing village, we hope to visit as many neighbors as we can to give each family some rice and beans. The village is made up primarily of widows and children, and we want to do something simple to make their day better.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. When we visit Badoughbe, we will be helping with some of the planting and work around the poultry farm, and we are hoping to help them purchase some needed supplies and tools.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">These are things we know we already want to do, and I know that we will come across more problems to solve along the way. We would be honored if any of you would partner with us! Thanks for reading our story, and thanks in advance for your support and prayers for traveling mercies.</span></span>leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-50385687180365201912014-01-29T17:58:00.000-05:002014-01-29T17:58:55.992-05:00Friendsday #10<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My kids are eight and five. Our days are generally filled with video games, laugh track TV shows, and chapter books. We’re all routine-y, so the dynamic of mom and kid interaction is pretty predictable and lovely. We have what I like to call the occasional full moon fall out when one of them loses his mind over something completely inane (or more often I reach some sort of mental limit and have to apologize later), but really, truly, honestly most of our days are awesome. Breakfast, lunch, school, after school activities, dinner, bedtime. With so very little drama that I feel like I’m cheating at parenting somehow.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A good number of my friends are still in the under five stage of motherhood, and it seems strange to say, but that stage of motherhood feels like a lifetime ago. I am so far removed from nursing, sleep schedules, napping, potty training, and sleep deprivation that sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. I think to myself—<i>was it really as bad as *these people* make it out to be?</i> “These people” are all of my friends who post things on Facebook on the regular like “Bedtime has been moved to 6:00 this evening so no one dies” or “I haven’t slept longer than one hour straight in four nights…teething is from the devil!”</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I read those words, and I’m tempted to do what older women did to me when I was bemoaning the fact that my husband was gone AGAIN during an emergency room visit or that someone had just peed all over the shower curtain. I’m tempted to give advice or say something like “Cherish your littles because they grow so fast!” But I don’t. 1) Because I would never actually say something <i>that </i>cheesy, and 2) because I remember wanting to punch people in the face when they said those sorts of things to me. (If someone ASKS for my advice, I’ll give it, but I’ve made a general rule to let other people parent their children because they’re not mine to parent.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The reality is that those early years <i>were </i>challenging. Will didn’t sleep through the night and rarely napped longer than 23 minutes (seriously, you could have used him as a cookie timer) until he was 2 1/2. You read that right. TWO YEARS AND SIX MONTHS of waking up multiple times a night. I didn’t give him away because he was freakishly happy during the day even with no sleep. Ben, on the other hand, slept like he wrote the book on sleeping but screamed like someone was giving him a lobotomy for the first nine months of his life every time we got in the car. Will had a four-month period during his third year where he would screamcry until he threw up if I told him to take a nap. Of course, this was right around the time that Ben began to HATE clothes—all clothes, including his diaper. So, sometimes they would scream in tandem, chasing me around the house like two little naked, sleepy banshees.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The reality of what those days were actually like lies somewhere between my nostalgia of a quiet nursing baby and the disaster I described above. In fact, it’s all of that, nostalgia and disaster rolled into a moment of motherhood that shaped me in ways that no other relationship with human beings has.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That might be the longest introduction I’ve ever written for a Friendsday post, but I say all of that to say this: the reason we all made it through that stage in tact had a lot to do with my friend, Jenna. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jenna, I chose this picture because 1) I love your hair like this, <br />and 2) almost all of the pictures of just you are of a pregnant you. Ha!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Jenna’s husband and my husband were both pilots at Charleston AFB when we met, and I’d known <i>of</i> Jenna through friends for a long time before I ever met her. Our friendship started at Rolly Pollies, one of those places with lots of wide open squishy space for your children to bounce around and run. Our oldest kids, Will and Samantha, were enrolled in the Beetles class, where they were learning basic gymnastics and other energy-using skills. For us, two women with three-year-olds and newborns, it was forty-five minutes of someone else engaging with our children a couple of times a week. Jenna and I would sit on the benches watching Will and Sam balance on the beam or flip on the trampoline while we nursed our babies and talked about The Bachelor. The conversation was not deep, but it was also not about Little Bill or goldfish crackers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Eventually, the conversation shifted to sharing our mothering experiences, our faith, and our life as military spouses. We started attending “open gym” sessions together, when we could let our growing babies crawl around on the giant blocks while the bigs jumped in the foam pit. Quickly, we added a new dimension to our routine—grabbing dinner at an Asian fusion place in the same area as Rolly Pollies. We’d bundle everyone into the car and drive over to Red Leaf, where the waitresses (thankfully) fell in love with our brood.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Will and Sam would play “school” under the table (which I realize seems wildly inappropriate in most eating establishments), each of them taking turns “teaching” each other how to spell new words. We’d drink tea and eat pad thai and gyoza, checking on our table trolls occasionally and nursing the littles.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5U6IzRkGU3VdRw4d9fTdp6hIghTIPRJJk_g4Aq6aa-9_Zep8Rc86vr4yc3hzXETmNNTaPn3KM2GYrdrmWj9xeBjkXJ9vebichzvH7Jrb50Uyk3US9uH9SFxl-jCLy8DXCSBzOZwfNueo/s1600/family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5U6IzRkGU3VdRw4d9fTdp6hIghTIPRJJk_g4Aq6aa-9_Zep8Rc86vr4yc3hzXETmNNTaPn3KM2GYrdrmWj9xeBjkXJ9vebichzvH7Jrb50Uyk3US9uH9SFxl-jCLy8DXCSBzOZwfNueo/s1600/family.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Before Jenna and her family moved, we had added one more dynamic to our ritual that sometimes included our in town husbands. After our earlyish dinner, our counterparts would be getting off work, so they’d join us and our worn out babes at Rita’s, an Italian ice place that served snocones and custard. On several occasions, our kids, now all old enough to at least toddle around a bit, would run the length of the building in the drainage ditch that separated parking lots, while our husbands timed them to see how fast they were. And we would sit on the red benches, spooning the last our our snocones into our mouths as the sun set.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I think part of the reason I have a hard time remembering how difficult that stage of life was is because most of my memories are like this—laughing and eating and watching my kids make friends. When our family took a road trip to CA two summers ago, Jenna packed up her three kids (she’d added one since we’d seen them last) and drove to Downtown Disney from a couple of hours away to have dinner with us. We stay connected through social media—with conversations about homeschool and The Bachelor (some things <i>don’t </i>change), and I’m continually entertained and encouraged by the way she opens herself up to the people around her through her “Friday confessions,” in which she relays some story about something stupid she’s done in her life. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One of my friends, who is in the thick of this stage of motherhood right now posted on Facebook, “If it takes a village, where’s mine?” And I responded, “Ha! You have to build it!” I know why she posted that exasperated status—she’s got a three-year-old who wants to do everything by himself and a five-month-old who can’t do anything for herself, and that can feel really isolating—especially in this life where our husbands are gone so much and our families don’t live near. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Jenna was a huge part of my village in a time when I often felt like the idiot. Village-building can be challenging and exhausting (and not natural for those of us who would rather hide away in our Hobbit holes), but it is also life-affirming and life-saving at times.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Thank you, Jenna, for being a person who showed me the value of raising the roof of friendship over pillars of shared laughter and tears and on a foundation of vulnerability and love</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">. Keep up the good work—you are one of the best village people I know.</span></span>leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-44054700573024143042014-01-15T19:37:00.000-05:002014-01-15T20:19:00.201-05:00Friendsday #9<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 2003, I spent a semester at sea, working with <a href="https://www.mercyships.org/home/">Mercy Ships</a>. I’d dreamed of going to Africa for years, and volunteering in the hospitality department on the M/V Anastasis<i>,</i> a traveling hospital ship off the coast of West Africa, was my ticket. I had just graduated from college and was engaged to be married, and I was every bit idealistic and passionate and ambitious as anyone should be at twenty-two.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the five-month period that would become the basis for the story of my masters thesis in grad school, I met three girls—Sarah, Jessica, and Maro—who became my family away from family as we navigated the cathartic joy and bumbling pain of international travel. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I know a picture exists of all four of us leaning over the reception desk on the ship, <br />but this is the only picture I could find that I had saved digitally--<br />Sarah and I at a dance party/lunch in Sierra Leone. <br />One of the best days of my entire life.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the past eleven years, we’ve seen each other in spurts. This one was able to go to that one’s wedding. These three gathered because the timing was right. When our family found out we’d be stationed in WA, we were overjoyed because it would mean being within an hour and a half of both Jessica’s and Sarah’s families. Maro was still waaaaaaay over in FL (which was nice when we lived in Charleston, SC), but the other three of us could gather semi-regularly.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sarah and her husband, Kris, took assignments doing international relief work in Kenya and then South Sudan for a good portion of our time in WA, but we saw them on their trips home and happily stored all their belongings in our garage. Last month, when Kris and Sarah were officially home for good, we got a message from Maro's husband, Rich, that their family was thinking about trekking out west for a vacation.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Within two days, Jessica, and her husband, Andrew, had organized a long weekend in Leavenworth, WA—a Bavarian “Christmastown” known for its charming downtown and snow-related activities. The plan was to pitch in food and go where the wind took us.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And we’d all be together. For the first time in eleven years.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Maybe you’ve got friends like these—you first met at camp and saw each other every summer for seven summers and then not again for ten years, when you ended up living in the same city. Or maybe you were roommates during the one year of college you spent away from home, and you meet up every time she’s in town for business. Maybe you shared a short assignment to a remote Air Force base with very little to do for entertainment and haven't lived in the same place since.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">These kinds of friendships are different than the ones you create with your mom’s best friend’s daughter, who was your best friend before you were born or the girl who sat next to you in first grade who still calls you once a week. Those friendships have had time to simmer slowly and are obviously delicious. But these other kinds of friends—the kind of people who have lived through intense moments of life together—they make for instantly deep friendships with a level of love and commitment that defies reason.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I packed our bags for Leavenworth, I thought about the fact that I didn’t <i>really</i> know what to expect from the weekend. If I travel with the people I hang out with on a regular basis, I know what to expect—who likes to stay up late or be the first one up, who’s messy and who cleans up after everyone. But this group of people—we don’t share life daily together. In fact, the last time we did, none of us was even married. Now, we’d be heading to a house in the mountains with eight adults and eight (and a half) children. And you know what? I wasn’t worried one bit about any of it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I know this to be true about humans: good people are good people. When you’re “picking up where you left off” after eleven years with good people, it just works.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGQ9N2ozSMyBE7o-uKQA3xCBlegAiQ-Corjs1lyQS0xpiWlqZGkrzkCMxwUesNHHyckldujNuMDTeWid-tDUGawxlpFJPPcSH8ClZ6UEqDjw5LKHmY9vPR9UbKIA5_OuAIF4QEOxMNj0/s1600/IMG_3375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGQ9N2ozSMyBE7o-uKQA3xCBlegAiQ-Corjs1lyQS0xpiWlqZGkrzkCMxwUesNHHyckldujNuMDTeWid-tDUGawxlpFJPPcSH8ClZ6UEqDjw5LKHmY9vPR9UbKIA5_OuAIF4QEOxMNj0/s1600/IMG_3375.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The four of us squished on a love seat</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Throughout the weekend, I watched as one mom fixed a plate for all the kids, not just her own, while a dad wiped the face of a kid who didn’t belong to him. We shared food and mittens, played games and went sledding, stoked the fire and shuffled around a giant house in slippers. And it felt like we’d been doing it forever.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The night before we all headed back to real life, the kids (who had been getting along freakishly well all weekend) were tucked into bed, and the adults were snacking on all the things we’d hidden from the kids during the day. We asked questions of each other about all the things that needed “catching up”—how is your brother? How has your pregnancy been? What’s this new business venture? What’s the next step in your career? How’s the adoption process going? Big questions with big answers that kept us talking late into the night.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0LD_c2G0Pco2JFwKs4E8tEL0Ym9RPnPJwbPzflvGIH03cYCiwizerz5SN9x9LN5Et_p18mwDkCAzWynXUsZQhBSjAKgOXSBhHbIAjACrjWC7-sn0jd2BJvzaUQuvpEn5Um2W4iLVNkM/s1600/IMG_3554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0LD_c2G0Pco2JFwKs4E8tEL0Ym9RPnPJwbPzflvGIH03cYCiwizerz5SN9x9LN5Et_p18mwDkCAzWynXUsZQhBSjAKgOXSBhHbIAjACrjWC7-sn0jd2BJvzaUQuvpEn5Um2W4iLVNkM/s1600/IMG_3554.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggb91YYWTTktDBQOqLoNNTA15wn5NR79QMmoMjjqVH8l0WdjxzK2eHYmweMT2R7IkQb2FvD6mtc7xx6bTctfTOFrzDbvKSwO-Fzq-Ldib6mP9k0eJfG69H9nx3QVpDQl00PtqdeZZmVik/s1600/IMG_3542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggb91YYWTTktDBQOqLoNNTA15wn5NR79QMmoMjjqVH8l0WdjxzK2eHYmweMT2R7IkQb2FvD6mtc7xx6bTctfTOFrzDbvKSwO-Fzq-Ldib6mP9k0eJfG69H9nx3QVpDQl00PtqdeZZmVik/s1600/IMG_3542.jpg" height="292" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And one with Sarah's growing Fruit included</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The weekend was peppered with reminiscing about moments on the Mercy Ship—that time when we were young and goofy and just stepping into the skin of adulthood, when we were thrown together for a few months on the other side of the globe. As I watched each of us handing off an upset child to her spouse or nursing a baby or baking good morning rolls or organizing the mountain of snow boots and coats, I couldn’t help but be <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/16/happiness-habits-of-exuberant-human-beings_n_3909772.html">supremely happy</a>. <b>There is no greater joy in this kind of friendship than realizing that reality is infinitely more beautiful than the picture you had created through nostalgia.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Jessica still has perfect timing with her smart, quiet jokes, and Sarah’s and Maro’s laughter is still the perfect response. I like to think we are more comfortable in our adult skin now, but if you peel back the layers of years of living on opposite coasts and navigating marriage and family life without daily interaction, we are still very much the four girls who met on a ship off the coast of Sierra Leone. We planted the seeds of friendship in the soil of intense adventure and watered each other with our love for justice and mercy and laughter and grace in such a way that our roots have inextricably intertwined. Our family tree is broad and beautiful and still growing.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks to all three of you for this weekend. And for everything.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wZQCBqZ2vAFdNN3UbvrPMTdni_BJqbynzVTordO8ZYRsvChGe3YH2muFALApLw0P7NM2rCopOV8P2EQR3ZGMAdpRZJGn4eSZuAC9Wz_fHyImgT9dW-pX4VPwg4JNy5Q5tlGzDX1aA84/s1600/IMG_3555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wZQCBqZ2vAFdNN3UbvrPMTdni_BJqbynzVTordO8ZYRsvChGe3YH2muFALApLw0P7NM2rCopOV8P2EQR3ZGMAdpRZJGn4eSZuAC9Wz_fHyImgT9dW-pX4VPwg4JNy5Q5tlGzDX1aA84/s1600/IMG_3555.jpg" height="464" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sixteen and a half people all looking at the camera <br />at the same time while the camera is on automatic. <br />Nothing short of miraculous.</span></span></td></tr>
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leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-8638526336957696362014-01-08T18:25:00.002-05:002014-01-08T21:40:31.479-05:00Friendsday #8<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I was born, I had 72 living grandparents. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but thanks to short generation gaps and good genes, I have vivid memories of time spent with grands and greats. Grandpa Joe pickled his own cucumbers in gallon jars. Grandma Bea gave me pennies in recycled jelly jars. Grandpa Claude walked around with a pipe in his mouth that he never smoked. Grandma Marge (whom I called “Grandma March” because I thought that was her <i>actual </i>name for far too long) kept a step stool conveniently perched next to the cookie jar. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQZX-YDi-ex_S4rxL_SDkieRAW9HrRlXGofCutiQGwsPZE47JrCm9DI1Zb6_KlU_i62MNVbS8oDSIXFZfvl6B_KL51hBSVhAO5-MdJNkaQrjki6PaECgD89VMYo92uvdF9mmPgfcPuVw/s1600/00002453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQZX-YDi-ex_S4rxL_SDkieRAW9HrRlXGofCutiQGwsPZE47JrCm9DI1Zb6_KlU_i62MNVbS8oDSIXFZfvl6B_KL51hBSVhAO5-MdJNkaQrjki6PaECgD89VMYo92uvdF9mmPgfcPuVw/s1600/00002453.JPG" height="317" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some of my earliest memories are of visits to older members of our church’s congregation with my mom. We’d drop by, sometimes unannounced, and I’d sit on floral-printed couches while my mom spoke in hushed tones to ladies who seemed older than the Earth to me. They’d talk about their grandchildren, their children, their husbands who had passed--sometimes decades before, or about their Bible study group or recent trip to the grocery store. Most often, my mom would not need to ask more than three questions to fill the hour with listening opportunity, and almost always, I would fall asleep in her lap to the squeak of a rocking chair.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When we moved to Olympia, WA, we attended a hip-ish church for a few months and never felt “at home” for lots of reasons. When we signed Ben up for preschool at a Lutheran church, we decided to attend a service. Our second Sunday, Scott was gone, so I attended a Sunday school class by myself, and I was the youngest person in the class by thirty years.</span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Most of the members of the class had me by forty, fifty, even sixty years.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One lady came up to me after class and bear-hugged me. When she let go, she grabbed my wrists and squeezed, not letting me go. She introduced herself as “Lucille” and quickly told me that her husband had been in the military--I knew she was my people when she ribbed me a little about the difference between Army wives and Air Force wives. Before we left, she took down my name and phone number and stuck it in her purse before shuffling off toward the sanctuary.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over the next few weeks, our church attendance was a little spotty because of summer activities, and I got a note in the mail from Lucille saying how nice it was to meet me and my little family. One day, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. When I said hello, she launched into a conversation. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Leia? This is Lucille from church. We met at Sunday school.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yes, I--”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“I was wondering how you are. I haven’t seen you the last few weeks.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Yes, we’ve been really busy--out of town a couple of weekends--”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Well, I hope you’ll come back. I want to see you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“I’m definitely planning on it!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Okay, see you. Bye.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You are right to assume I was right back in Sunday school the next Sunday. Over the last couple of years, Lucille has remained a ray of sunshine in the Washington rain. I see her occasionally in the middle of the week at church because my women’s Bible study meets at the same time as her senior exercise group. Twice, I’ve run into her around town running errands, and she pays no attention to the people waiting behind her in line when she stops to tell me glad she is to see me and to ask how things are going, always brightly dressed and smiling.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today, Will and I ran to our favorite farm stand to grab some produce before we had to pick up Ben from school. I saw Lucille standing by the potatoes and onions. I scooted past her buggy and hugged her. Immediately, she started talking about how much she loves me. Right there in the store. She grabbed my arms, my face, my hands, and said, “I’m just so happy to see you. I love you so much!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I said, “I know! I love you, too!” she stopped me, grabbed my hands again and said very seriously, “Those are important words--I love you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Will was standing behind me, playing his 3DS, which has a camera. He said, “Mom, let me take a picture of you guys!” We posed with a random guy who was looking at potatoes. The two of them started chatting about how kids are so smart about technology. Lucille said to this stranger, “Do you know that I’m going to be 95 this year?” And his response struck me. “Well, good on you! I’m almost 70, and anyone who would get out in this weather is either healthy or stupid.” They laughed and laughed, and I said a tiny prayer of thanks, like I do, for this little miracle of a moment in my day.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then I grabbed my phone and taught Lucille about selfies.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Much is said about how older generations get frustrated with “kids these days” and younger generations complain about how out of touch their parents and grandparents are. Maybe it’s because I’ve been old since I was born, but I have always had a healthy appreciation of the people who made me, the people who have lived more life than I have. More often than not, I prefer to learn from other people’s experiences when possible--good and bad. When it comes to all the things that really matter--the way I explore my faith, the way I love my husband, the way I mother my children, or the way I cultivate friendships, I take cues from people who have lived well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When Lucille was leaving, she walked up to Will and cupped his face in her hands in a moment that was too beautiful to interrupt with a picture. She said, “I need you to come to my house and teach me about my iPad!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I love Lucille. I love her for the number of years she’s lived--almost three times mine. I love her for her cold hands and bright yellow rain jacket. I love that she’s 94 and still gets out to buy onions. I love her because she’s who I want to be when I grow up--someone who writes notes and makes phone calls, someone who recognizes the importance of finding common bonds with people who seem very different by appearances, someone who knows the value of saying I love you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today is for Lucille. We’ll be paying her a visit next week to make sure she knows how to read this on her iPad.</span></span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-53955919155397635982013-12-23T20:43:00.000-05:002013-12-23T20:52:42.629-05:00We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. (Oscar Wilde)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">During the Christmas season, we are told by our churches and our families and Macy’s to BELIEVE—in Jesus and in Santa and in holiday cheer, and for some of us, it’s easy. I am surrounded by the “faithful,” joyful and triumphant, ready to behold the King of Angels. We will adore him in our Christmas Eve services with candles lit during “Silent Night,” our children acting out the Nativity at an altar built for a baby in a manger.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I count myself in that number because I really do BELIEVE in capital letters the gospel message of Christmas. If you asked most people who know me well, they would undoubtedly call me a Christian. But if I’m honest about my faith (and I don’t have time or energy for a dishonest faith) when it comes to the nuts and bolts of the Christmas story, I am a doubter. Reading the Bible and theological commentaries jumbles things for me. Add to that the ugliness that parades around as Christianity in our time, and I want to hide in my Hobbit hole with my fingers in my ears and cry. I just have so many questions—and a lot of heartache and pain. Luckily, I have in the last decade been part of two faith communities where my questions were welcomed, and in some instances, answered. One of my favorite blogger/author/moms, <a href="http://jenhatmaker.com/">Jen Hatmaker</a>, gave me words to describe my faith when she blogged at <a href="http://deeperstory.com/home/story/">A Deeper Story</a>: <b>I am comfortable letting my mind suffer, yet letting my spirit rest.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’ve thought more and more about this kind of thinking faith that relies heavily on resting in love and grace, while struggling to reconcile reality with the narrative my faith provides. I’m reminded of the importance of living this out transparently with the people around me when I get messages from new friends that say, “I liked your post today. For the actual story and also because I now know you at least won’t judge me for not being Christian…I am glad to know you will still accept me even though I have no idea what I believe…”</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>If this Christmas, you are a doubter or a going-to-church-to-keep-the-peace-with-my-motherer or a I-don’t-know-what-I-believer, this post is for you. BECAUSE YOU ARE MY PEOPLE.</b> Even though I’ve labeled myself a Christian, a truly life-long Christ follower, my faith is a process. Contrary to what some of my counterparts preach, I don’t have the answers to a lot of your questions (or mine), but I CAN tell you why at the end of the day, even when I’m angry about how my faith is portrayed in the media or by other Christians, I have not thrown in the towel.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One of the Christmas songs that rarely gets played on the radio but has been stuck in my head this season is “We Three Kings,” a song about the quest of the Magi to bring gifts for the Baby Jesus. In essence, here are some smart people (who by the way were not kings, but pagan astrologers by most theological accounts) who leave on a journey to find salvation—from a hostile world, from eternal meaninglessness, from themselves. Through the song, the chorus repeats:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">O star of wonder, star of night, <br />
Star with royal beauty bright, <br />
Westward leading, still proceeding, <br />
Guide us to thy perfect Light.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Magi were literally following a star, a medium with which they were all too familiar as astrologers. We as Christians look for the star of wonder, the perfect light in Jesus. When I say I am following Christ, this is what I mean: Jesus Christ is a shining star on a dark night. My dark night looks like fear and doubt, like anger and depression, like disappointment and fatigue. The Christ child represents love and confidence, happiness and perspective, encouragement and energy. A guiding light in the dark. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One of my favorite TV characters is Sue Heck from ABC’s <i>The Middle</i>, a lovable if clumsy high school sophomore, whose less than fashionable clothes and braces get in the way of her popularity. She is the epitome of everything that was painful about high school, but she remains an eternal optimist, an idealist who believes the best about others and herself, despite what the rest of the world might be trying to tell her. In a recent episode, Sue had some friends over for a sleepover and long story short, she experienced a supernatural experience in which she believed the ghost of Christopher Columbus had spoken to her through a shadow shaped like the Santa Maria. (I know, it sounds stupid, but like most things, you’d have to see it for it to make sense—just go with me on this and keep in mind that she <i>believed</i> she’d had this supernatural experience.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Afterward, her parents were horrified that she’d been telling her friends and teachers. Worried about what other people might think, they sat her down to talk some sense into her. Despite their best efforts, Sue responded with this:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There are so many beautiful, amazing things that happen every day that sound crazy. Think about it. If I had to explain the miracle of how babies are born to someone who didn’t know, wouldn’t I sound insane? And stars! I read somewhere that when a star explodes, the dust they find is the same thing that makes up humans, animals, the entire universe. How amazing is that? The same stardust is in everything and everyone—me, you, even Christopher Columbus. You know, in his day, some people still thought the world was flat. Columbus said it was round, and people thought he was crazy. Look—I know there’s always going to be doubters, but it just takes someone who thinks, “Why can’t it be true?” to truly change the world, and I am one of those people, so how can you sit there on this planet made of stardust that was once thought to be flat and still not think anything is possible?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The heart of the Christmas message is this: Jesus was the star of wonder lighting the way for people who believed in the possibility of redemption, that when hope is lost, there might be a better way. When Jesus spoke to his followers later in life, he told them to be the light of the world. The star of the Magi, Christ himself, me, you—we are all made of stardust. Later, in Christ’s last days, he says that we will know his disciples because of their love for one another. <b>At the end of the day, when all the stardust settles, I believe that we belong to each other, that we need each other, and that when we love each other, we are whole.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last year, I wrote a piece for our church’s Advent devotional about a Walt Whitman poem that illustrates how I feel about my evolving faith: </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I heard the learn’d astronomer;</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, measure them;</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Like Whitman, I’ve listened to all the experts, the God-monopolizers, the unshakable-faith-havers, and all the charts and diagrams started to make me tired and sick. When I take a moment to glide out of the lecture-room and look up, the way those wandering kings might have, I am awed into perfect silence at the stars.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Merry Christmas, friends. For unto us a star is born. Amen.</span></span>leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-46331856443801792822013-12-18T17:44:00.000-05:002013-12-18T17:44:43.152-05:00Friendsday #7<div style="color: #323333;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m lucky to be part of a project called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/somebodysmama">Somebody’s Mama</a>. Our mission is to bring awareness to issues affecting women across the globe, to create a community of people who care deeply about finding real solutions, and to turn ideas into action. We live by Margaret Mead’s words: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.” This week, our Facebook page admin posted this:</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6Z8_gemIBX12P_gUTdHbaoKnubhT4IETTYEY6E1vAntKxiP_OTpHuaGC4C1qUDqas7OEQQmvlLTiDocwFKFMDGRyOr7_XvbYjkqKxiuxs_bPxdPQTbWYb33dUqYhHvkoAf1MDnPOl0o/s1600/1491738_1440066472888845_554141491_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6Z8_gemIBX12P_gUTdHbaoKnubhT4IETTYEY6E1vAntKxiP_OTpHuaGC4C1qUDqas7OEQQmvlLTiDocwFKFMDGRyOr7_XvbYjkqKxiuxs_bPxdPQTbWYb33dUqYhHvkoAf1MDnPOl0o/s400/1491738_1440066472888845_554141491_n.jpg" width="391" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you glanced at it and scanned back down to my words, go back. If you read it, read it again. I CAN’T EMPHASIZE ENOUGH HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The first time I remember having this experience was in elementary school when we started playing competitive sports. Through softball and soccer, I found myself surrounded by girls who loved the same things I loved and who rallied around me win or lose. One of the people I still love most in the world stood in front of me as a sweeper when I was goalie and behind me at third base while I pitched.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Throughout high school and college and into adulthood, I can point to groups of women who carried me through challenging times and brought the party when it was time to celebrate. Some of my best memories as a military spouse are of nights when I shared dinner with other spouses whose husbands were also deployed. The thing about finding and loving a group of friends is that you never know when or how it will happen. Sometimes it’s a result of organizational structure (sports teams, sororities, community or church groups), and sometimes it happens organically over time as a result of just living with each other—getting naked together as Jeanette Leblanc says in the picture above.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHQLAMhba9v0r-lpFoOjVnbxV3ETDWxXBZZhEOK8HDwMPerEGbMrpsRAadwt5rhhaKDCxotr_SoAHsO5Y-bRSN1L9cnceQ-rdeu05KDiHGR-abPRfK7rj-YV982HLyOxjgvig5PN4NOM/s1600/2227_1107036678243_6768_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHQLAMhba9v0r-lpFoOjVnbxV3ETDWxXBZZhEOK8HDwMPerEGbMrpsRAadwt5rhhaKDCxotr_SoAHsO5Y-bRSN1L9cnceQ-rdeu05KDiHGR-abPRfK7rj-YV982HLyOxjgvig5PN4NOM/s400/2227_1107036678243_6768_n.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I met Stephanie when we were eight years old. Our families were attending the same church, and we spent those formative years scheming about how we could spend the night together every weekend. She was the first person I told when I started my period, and I gave her my training bra when she was too embarrassed to ask her mom to buy her one. We crushed on the same boys and wrote notes about them on church bulletins when we should have been paying attention. We traveled on mission trips and family vacations together, and when I decided to move “home” after my freshman year of college, the only thing that made sense was for us to be college roommates. If there is one person on the planet who could ruin my chances to be president, Stephanie is the one who holds the key to my closet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In elementary school, I thought Stephanie and I would grow up to be like CC Bloom and Hillary Essex from <i>Beaches</i>. I, of course, was Bette Midler’s loud and obnoxious CC and Stephanie was Barbara Hershey’s demure and kind Hillary. (Thankfully, we did not play out the plot of the movie for so many reasons—primarily because I very much like having Stephanie alive and well.) I had the soundtrack on cassette tape, and even then, I thought of Stephanie every time I belted out <i>Wind Beneath My Wings</i> in my bedroom. While my personality may have been bigger at times, I always appreciated Stephanie’s quiet strength. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I asked her to stand with me at my wedding, and she asked me to officiate hers. When she and her husband struggled to get pregnant for three years, I was astounded at her ability to never lose hope. Watching her become a mother has been an awe-inspiring lesson in never taking life for granted. Stephanie has always been a deep feeler, and I have come to appreciate her sensitivity as a strength, something that pulls me out of my head and grounds me when I’m thinking too much. A few weeks ago, she called me crying because one of her other best friend's sisters found out her cancer is back, and the diagnosis this time is--well, it's not good. As we cried over the phone together, she said, "I just need you to know I love you. And pray. Just pray." That phone call was in large part the impetus for writing these Friendsday pieces in the first place.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Our friendship is one with history, with layers, with ups and downs and twists and turns, a long road for a joyful journey.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkXyFAKxxdjEdrNqjeqWHzTE2g9gNBn-FXDou9GZvQrE_OBhz8c3HHetlVP82lYzZmig_tfhQSO5w6URv3PUveWc8au2WdwW5P7judEZp4oJulkKvnXsWnwcZUsTSAKlE-LoRAsXuIQs/s1600/383737_3178112018152_517721415_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkXyFAKxxdjEdrNqjeqWHzTE2g9gNBn-FXDou9GZvQrE_OBhz8c3HHetlVP82lYzZmig_tfhQSO5w6URv3PUveWc8au2WdwW5P7judEZp4oJulkKvnXsWnwcZUsTSAKlE-LoRAsXuIQs/s400/383737_3178112018152_517721415_n.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I met Jennifer because she’s Stephanie’s older sister. Because she’s a *wee bit* older than us, growing up, I thought she was beautiful and fancy. She threw parties with real food when we were poor college students. She was the first person we went to with good news about a new guy in our lives or for help if we needed a picture-burning party. While she knew how to have a good time, she was also a well of wisdom during that time of life when we needed a mom but didn’t want to talk to our <i>actual</i> moms. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I transitioned from college kid to real life adult, my relationship with Jennifer evolved. Ten years ago, her daughter, Elizabeth, was a flower girl in my wedding, and now when we visit OK, her house is one of the first places my kids ask to go because she has a swimming pool and “the best snacks like candy and marshmallows.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On one hand, Jennifer is deeply private, someone who works through things mentally before she talks through them, something I tend to do as well. On the other hand, she is generous with her time and energy and truly invests in the lives of her friends and family. She is the first to open her house for a party, and she has shown up at all the important events in my life—my wedding, my baby showers, and even my husband’s promotion party—because she understands the value of hospitality, gathering, and togetherness.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I think about my relationship with Jennifer, I’m reminded of Paul’s exhortation to the Romans in chapter 12 verse 15, “When others are happy, be happy with them, and when they are sad, be sad.” She’s truly a friend for all seasons. Aside from my mom, she's the one person who nags me the most about publishing a book--with gentle reminders that what I have inside needs to be shared with the world.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOn6Ylvd44fWJ14kZNkSTLhYEYqiyMNF7p0CPs3sixfiEcSU9qURo7ZdfnWhAhKoYAocl86J3i6EPSEZGK4JRS6VfT-mr-uUCvJX-L1qRJsVG5vSeRMAo-l5K5H8A1VCSU4DRnzIZQMA/s1600/393300_2549129720392_339634805_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOn6Ylvd44fWJ14kZNkSTLhYEYqiyMNF7p0CPs3sixfiEcSU9qURo7ZdfnWhAhKoYAocl86J3i6EPSEZGK4JRS6VfT-mr-uUCvJX-L1qRJsVG5vSeRMAo-l5K5H8A1VCSU4DRnzIZQMA/s400/393300_2549129720392_339634805_n.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I met Erika because her brother was Jennifer’s first husband. After both of them went through divorces, Jennifer and Erika were still friends, two single moms of young daughters. When I think about that time in their lives, I’m in awe of both of them. With life experience and perspective, I’m able to admire Jennifer and Erika for their determination and strength in adversity. They have known difficulties different than mine, but I recognize and covet their ability to come through challenges with grace and an appreciation for the lessons learned. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Despite the distance, Erika and I have an every day kind of friendship. She’s the only person I literally text/talk to/message every single day. I frequently go to the mailbox to find a package from her for no reason—a book she thinks I might like or on one occasion, a knitted Princess Leia doll that brightened a really dismal week I was having. She’s insanely thoughtful in the way she loves her people and understands the details of friendship. I named one of my chickens after her—the only one not named after a famous writer or book character.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Most recently, we have been venturing together into new territory—the world of “human care” (she’s the Facebook admin for Somebody’s Mama I mentioned above). We each have our strengths, and we make a great team. If I am the brain behind Somebody’s Mama, Erika is the heart. I’m a thinker; she’s a doer. I’m a questioner, and she’s an answerer. We are creating a community of people who care deeply about improving the lives of mamas around the world, and Erika is the reason it’s happening. She’s going to hate that I put it that way, but it’s true. I brought the ball, and she’s getting it rolling.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Because I'm an only child, and she doesn't have any sisters, it makes sense that we have adopted each other. If there was a process that existed to make us legally bound as family, we would be the first in line to sign the paperwork.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKprHLP9x7MeKXO7RHr4diFd2tAQh3PjEuRNu-NCB6U5oZaau1G6alAlvtEEG65hOMRZ_0N-2uLV5S0wixwzUKb5dLJD_dqWZCrJQG1O-xLPxu8Z6B1PxsgD0sTkstgi_9pGFvQL6TZo/s1600/301171_10150313041211497_1058394382_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKprHLP9x7MeKXO7RHr4diFd2tAQh3PjEuRNu-NCB6U5oZaau1G6alAlvtEEG65hOMRZ_0N-2uLV5S0wixwzUKb5dLJD_dqWZCrJQG1O-xLPxu8Z6B1PxsgD0sTkstgi_9pGFvQL6TZo/s640/301171_10150313041211497_1058394382_n.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Our shadows in Sedona--I had this picture mounted on canvas <br />for everyone for Christmas one year.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While my relationships with all three of these women continue to evolve, we formally named ourselves the “Four Sisters” a little over two years ago when we traveled to Sedona, AZ to celebrate Jennifer’s 40th birthday. Since then, we have very purposefully gathered together when I am visiting OK, intentionally celebrating each other—through Christmas present exchanges over brunch, days by the pool with our kids, or dinners out. I could write pages about the lessons I’ve learned from each of them, but the bigger point is this—I NEED these women in my life. These are friendships forged in the fires of life’s greatest messes and on the mountaintops of celebration. I need them in my life because they remind me that I’m not my weaknesses or my failures, and they reflect all the best things I love about myself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I was in the middle of writing this piece, I (no joke!) got this text:</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lM0t0zTFyGxvoORhS-uokWUduAvz1JkcDBddrt9T1eAxLMv09sA3xiqMZgrZzPvjJjjxNtCs0g2oaP3mZAkmQiVONbqHY2ymCGTrTN-g99c5mAwSFeJa2uPE0tZr7jercSoAXD-3px4/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lM0t0zTFyGxvoORhS-uokWUduAvz1JkcDBddrt9T1eAxLMv09sA3xiqMZgrZzPvjJjjxNtCs0g2oaP3mZAkmQiVONbqHY2ymCGTrTN-g99c5mAwSFeJa2uPE0tZr7jercSoAXD-3px4/s400/photo.PNG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While I can’t be there in person, you better bet I’ve got a date via phone with my girls. I’ll bring the virtual mimosas. As we head into this week before Christmas, I am thanking my 8-pounds 6-ounces newborn infant Jesus for these three gifts he’s given me in the form of laughing, feeling, thinking, loving women who choose to dive in, hold on, and love it up with me—so much so that I believe the fabric of my being is woven together with theirs. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Merry Christmas, sisters. I try to tell you as often as I can that I love you, but there is no such thing as too many times. I love you. I love you. I love you.</span></span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-51998769094323038462013-12-12T04:27:00.000-05:002013-12-12T12:35:31.302-05:00This Is What Ten Years Looks Like<div style="color: #323333;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have been married for ten years. Did you get that? Let me repeat. I HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR TEN YEARS. You know how people talk about dog years? Well, I like to say we count by Air Force years—that’s when every calendar year counts as ten years, so because of that, I want to say, happy 100th anniversary, Scott Johnson! On this day, in 2003, you made me a kept woman, and I want to celebrate by taking a walk through the eleven Decembers we’ve been married. And we’ll start here…</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I woke up the morning of my wedding completely at peace. Honestly. I’d written love letters to my husband since long before I knew he was going to be my husband, so when I chose him as the one, I was positively sure I was doing the right thing. I didn’t have jitters or second thoughts, and the only reason I had cold feet was because it was freezing outside. As the day progressed, rain turned to sleet turned to twelve inches of snow on top of frozen ice, and yet, somehow, we were able to fill a sanctuary with almost four hundred people. I walked down the aisle to The Beatles’ “Blackbird” played by a string quartet, and when I got to the end, I let go of my dad’s arm and took Scott Johnson’s hand. It took close to twenty minutes to drive two blocks to our reception, where we danced our first dance to “Fly Me to the Moon,” sung by an ancient man in a forest green crushed velvet tuxedo jacket. Scott danced with my Grandma Hazel—the first dance in her Pentecostal life—and I threw my bouquet completely over the heads of all the single ladies waiting. Magical. The whole thing was just magical.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2004</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We were weeks away from finding out where we would be stationed for our first assignment out of pilot training. Knowing we would be moving to one of the coasts and therefore less likely be “home” for Christmas in the coming years, we made the rounds for all the Christmases—visiting all the grandparents and great-grandparents in OK and MO. It would be our second and last Christmas as a family of two, as in this picture, Will had been cooking for about two weeks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2005</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m cheating with this picture. It’s not December—it’s the end of November, just after Thanksgiving. We don’t have any family pictures in December because Scott had started his stop and go schedule, which involved very short stops at home before he would go again for weeks at a time. If I look tired, it’s because I was. Will was not a fan of sleeping, and without someone else to take shifts most nights, I was…well, I was the mom of a three-month-old. It was the first of a handful of holiday seasons that Scott celebrated over the phone (and later over Skype or FaceTime).</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2006</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Scott left for his first official deployment in the fall of 2006, so it was just me and the Will-man in December. While the deployment was difficult, I’d found my rhythm as a part-time single mom, and we were lucky to be part of a flying squadron, which deployed as a whole, so I was never without the support of friends, whose husbands were also deployed. I saved all our emails, and most of my deployment emails involved stories about Will not taking naps and updates about who got kicked off of Big Brother. Scott said things like “i miss you crazy insano madness (that’s a lot).”</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0i2anjj5a1QQlAaF9TPTbxkhJ_N80qqapDW_eAiCRc6DLUwp_2rOlG_36L6i6_onRUkSO_Jkf2ckjiUrK1rROJiauseD1Yjpurkjk138_qjpYyVQ8_bDSQa3myaLMpVJHc-KDfjkp1Q/s1600/IMG_0496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0i2anjj5a1QQlAaF9TPTbxkhJ_N80qqapDW_eAiCRc6DLUwp_2rOlG_36L6i6_onRUkSO_Jkf2ckjiUrK1rROJiauseD1Yjpurkjk138_qjpYyVQ8_bDSQa3myaLMpVJHc-KDfjkp1Q/s640/IMG_0496.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2007</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Remember when Ugly Sweater parties were actually a thing? Some of our best friends, the Wetzels, hosted this one, and we took on the eat, drink, and be merry challenge with gusto. Scott fell asleep on the couch, and we wrote on his face with markers. We slept on a futon in the loft and ate leftover chicken wings for breakfast. So, basically, it was JUST like college, except we had kids who woke up needing to be fed and diapered. I think we were all just giddy to have husbands around long enough to have a party. At the end of this December, I told Scott it was now or never if we were going to add to the family, and his answer was resoundingly NOW.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ben was born three days before Thanksgiving, making him the youngest baby in the church when the Christmas Eve service rolled around. This picture—THIS PICTURE—is all of the feelings. There we are, all four of us, feeling like everything was perfect and right in the world. We’d been tasked to be Mary and Joseph for obvious reasons, and Will suggested a re-write, so instead of riding a donkey, this Mary and Joseph had a pet sheep (a sheep who would strip his wool halfway through the service and run out to his Mimi who was sitting in the pews). Fun fact: unbeknownst to me, I had MRSA coursing through my body, a little gift from Ben’s delivery, and two days later, I’d land in the emergency room to be lanced and drained. HOWEVER, in this moment, I’m sitting next to my favorite wild sheep and staring at the child born unto us, and I couldn’t be any more in love with the look on Joseph’s face.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UFoLgPdVW2mqtiAvuQElYE_D1gTqqDrw3fjs4kL3pcQQC_J5Qy10U-jZVu7GDDRKpwOsRy2yX0vh4ZcerTQbkH2gkJHmbj3WtV9DMwWP4TBgU_aQhc8jPnmB2x9fJ0o7bNY1EoIUkcs/s1600/IMG_4571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UFoLgPdVW2mqtiAvuQElYE_D1gTqqDrw3fjs4kL3pcQQC_J5Qy10U-jZVu7GDDRKpwOsRy2yX0vh4ZcerTQbkH2gkJHmbj3WtV9DMwWP4TBgU_aQhc8jPnmB2x9fJ0o7bNY1EoIUkcs/s640/IMG_4571.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2009</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In all of our pictures of December, there isn’t one with all of us, but this picture is perfect. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Scott was around a *little* more this year, and we had a good thing going.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">This was the year of toddler trenches—when some days, I just had to go upstairs and shut the door for fifteen minutes of silence, as soon as Scott walked in the door.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">And when I was finished with my sanity breaks, I’d come downstairs, and the three of them would be stacking blocks or reading books or watching football, and I saw my future unfolding.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Scott was a good husband and a good daddy to these tiny people and a good man, and I felt like the queen of the castle.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">A somewhat sleep-deprived queen of a relatively disorganized castle, but I wouldn’t have ruled any other way.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2010</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Home for Christmas four years in a row! How did we pull that off? Oh, yeah, I remember now—Scott was preparing to leave for weapons school—a six-month program which involved a lot of anxiety for both of us. I remember feeling disconnected for the first time in our marriage, like he was moving into territory without me for some reason. I’d been doing so much “on my own” (I know this concept is preposterous given my wide circle of support, but it felt that way much of the time) for so many years, and something had shifted. It was a fun holiday season, spent in OK with friends and family, but when we pulled back into Charleston, I had a six-month single-parenting stint on my horizon, during which I would have to pack our house for a yet-to-be-determined cross-country move, all while raising two children (and a dog who insisted on peeing at the top of the stairs every day). I was right to be anxious, and so was he.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2011</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What a weird year. After Scott was gone for a very stressful, strained six months, we moved from SC to WA, and three months later, he deployed (again!) for the last three months of the year. We’d run the gamut of emotions in those twelve months, asked a lot of hard questions, and gave a lot of ugly answers, and in the end, I think we were both feeling apprehensive about the future to say the least. We were diligently communicating throughout the deployment, both desperate to continue with the momentum we’d gained before he left. My friend, Renee, said of her husband (also a pilot) once, “When I give my husband the chance to be my hero, he does it. Every time.” That had been stuck in my gut this whole year, as we worked through a really trying time in our marriage. I had to come to a place where I trusted Scott to be my hero again instead of approaching him from a place of bitterness and resentment and anger. And that’s when he did this. Unbeknownst to me, Scott organized a surprise “anniversary dinner” with all of my closest friends from OK. What I thought was going to be a night out with one friend was actually THIS. Not pictured: my dad and the boys who stopped by to say hi and I love you, Scott’s best friend, Jefferson, who read a letter on behalf of Scott and delivered flowers, and my mom and mother-in-law, two marble pillars, who held up the roof of our house for us during this year.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2012</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What a difference a year makes. And a change of scenery to beautiful WA. And a time when Scott was “home” with just a few short trips for almost six months in a row. We hit our stride again with an astoundingly quick recovery—it’s amazing how things come together when you’re actually <i>together. </i>In Olympia, we found great children’s theater and Thai food and farm stands and chickens—we got chickens!—and a house in the hills where you can see the Olympics on sunny days. We found a church and preschool all in one and hiking trails and a boy scout troop and horseback riding lessons and and a gymnastics gym and highways that will take us north to Canada or south to Voodoo Donuts in Portland. And we were happy—really happy. It was a year of reevaluating EVERYTHING. And on Christmas morning, we woke up TOGETHER, looking a little less Hallmark and a lot more Cousin Eddie, and it was perfect.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And we’ve made it to this December—our last December in WA, as we know we’ll be moving this summer. Right now, the house is a mess of winter coats and decorations and stacks of dishes and school supplies, and tomorrow marks ten years of marriage.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Scott Johnson,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Before bed tonight, you told me you loved me and you were sorry that you fell asleep before I got home from running errands. It’s okay—because when you’re sleeping, and I’m up being a night owl, sometimes I sit on the couch, listening to you puff in the other room and writing love letters for you to read in the morning. I sit on the couch in my ugly pajamas, reminiscing on the life we’ve made together, a gurgling mess while I think about those two babies in the back of the house who are blessed to call you Daddy. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, on our anniversary—you’re going to go to work, and I’m going to buy groceries and run Ben to preschool and homeschool Will, and then we’re going to meet up at Ben’s Christmas program (6:30—don’t be late!), and we’ll have cookies and juice in the church atrium, where I’ll watch you help our boys and have polite conversation with the teachers and the other parents in that easy way that you do. And then we will grab buy-one-get-one burritos at Chipotle on the way home, tuck our babes into bed, and grub down while we catch up on The Daily Show. I will probably eat some chocolate or maybe a spoonful of peanut butter for dessert, and you can have an extra Cherry Coke if you want. We can play Skip-bo when we’re done eating. After all, we’re celebrating! </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And it will be the most perfect and romantic 100th anniversary we’ve ever had. Here’s to 1000 more years. The other night, I was reading our bedtime book with the boys, and I came across this passage that tells how I feel about the future:</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Nicholas, we have what we need. Brave hearts. And sharp minds,” Ombric reminded him. “And as you might recall, we always abandon our plans and end up doing things we never imagined.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That’s it. I can’t imagine what’s in store.</span></span></div>
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leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-23210751938681439952013-12-11T18:13:00.001-05:002013-12-11T18:24:30.682-05:00Friendsday #6<i style="background-color: white; color: #7d2f29; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">If you got here somehow other than through Facebook, here's a catch up: I'm starting a series of posts about people in my life who make my life better. I want to take the time to thank them because it's just a great way to live. If you missed my other Friendsday posts, you can read them <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-1.html" style="color: #2198a6; text-decoration: none;">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-2.html" style="color: #2198a6; text-decoration: none;">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-3.html" style="color: #2198a6; text-decoration: none;">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-4.html" style="color: #2198a6; text-decoration: none;">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/12/friendsday-5.html">here</a>.</i><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I got a message this morning from a friend saying she waits with bated breath for my friendsday posts, and while I am sure she was being dramatic for effect, she’s not the first person to express his or her excitement over reading these posts. While I would flatter myself to think that you love reading because I’m such a spectacular storyteller, the reality is that I think it’s something so much more. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We are all busy—some of us too busy—and yet, each week, somewhere between 150 and 250 of you have taken the time to pause in your day and read a story. And you want to know why I think this is happening? Because in a time where more information is at our finger tips through cable news and smart phones and social media, we all want to be reminded that we’re human. When every other story on my Facebook wall is something about war or mass shootings or corrupt politicians or celebrity gossip, I don’t just <i>want </i>to read something uplifting. My spirit NEEDS it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have friends who use their talents as nurses and baristas and teachers and booksellers to bring smiles to the world’s face through their work, and in that vein, writing is the talent I can use to heal and serve and encourage and educate all of us into a better place.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, with that, let me introduce you to my friend, Leigh.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I met Leigh when her husband, David, took a call to be the associate minister at our church in Charleston. The majority of our friendship-building happened over wine and cheese at the women’s Bible study Leigh held at their house, where we and a few other “same stage” women studied the Bible and other spiritual-ish matters, while bonding over the challenges of toddler-rearing. It was on those Wednesday evenings, when I was stuffing my face with Danish blue cheese because I’d forgotten to eat lunch that I realized just how wise Leigh was. Also, she always had wine. Did I mention that?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At the time, there was a book circulating among my peers called <i>Mommy Wars</i> that addressed the issue of the tension and criticism happening between moms who chose to work and moms who stayed at home. The “mommy blog” phenomena was relatively new, as well, but the conversation being had at the time was one similar to what our mothers experienced in the years during and following the women’s lib movement. What is the “right” choice? Can we “have it all” so to speak?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Leigh is a CPA whose schedule is typical of her profession—long hours. With each of her children, she took the requisite maternity leave and then went back to work. I, on the other hand, was the poster child for stay-at-home moms. Together, we were the benchmarks of motherhood, and our culture was telling us that we should be at odds, judging each other’s choices, and feeling inadequate based on that comparison.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Often times, I think the fear/judgement/tension involved with anything that is different is dissipated quickly when one is exposed to living, breathing, fleshy difference. As I got to know Leigh, I had a real example of what a working mom looked like—not some cartoon character of a frazzled executive whose children call their nanny “Mom.” I hope in return Leigh saw that I was not a disheveled, crafty, jumper-with-baby-spit-up-on-it-wearing nightmare with no ambition that is often portrayed. Was she frazzled sometimes? Maybe. Did some spit up slip by me once or twice? Sure. But the reality—and this is the case with most issues that divide us, I believe—is that we both lived in the middle most of the time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Leigh’s girls are smart and funny and loving and opinionated. Watching Leigh mother her children was and is a gift because it is obvious that they know they are loved and are being raised to be caring citizens of the world they inhabit. David and Leigh’s kitchen is covered in school artwork, and their family room is full of games and toys and books and comfy chairs for snuggling. I believe one of the greatest gifts we can give our children is steady independence—the sense that when they go out into the world, they can hold their own, and when they come back, we are their safe place. When I saw pictures this summer of Leigh’s oldest daughter’s trip to her first overnight camp, I thought—man, Leigh knows what she’s doing. (Sidenote: I’d put David on a list of top ten dads I know, too.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And in all of that, you know what is not a factor at all? Leigh’s choice to work outside the home. My admiration for her as a mother has nothing to do with that choice and everything to do with the fact that while her day-to-day hours look really different than mine, she has clearly placed loving her children at the top of her list of priorities. It’s evident in both her attitude toward her children and in the way those girls love their mama.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In a season of my life when I was sorting through the messages being sent about motherhood, Leigh encouraged, edified, and supported me on the good days, and she commiserated with me on the bad. She’s the kind of friend every young mom would be lucky to have, and she’s one of the reasons I try to be that person to all my friends who make different choices than mine.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Leigh, you are one of the most honest, caring, down to earth women I know, and it’s an honor to watch you grow your happy little humans. Thank you for your inspiration.</span></span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1811198224135757900.post-195297152829940622013-12-04T17:38:00.000-05:002013-12-04T17:41:17.366-05:00Friendsday #5<div style="color: #323333;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #7d2f29; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">If you got here somehow other than through Facebook, here's a catch up: I'm starting a series of posts about people in my life who make my life better. I want to take the time to thank them because it's just a great way to live. If you missed my other Friendsday posts, you can read them <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-1.html" style="color: #2198a6; text-decoration: none;">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-2.html" style="color: #2198a6; text-decoration: none;">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-3.html" style="color: #2198a6; text-decoration: none;">here</a> and <a href="http://yesliketheprincessinstarwars.blogspot.com/2013/11/friendsday-4.html">here</a>.</i></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A couple of summers ago, my friend, Jim, invited one of his friends to join us. I was happy to meet a new team member, especially because I am frequently the only girl at the table. Fallon was already part of a regular trivia team—The Oklahoma Atheists—but they only met every other Tuesday, so on her off Tuesdays, she joined our team. Fallon was witty and laid-back, and her engineering background gave us a skill set to add to our team’s collective knowledge base.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I quickly learned that Jim had originally met Fallon at church. They were part of a group of people that met regularly outside of normal worship hours called a “life group.” Clearly, I was curious how Fallon went from being an active member of an evangelical megachurch to being an active member of the Oklahoma Atheists. Luckily, Fallon was and is completely open and honest about preeeeeetty much anything you would want to know about her, so over time, I learned her fascinating story.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Allow me a tangent for a moment. Growing up “fundie” as we evangelicals like to say, I was taught to love God and love my neighbor. I was taught that mature Christians are servants like Jesus. I was taught that the church is not a building but a people. I cherish the lessons I learned in Sunday school from little old ladies, at youth group camps and retreats, and in Sunday morning services. Along the way, however, I picked up a lot of things that I’ve had to unlearn over time—one of which is the submissive role of women in the church and in the home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Most of what I was taught as “Biblical” was—to oversimplify—that I was inferior because I didn’t have a penis. Our church was progressive in the sense that women were allowed leadership roles and even preached from the pulpit at times, so I’m not saying it was all patriarchy and submission all the time, but there was certainly an undercurrent of inferiority complex, especially in matters relating to dating and marriage. I was to be pursued. I was to be modest and genteel and quiet. I was to submit to my husband’s spiritual authority. (I ran this by Scott one time when we were dating, and as the good democratic Presbyterian that he is, he stared at me like I was speaking Martianese.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I spent my teen years and the time leading up to marriage (at age 23) trying to separate the grain from the chaff so to speak. While I certainly liked the idea of having a boyfriend or husband who <i>could</i> lead me spiritually and protect and provide for our family, I couldn’t really wrap my mind around the idea that a penis was the thing that qualified someone to lead. The argument was that this was “God’s design,” but when I looked at my parents’ relationship, which was configured like a partnership rather than a top down structure, that made more sense to me. I also saw many of my friends who were being raised by single mothers, either through divorce or the death of their fathers, and those families seemed to be pretty tight with God, too.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Okay, one more tangent, and then I swear this is all going to come back around to Fallon and why I’m glad she’s my friend. Just after college, I read Jeffrey Euginedes’ Pulitzer prize winning novel, <i>Middlesex</i>. Aside from being beautifully constructed, the book is the hauntingly stirring story of Cal Stephanides, a man with gender identity issues due to a developmental sex disorder. Several years later, Oprah would choose the book for her book club and then host several shows with real people dealing with intersexual issues. In being exposed to these very human stories, I became fascinated by this aspect of human sexuality—boys who were genetically girls or girls who were genetically boys. In reading and dime store researching, I learned how wide the spectrum of sexual “disorders” is. From hormonal differences to chromosomal differences, “male” and “female” seemed to be more and more limiting in terms of human sexuality.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazv-c5QAK_1p-OZYK19Lx2Qbo_avm0FWBApNuzI5eCaYca86FhBCuVrRb-qJVHCSKTVDQ9iRK_574Pe5Q_YEFz4z7qb3i1-6ZEXbww0I3X41eB1q0DDlm3r5XVvcvw_Deuy0EXFXdYb8/s1600/487295_373994165988611_1463722450_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazv-c5QAK_1p-OZYK19Lx2Qbo_avm0FWBApNuzI5eCaYca86FhBCuVrRb-qJVHCSKTVDQ9iRK_574Pe5Q_YEFz4z7qb3i1-6ZEXbww0I3X41eB1q0DDlm3r5XVvcvw_Deuy0EXFXdYb8/s320/487295_373994165988611_1463722450_n.jpg" width="269" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Which brings me back to Fallon. Lovely, funny, open Fallon. Who is a girl. But who is technically male. Fallon describes herself as an AIS patient—someone with Androgen Insensitivity Syndome, which means that she is technically XY, but by all outward appearances is female. (You can watch <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npgaxRF7kFQ">this talk she gave at the University of Central Oklahoma in February of 2012</a>. It’s long, but if you have the time, I encourage you to take a listen. There is so much to be learned when we listen to other people’s stories.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over time, I learned from Fallon about how during puberty, she came to know of her condition for the first time, and how over time, her struggle to define her sexuality (meaning human sexual function, not just sex) led her to walk away from her faith as an evangelical Christian. One of the things I appreciate about Fallon’s approach to the faith/science dialogue is that I have never felt judged. In other conversations with atheist friends, I have at times felt condescension for being a person who believes in God. Whether it’s on purpose or inadvertently, some atheists have a tendency to treat people of faith as if they are stupid or just haven’t thought about their faith. On the flip side, people of faith tend to assume that all atheists are angry and reactionary, when many of my atheist friends are such because that was how they were raised and/or they have reached their conclusions logically and not just from a place of hurt.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Being friends with Fallon has made me more sensitive to other people’s perspective on my faith. If I—a person who was raised in the church and still very much believes in God—struggle to find my place based on the social/gender constructs set up by the church relating to how men and women are to interact, what is Fallon to do? When we talk about he “role” of women, where does Fallon fit? Since Fallon dates men, does that make her gay since she’s technically male? If we have distinct gender roles, did God make a mistake when Fallon was born? If we really believe that we are made in God’s image, well…</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">These are HUGE questions, and I don’t have answers that will satisfy everyone, but if we as Christians are to live out our faith in practical ways, we have to come to terms about what we believe about my friend, Fallon. In thirty three years, I’ve had approximately ten official “pastors” who have challenged me to a deeper faith. Some of them have been great teachers, some great mentors, some great friends. I’m adding Fallon to my list of pastors because she’s led me to new places in my faith that I never could have imagined, simply by sharing herself, by just being Fallon.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The thing is—Fallon is obviously much more than her AIS. She’s a daughter and sister and friend. She’s always up for a good time, and she loves her dog. She’s an adventurer, a risk-taker, a person who feels deeply and doesn’t know how to be something she’s not. She’s an open book that I’ve been lucky enough to read over the last couple of years, and in that vein, she’s a bestseller.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thank you, Fallon, for challenging me in ways you don’t know. And for all your help at trivia. This world is bigger because of you.</span></span></div>
leiamarie82http://www.blogger.com/profile/06753187315711215480noreply@blogger.com0