tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87423193456695727332024-03-14T00:28:44.724-04:00Finding Strength in the Small ThingsKarenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-79976349970535910652013-05-26T15:22:00.000-04:002013-05-26T15:22:14.139-04:00Who I Am...The other day I started thinking about me. Who I am. Who I have become. Not just since diabetes, or turning the big 4-0, or having kids, but even before all that, who I was then compared to who I am now.<br />
So much is going on in my life that I started to think about me, for once. Think about what I love. Who I am!<br />
<br />
I started wondering the other day...am I just a pancreas for Charlotte? just the Mom to all three? food maker? carb counter? hair brusher? homework helper? schedule keeper? weekly planner? Is there more to me than all this anymore?<br />
<br />
There used to me more to me...I think. A daughter, a wife, a friend, a sister, an OT...<br />
<br />
Not that all of this isn't wonderful and something I wished, hoped and prayed for for years.<br />
<br />
It is! And I am grateful for this role. I love my kids more than life, and I am proud to be their mom. I am eternally thankful that they are all healthy and alive. And I have the opportunity to have all the supplies we need to keep, especially Charlotte, that way.<br />
<br />
I think all parents, especially those of children living with diabetes, are very aware of how lucky we are. We don't take our children or their health for granted. However, we do know how much it takes and how all consuming it can be!<br />
<br />
There are times when I wonder...who am I? Who is this person looking back at me from the mirror?<br />
<br />
I have a young girl who I have the opportunity to work with, who has introduced me to Taylor Swift's music a little more than I probably would have on my own. There is a song called "All Too Well", a song that has really touched my heart lately. (and I'm sure will be the topic of a future post), but there are a few lines in the song that go like this "Time won't fly. It's like I'm paralyzed by it. I'd like to be my old self again but I'm still trying to find it". <br />
<br />
I can't help but thinking how much it relates to life with diabetes.<br />
<br />
my old self...who???<br />
<br />
It's hard to remember her.<br />
<br />
There was a time when I exercised everyday. I was up early and exercising before work. It is embarrassing how long it has been since I really exercised. I really have to try to find time to see friends that I love. And that is hard. Planning time for me is an impossibility right now. And sleep? What is that?? We are up every night a few times a night checking blood sugars...<br />
<br />
What happened to me?<br />
<br />
Diabetes happened to me...<br />
<br />
Now I spend so much time and thought and energy on carbs and ratios and
basal rates and activity and possible 504 plans and supplies and targets and A1c
and site changes and on and on and on.... Not to mention the emotional
aspect of raising a child with a chronic disease, plus two younger children too!!!!<br />
<br />
I don't know where to even start. <br />
<br />
I am at least to a place where I can realize that pushing my own needs
and my own health to the back is not healthy for anyone. I can see that
my kids deserve a Mom who is not stressed out and exhausted all
the time. <br />
<br />
But getting there....<br />
<br />
It's just not easy. <br />
<br />
Because who I WAS.... I'm not sure she exists anymore. Sometimes I
think that if I don't at least TRY to find her now she is going to slip
away and no one will even notice. <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong... It's not that being a D Mom is such an awful thing. It's just that can't be the ONLY thing. <br />
<br />
And so the challenge is finding some balance between who I WAS and who I am NOW. <br />
<br />
I won't ever be the same person I was before. And the truth is, I don't want to be. <br />
<br />
I'm stronger now. I'm able to see and enjoy the small things in a way I
was never able to do before. I have a new respect for life and health.
I know I won't fall apart when times get tough (or I'll try not to). I try not to get caught up
in the petty drama that often comes with life. And I have some amazing
friends I've made on this journey that make it so sweet. I don't
want to give that up. <br />
<br />
I just also need to be a Mom who takes care of her health. A Mom who
does her hair and wears lipstick on occasion and enjoys exercise and
friends and books! <br />
<br />
It doesn't sound like it should be as hard as it is. Right?<br />
<br />
So why does it feel like the impossible task?<br />
<br />
I think because there are days (and nights) where diabetes IS the only
thing. There are times when it HAS to be the only thing. Our kids are
sick. Their numbers are out of whack. They are low. Or high. They
need a site change. Carbs have to be counted. Exercise and hormones
and growth and excitement are messing things up. They have ketones.
They need us. And we are there. <br />
<br />
We wouldn't have it any other way. <br />
<br />
But those days and nights just bleed into one another until there is no
beginning and no end and we are so exhausted both mentally and
physically that there is nothing else. There is nothing left. <br />
<br />
You can't escape those days. And when you're in the middle of it, it feels like there will never be an escape. So why bother?<br />
<br />
I don't have an easy answer.<br />
<br />
I just know it's time to try. <br />
<br />
The longer we live this life, the more I'm able to see that those days
WILL end. There WILL be times when our lives revolve around diabetes.
But there will also be times it won't. <br />
<br />
And I can't let those days pass me by. I've got to use those days for all they are worth and pray that it somehow balances out.<br />
<br />
<br />
Fifteen months ago I became a member of a group I didn't ask to join. I became a D Mom.<br />
<br />
Diabetes has consumed our lives since that day in February 2012.<br />
<br />
Test. Count carbs. Prepare food. Give insulin. Test......and Repeat. Day and night. Everyday.<br />
<br />
I'm still learning. I'm meeting more members of this club, both in
person and through the DOC (diabetes online community). Although I
didn't ask to be a D Mom, I wouldn't have made contact with these
wonderful mothers otherwise. And I thank them for all the advise and
support they have provided.<br />
<br />
However, I'm more than a D Mom.<br />
<br />
I'm a regular mom too. I do laundry, wash the dishes, sweep the floor
and vacuum the rugs. I clean the bathroom, make snacks, cook supper and
get groceries. I play hopscotch, ride bikes, and walk the dog. <br />
<br />
I'm just like any mom.<br />
<br />
<br />
Diabetes doesn't rule us, and that's why I Am More Than a D Mom.<br />
<br />
Charlotte, Ian, Genevieve, and Gordon...Here's my promise to you: <br />
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I will always be me! Just a different kind of me! I love all four of you with all my heart. xo <br />
<br />
<br />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-13717122514499473242013-04-18T16:02:00.001-04:002013-04-18T16:02:55.080-04:00Stable?!So I haven't posted on here in forever. Things have been and continue to be up and down, like a roller coaster for us. So much going on...new job, new school year, kids getting bigger, turning the big 4-0!<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway, I have been thinking so much about blood sugars and Type One Diabetes and all the misconceptions that are out there about Type One. So many people, when they think of Diabetes, think of Type Two Diabetes, and even hearing about Charlotte automatically assume Type One and Type Two are the same, which they are NOT!! <br />
<br />
I can't even count how many times people have asked me if her blood sugars are "stable".<br />
<br />
Ummm...yes? no? maybe? sometimes? When Venus is in retrograde and a zebra with pink stripes knocks on my front door?<br />
<br />
<br />
How do I even start to answer that question?<br />
<br />
Of course it is not just doctors and nurses.<br />
<br />
Its family and friends too.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's the people closest to us that just don't get it. They are the ones asking if our kids are under control yet or if they are stable.<br />
<br />
And THAT is most irritating. And disappointing.<br />
<br />
<br />That makes us feel the most alone. Because if those closest to us don't understand...who will?<br />
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<br />
Maybe we are a little sensitive (or atleast I am...). But it's that word "yet" that gets to me. Like our little girl should be under some magical control where her blood sugars are always in range. You know...because that's possible.<br />
<br />
It makes me want to stand on a table or something and scream. "Don't you get it?!? There is no stable with diabetes! There is no control! Control is an illusion. It's a mirage. We MANAGE diabetes. There are still highs. There are still lows. No matter what we do. WE will never be perfect. We can not replicate the pancreas to perfection. And that's just the way it is."<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I really do try not to take it personally. If you don't live it there is just no way you can really understand what it is like. And I DEFINITELY had no idea before February 19, 2012.<br />
<br />
However...when we DO find someone who understands...Priceless!<br />
<br />
And I am SO GRATEFUL for the wonderful people in my life who while they don't really get it, they sure do try!<br />
<br />
It gets so much sweeter when we find people who DO get it. People who want to learn. People who understand.<br />
<br />
Today I want to give some of those people a big hug! <br />
<br />
Because you can lead a horse to water. But you can't make it drink.<br />
<br />
For those of you drinking and drinking a lot, Thank You!!! And for those of you still just taking a sip...come on over. Let's drink together.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-73339672189805482992012-08-06T16:02:00.001-04:002012-08-06T16:03:52.929-04:00Stand!!I was listening to a song by one of my favorite groups today and really listening to the lyrics. So much so that I went specifically to a website to find them and be sure I had them right. I have been trying to get myself out of the stress and negativity of all that is going on in my life lately, that I need some pick me ups! This song struck a cord in me today. The song is called "Stand" by Rascal Flatts. Here's the video of it...<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/G_Vzpjv_kR4" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Some of the lyrics are:<br />
<br />
<i>Cause when push comes to shove<br />
You taste what you're made of<br />
You might bend, till you break<br />
Cause its all you can take<br />
On your knees you look up<br />
Decide you've had enough<br />
You get mad you get strong<br />
Wipe your hands shake it off<br />
Then you Stand, Then you stand</i><br />
<br />
I am feeling like I need to wipe myself off and take a stand. A stand for me. A stand for Charlotte. A stand for all the children and adults living and dealing with T1D! So, I am going to attempt to raise a much money as I can for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (and maybe win Charlotte a new bike in the process). So if you are reading this now and you can STAND with me, please consider donating to our JDRF Walk for a Cure. Click <a href="http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR?team_id=57583&fr_id=1843&pg=team" target="_blank">here</a> and you can read more of our story. Any amount will help us reach our goal!!!<br />
<br />
Stand with me! For Charlotte! For my family!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Everytime you get up<br />
And get back in the race<br />
One more small piece of you<br />
Starts to fall into place</i></div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-45563562329615708852012-06-01T18:57:00.003-04:002012-06-01T19:01:28.722-04:00Support!In the last month or so I have been thinking a lot about support and help. For the most part, Gordon and I don't really ask for help. We are a strong team (most of the time), and we just try to figure things out ourselves. T1D has thrown somewhat of a wrench into that for us. We have been struggling to find the balance between everyday life and diabetes. I mentioned to a good friend to think back to when her kids were little...she has three...and think about them 6, 4, and 2 years old. Then think about the oldest one, who was the most self sufficient, now needing almost as much care as the baby. It's crazy. Both of us working very demanding jobs, the kids going to all their activities, school, and daycare. It is almost too much some days.<br />
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So many people will read this and say, "we've offered to help", or "what can we do to help", and our answer is always the same.<br />
<br />
We don't know what we need. <br />
We just need support. <br />
<br />
So what is support? What does that mean? Even as I am writing this, I don't know how that should look. <br />
Support or help...what do we need. <br />
Both, I guess.<br />
<br />
There are days that we are good. There are days that are just ok. And there are days that are not good at all. My head hits the pillow and I am so exhausted from all the emotion and stress that I just can't even think anymore.<br />
<br />
I know some people will read this and think, "it's Type One Diabetes, it's not Cancer" and while that is true, this is my life and the life of my little girl forever. That has been a very tough pill for me to swallow. I need to feel that it's ok and I don't. I still want it to go away.<br />
It is time to reach out for support. It is time to reach out for help. We need it. And the first step is admitting it. :)<br />
I started writing this post a few days ago and now reading it back up to this point, I think I have to realize that support and help looks different to different people.<br />
I have family and friends who check in on us often. Either calls, emails, FB messages, or whatever...they check in.<br />
I have other family who want to do more. They want to be the Type 3's with us.<br />
I have friends who every once in awhile will text or call or something and just say three simple words "Thinking of you" or "I miss you".<br />
I have co-workers who whenever they think of it, ask "how's Charlotte doing?" and then inevitably the next question is "and how are you?"<br />
We have gone to support groups.<br />
We have had other families, who have been dealing with T1D longer than us, reach out to us.<br />
And still there are others, who I know are thinking of us and caring for us even if they say nothing.<br />
<br />
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Support. We need it. We have it. It makes things easier. There can never be enough. We need to stop being so proud and ask for it.<br />
<br />
Thank you to all of you who are reading this and offering your support in many different ways. We are doing ok. Today. <br />
<br />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-80593540772963205842012-05-03T21:46:00.000-04:002012-05-03T21:46:10.736-04:00That's My Type!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
In this new reality of Type 1 Diabetes I have been reading a TON! Books, articles, research, and even other blogs. I found one blog that I started subscribing to that is written by a Mom of a little girl with T1D. She has some great stories and insight that I haven't found anywhere else. <br />
Anyway, in one of this woman's archive posts I found another blog. This is a blog written by a man with T1D. He is in his late forties, I believe now, but has had T1D for years. One one post he and his son had a You Tube video of themselves singing a song they had written together for World Diabetes Day. It was about all those people who care for those with Diabetes. He refers to them as Type 3. His song struck a cord in me. It says so many of the things that I have been thinking and feeling for the past two months or so.<br />
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I was thinking about this song tonight as I checked Charlotte's blood sugar before she went to bed. Thinking that most likely we would have to recheck her again in the middle of the night. Interrupting her peaceful sleep. I started thinking about all the nights that Gordon and I can't sleep until that in the middle of the night blood sugar check. <br />
We will sneak into her room, turn on the light, she doesn't stir...she is sprawled out on her bed, with her Hello Kitty or puppy in one arm, and the other arm hanging off the bed as if she knew we were coming. Palm up and fingers relaxed as if they were already in the position for the check. Almost immediately after the test, she would curl her arm in and hug her special friend. She barely stirred. Not even one minute of sleep interrupted. <br />
Telling her the next morning that we tested her, she doesn't even remember or even believe us that we did our midnight test!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vMghghoQ8vl7RfaPzYI-_wlPYRXlbSMS853lk_8YIn7jVjvj3Zx1WP9v8brGIO_LXQ25ESLCX9kIG5-4Kj9i1t9H7jOVISW7_TUyZt6uzpRTCEHCQx76vcnEb0wb65Uc_mIIIPZ622TH/s1600/IMG_0653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vMghghoQ8vl7RfaPzYI-_wlPYRXlbSMS853lk_8YIn7jVjvj3Zx1WP9v8brGIO_LXQ25ESLCX9kIG5-4Kj9i1t9H7jOVISW7_TUyZt6uzpRTCEHCQx76vcnEb0wb65Uc_mIIIPZ622TH/s320/IMG_0653.JPG" width="320" /></a>I feel like the more the burden I can bear, the less she has to. There is time for that. In a few years she may be able to count carbs and give herself insulin. In just more than a decade she will be living on her own, away at college.<br />
But for now it is my cross to bear.If I can do midnight finger checks or count all the carbs she will consume in a day, without her having to worry or even think about it, I will. And she doesn't need to know. Not yet.<br />
Type 3. That's my Type.<br />
There was a quote from an article describing how a duck swims: "everything looks smooth above the water, but below the surface the duck's legs are paddling like crazy."<br />
<br />
That's exactly how it is being a parent of a child with Diabetes. That's my Type.<br />
<br />
It is amazing what we parents do so that the burden falls on us and not our children. It is amazing the knowledge we gain to literally keep our children alive. <br />
We somehow make it look effortless to outsiders. Other parents see our kids and just see another kid. They don't see all the behind the scenes that go on.<br />
We are sleep deprived, we are stressed, and we are constantly thinking about Diabetes.<br />
<br />
We do it. We have to. We are Type 3. That's my Type. Now back to the song. There are lyrics here on <a href="http://www.ninjabetic.com/thebadblog/2010/11/15/thats-my-type.html" target="_blank">George's blog</a>, along with his backstory. But the lyrics that hit me the most are:<br />
<i>Even though I know I'm prepared</i><br />
<i> There's a part of me that is so scared</i><br />
<br />
I cried.<br />
And cried.<br />
<br />
Watch the video. But grab a tissue. That's my Type.<br />
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<br />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-64994250165001548952012-04-18T19:29:00.000-04:002012-04-18T19:30:25.774-04:00The Highs and The Lows!Living with diabetes has it's highs and lows, not just in blood sugar numbers, but in so many ways. The most obvious high/low, is everytime we check Charlotte's blood sugar.<br /><br />Will it be too high?<br />Will it be too low?<br />Will it be just right, and is it just right for that time of day?<br /><br />We don't want her too high, and we don't want her too low, we want her just right! But what does just right mean? Well, for those of you reading who don't know a lot about Diabetes, the "normal" range is 70-180. That is the ideal range. But...the ideal range, right before she is going to eat a meal, could be the lower end of that 70-180. Or right after she eats, ideal range could be a little higher as her body and her insulin processes the food. It is crazy! I can feel myself, holding my breath waiting for the count down on her meter to tell me the number,<br />5<br />4<br />3<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffOYN735oMSH8ITRliR2MVhsGomPMOKdaYj-g3BljOiSh8a9wzmOxwmD17mMKRo7gx2gVxO-8otrt81WjnFStoDVGHlme0l77Vr2EyIQR23Mdpg8gYWcoDmI44uFs1g4u6cXegwkQXLC9/s1600/IMG_0655.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffOYN735oMSH8ITRliR2MVhsGomPMOKdaYj-g3BljOiSh8a9wzmOxwmD17mMKRo7gx2gVxO-8otrt81WjnFStoDVGHlme0l77Vr2EyIQR23Mdpg8gYWcoDmI44uFs1g4u6cXegwkQXLC9/s200/IMG_0655.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732884447753261746" border="0" /></a><br />2<br />1<br />or once 1pm hits on a school day...<br /><br />I find myself checking my email every minute until the school nurse is able to send me the number.<br /><br />Stress!<br /><br />We have had some real lows, and just recently a high that was the highest it has been since we left ICU. When I say low, I mean 58! And when I say high, I mean 345! It is crazy to me how her little body can be under so much stress of blood sugars that change so dramatically in just one day or even a matter of hours. Highs and lows!<br /><br />Now, like I mentioned the blood sugar numbers are not the only highs and lows that we are dealing with. A high could be her Sunday School teacher saying to me "now I have to ask, is she like a different kid"? So many people in her life have made comments to us that she seems to have come out of her shell, or just a little more outgoing. She is not an extremely outgoing kid, but now that she feels better, she is more her true self. If that's not a "high", I don't know what is!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_fTsAcqOZ3JjuvfqQYnARGsituP7q6Xf2iBN5rJOJ19CF2Fk67_p9cqsCKHrRq-VJQgBxDnBje08d3cn-m_qOeAeiwIRc-op3e_xHVj68_e0ErDLioL5H4WjxmOv98jIdyDn0D2hqtKT/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 151px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_fTsAcqOZ3JjuvfqQYnARGsituP7q6Xf2iBN5rJOJ19CF2Fk67_p9cqsCKHrRq-VJQgBxDnBje08d3cn-m_qOeAeiwIRc-op3e_xHVj68_e0ErDLioL5H4WjxmOv98jIdyDn0D2hqtKT/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732885307798174626" border="0" /></a><br />A low could be when she wants to have donuts, or a cupcake like her friends or something and we have to be the ones to tell her that she can, but has to have a shot of insulin in order to have it. I think that is a low...telling a six year old that she has to have a needle in order to have a treat. It stinks. low!<br /><br />We are trying to focus on the emotional highs and not the blood sugar highs. We don't want to focus at all on the lows.<br /><br />Everyone and everything has highs and lows. In diabetes there are going to be highs and lows. They don't necessarily mean we did something good or bad, they are just what they are...highs and lows. It's how we deal with them that counts. Deep breath and deal with it.<br /><br />So today we are dealing one day at a time. One step at a time. One hour at a time. One meal at a time. That's what we are doing. And that's the best we can do.<br /><br />We are ok.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-65177675678530313032012-03-20T19:08:00.013-04:002012-03-20T20:29:14.517-04:00Type OneSo, it's been forever since I have been on this blog. And with everything currently going on in my life, I thought I should write again...if for nothing else, to find some strength in the small things!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtr-qyU0g98pGsUE1dIHo7AXehndG_D2H_D5Y_o-BTHA-UyBVR0-eF-NZpAmKkMl6zqjEwirYyUVMAf0mkzrHQfuawl-ZtPQyde_RP5R9LBILqMLVHTVUk4_fszI5_n1qJsB7iGZfkiw0s/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtr-qyU0g98pGsUE1dIHo7AXehndG_D2H_D5Y_o-BTHA-UyBVR0-eF-NZpAmKkMl6zqjEwirYyUVMAf0mkzrHQfuawl-ZtPQyde_RP5R9LBILqMLVHTVUk4_fszI5_n1qJsB7iGZfkiw0s/s200/IMG_0658.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722137108696146786" border="0" /></a><br />On February 19 2012, one of the darkest days I have ever known! I woke up for some reason with my precious little girl "sleeping" right next to me in our bed, I tried to wake her up. Why? I don't know except that I thought she sounded funny.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vMghghoQ8vl7RfaPzYI-_wlPYRXlbSMS853lk_8YIn7jVjvj3Zx1WP9v8brGIO_LXQ25ESLCX9kIG5-4Kj9i1t9H7jOVISW7_TUyZt6uzpRTCEHCQx76vcnEb0wb65Uc_mIIIPZ622TH/s1600/IMG_0653.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vMghghoQ8vl7RfaPzYI-_wlPYRXlbSMS853lk_8YIn7jVjvj3Zx1WP9v8brGIO_LXQ25ESLCX9kIG5-4Kj9i1t9H7jOVISW7_TUyZt6uzpRTCEHCQx76vcnEb0wb65Uc_mIIIPZ622TH/s200/IMG_0653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722135903438322738" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />And there it began...<br />She wouldn'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghFuvgY_s58HAYutYLddxkd15k3FeXgAUn_w-DcWiBdEdSV-otFFo7qWq3KAwUhV6xPN0uDHFGUazjrEAe9VVxovZXQlf7LcDdhiq2_S65oEBvH23K5jIe7HQpDjSCNpOzbdRa1vHX5aBk/s1600/IMG_0654.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghFuvgY_s58HAYutYLddxkd15k3FeXgAUn_w-DcWiBdEdSV-otFFo7qWq3KAwUhV6xPN0uDHFGUazjrEAe9VVxovZXQlf7LcDdhiq2_S65oEBvH23K5jIe7HQpDjSCNpOzbdRa1vHX5aBk/s200/IMG_0654.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722136221806885362" border="0" /></a>t wake up...<br /><br />Her hands were cold!<br /><br />Her cheeks were cold!<br /><br />And nothing I did "woke" her.<br /><br />Even now typing it, it makes me cry!<br />From that moment on, our lives have changed...Charlotte has been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.<br />The trauma of that early morning, still lingers in my mind. I can't shake it. I can't even describe it! Even if I tried I think that anyone reading this would never truly understand the fear and total dismay we felt.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXHGZc8pd5N2G4B23RmkItshr2q3b9hbIIF5xFaEWJ61Ewr51vUNQ_UbcpbE37gVXY7UQlBt-WoaGOj1MM24w8w5KPzpHtKhSRd3XurCpTfn6txMIPPL3f5JCHYma9OmypszhUA816GQG/s1600/IMG_0655.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXHGZc8pd5N2G4B23RmkItshr2q3b9hbIIF5xFaEWJ61Ewr51vUNQ_UbcpbE37gVXY7UQlBt-WoaGOj1MM24w8w5KPzpHtKhSRd3XurCpTfn6txMIPPL3f5JCHYma9OmypszhUA816GQG/s200/IMG_0655.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722136529425503426" border="0" /></a>We have learned so much about Type one Diabetes in just one short month, that I almost can't believe it is all true.<br />Charlotte is such a trooper. At six years old, she has had to deal with so much in her life. From anaphylaxis from tree nuts and an emergency room visit to now this her second emergency room visit. It is all so crazy!<br />Now our lives consist of counting carbs, insulin doses, and blood sugar checks. I talk to Charlotte's school nurse (who has been <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_h_pI6fSd4yLy9oOEAg-ixJoblR2LrfOjP9nK16OS_0eRLNiqeFb2JfagYbajbQnZ0nCKdCFWijGl-20ozNlS__io1OuPCjvB4ANgIHvpgscYEANcwJBffixi9masKm6gL7Mv21JJEHb/s1600/IMG_0657.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_h_pI6fSd4yLy9oOEAg-ixJoblR2LrfOjP9nK16OS_0eRLNiqeFb2JfagYbajbQnZ0nCKdCFWijGl-20ozNlS__io1OuPCjvB4ANgIHvpgscYEANcwJBffixi9masKm6gL7Mv21JJEHb/s200/IMG_0657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722136830630539570" border="0" /></a>wonderful by the way) a couple times a day. I talk to the endocrinologist a couple times a week. It is like a full time job. Plus I have a full time job, and two other children, and a husband, and a life...<br /><br />I am overwhelmed.<br /><br />Having to give your child shots is no where near fun. Even though Charlotte doesn't give us a hard time about it. What six year old do you know who likes needles. She takes insulin shots four times a day. And her blood sugar is checked at a minimum of six times a day. It is crazy. My poor baby. I just wish it would all go away. I keep saying that, but I know in my head that that is not possible. But heart is where it hurts...<br /><br />I have reached out to various people and supports, which are all good in their own way, but I think I need to just go through this grieving process.<br />Yesterday, when I was speaking with the social worker in our endocrinologists office, she said something to me...<br />she said, "It's is no wonder you are feeling like you are, Charlotte was critically ill. She almost died."<br /><br />"almost died"<br /><br />"almost died"<br /><br />Oh my God! She is right. I know that is true, but hearing it said out loud was like someone punching me in the stomach. I don't think I have still recovered from hearing it, nevermind living it.<br /><br />Everyone says...Now you know how to deal with it. Or now you know what it is. I know all that, but it is not making it easier. We know how to give insulin shots and test her blood, but really how do I deal with it? How does it get easier? When does the extreme worry stop? Will I ever be ok with all that happened?<br /><br />I don't know.<br /><br />So, I put one foot in front of the other, every day. I thank God that I did try to wake her up that morning. I thank God for all the support of amazing family and friends. I thank God for everyone on her team...from the doctors, nurses, to the pharmacist, to the nutritionist, to her friends at school, to my friends and co-workers, to my amazing family, to my rock...my husband.<br /><br />It's going to be a long road. But, like this blog forces me to do, I will still try to find strength in the small things.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTu_ui7-RCe46OKGNados9Plo5EDfwKoIS6xP1ITAX91ZimTvz6skyF3Ji-nm-GGwxA9W_PrFCzQa3CT_U94YD7GTd8NTUSGCgw3Jxmkmltwxldamzb16xTQL78Xrb2STxapL2ZG6ItR7N/s1600/mother+daughter+hands.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTu_ui7-RCe46OKGNados9Plo5EDfwKoIS6xP1ITAX91ZimTvz6skyF3Ji-nm-GGwxA9W_PrFCzQa3CT_U94YD7GTd8NTUSGCgw3Jxmkmltwxldamzb16xTQL78Xrb2STxapL2ZG6ItR7N/s200/mother+daughter+hands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722140258431411714" border="0" /></a><br />Like Charlotte's laugh.<br />Her smile.<br />The way she hugs me.<br />And how I could never live without her. She holds me up. She makes me strong.<br /><br />I will find my strength in her!Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-42314873609929057892011-12-03T21:09:00.002-05:002011-12-03T21:14:55.665-05:00Four<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAF1FHdfxtaA9cfrw9fMCWOqWvwxEw3RlsOOQttuwWMiwO0G1gRW5HWWYzTDWQkFE0HhljFTnus_HxXs_KgokPkrN3FEks-7k-XRS2Os4-kp95XdcDFmQD7Bwkfr3TNWx98n11_RdoHT6/s1600/IMG_5730.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAF1FHdfxtaA9cfrw9fMCWOqWvwxEw3RlsOOQttuwWMiwO0G1gRW5HWWYzTDWQkFE0HhljFTnus_HxXs_KgokPkrN3FEks-7k-XRS2Os4-kp95XdcDFmQD7Bwkfr3TNWx98n11_RdoHT6/s200/IMG_5730.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682090156877251106" border="0" /></a>Hold him a little longer,<br />Rock him once more.<br />Read another story,<br />(you've only read four).<br />Let him sleep on your shoulder,<br />Rejoice in his happy smile.<br />He's only four years old<br />for a little while.<br /><br />Happy Fourth Birthday, Ian.<br />Mommy loves you.<br /><img src="file:///Users/karen/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-31909212760491146852011-03-25T21:44:00.003-04:002011-03-25T21:48:41.700-04:00A Chance...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zfrLBEFDFcF3Ru-E2Z5g4FGYaDgnVxGTaqkfRt1JA3uhJdLauMWpoGORUeBO4dbh3g9-LDuf04DnWlQybs1hm9-gz6grmve_VYOizXk8c-zp-Vp5WgVr-PZkmyE2cPZemHhs5kARIeBm/s1600/PennantBanner2.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zfrLBEFDFcF3Ru-E2Z5g4FGYaDgnVxGTaqkfRt1JA3uhJdLauMWpoGORUeBO4dbh3g9-LDuf04DnWlQybs1hm9-gz6grmve_VYOizXk8c-zp-Vp5WgVr-PZkmyE2cPZemHhs5kARIeBm/s200/PennantBanner2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588199366472696162" border="0" /></a><br />A chance to win...<br />>something from one of the most talented designers of jewelry that I have seen in a long time.<br />>something that could hang in my home and add something special<br />>something that has a handmade beauty to it<br />>something that I will cherish<br />>something from Lisa Lenord Designs...<br /><br />check it out. Click <a href="http://www.lisaleonardonline.com/blog">Here</a>.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-16907567708571629962010-12-31T21:04:00.003-05:002010-12-31T21:17:10.172-05:00Bye 2010!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhnaLWp_pkZunBma1X6khCFZ0uq4H3Brad2YQKv2bx6LqeFx8_05T-ccTUqFF1P0FLXnsJrrsctA93QWRfA35rWKWSA9NzrR3EVGbV6IF8Al1QD_16ptlUhzheDNJ709G93d3oUJeskJY/s1600/new_years_toast.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhnaLWp_pkZunBma1X6khCFZ0uq4H3Brad2YQKv2bx6LqeFx8_05T-ccTUqFF1P0FLXnsJrrsctA93QWRfA35rWKWSA9NzrR3EVGbV6IF8Al1QD_16ptlUhzheDNJ709G93d3oUJeskJY/s200/new_years_toast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557035375527933602" border="0" /></a><br />It's 9:05pm on December 31st...and I am thinking of the past year and all the ups and downs the year brought to us.<br />So many memories both happy and sad ones. It's hard to even call any specifically to mind right now.<br />Some think New Years Eve is depressing. Some think it is a renewal. And even others, think of it as the end.<br /><br />Gordon and I for years, had a blow out bash at our home on New Years Eve. Until Charlotte was born, then New Years became about pjs, snacks, and staying in. I'm not sure which I truly like better. I love being in my pjs. I have them on right now, but a part of me misses the party. The fun, the laughter. <br /><br />Either way, New Years Eve is a fun holiday for me. I think of it as the time to renew. Start fresh.<br /><br />This year I am hoping to get a good night's rest and make it through the night, since I have not been feeling well. So now at 9:12pm, I am saying Goodnight, and Goodbye to 2010. Here's to wishing that 2011 will be a great new year!Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-36090074735863401112010-12-23T14:01:00.005-05:002010-12-23T14:31:30.229-05:00Merry Christmas, Darling<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEB7whk7rmNSnHIdeCxaQOP7B5Kety-lN2ShtF_JLat4T0aWoH2nPdA0d9AOYjHjaJT-JClY0vRMPZGijH7STyD280JKeFIJdb404akQ7Y0bofWGw1FPr-PP_qPPa21YPZmOA-HwxAj_B/s1600/Christmas"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEB7whk7rmNSnHIdeCxaQOP7B5Kety-lN2ShtF_JLat4T0aWoH2nPdA0d9AOYjHjaJT-JClY0vRMPZGijH7STyD280JKeFIJdb404akQ7Y0bofWGw1FPr-PP_qPPa21YPZmOA-HwxAj_B/s200/Christmas" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553962300110627250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, it's that time of year again. I am feeling alittle under the weather today, so I came home from work early, and am trying to deny getting sick two days before Christmas. On my way home, the radio was on. And on 100.5, which is playing all Christmas music and has been since Thanksgiving.<br />Well, I was about a block or so away from home, when the air wave went quiet! "dead air" The song had finished and then "dead air" for what seemed like a long time, but was probably 10 seconds or so...then it happened. <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wYwonsa6Po">Merry Christmas, Darling</a> </span>by The Carpenters came on the radio.<br />I know I haven't told everyone about this song, but it is a powerful one for me. And here's why...<br /><br />Last year, a few weeks before Genevieve was born, my best friend, Linda, called me. She said she didn't want to upset me, while I was so pregnant, but she had to call. She proceeded to tell me that she had a dream about my Dad the night before. She said that she was driving in the car with him and he kept saying he had to get to the carpenters in New Britain. I know that sounds like it doesn't make sense, but it may if you keep reading and have some faith.<br />She continued by saying that she meant to call me earlier, but didn't until she heard this song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wYwonsa6Po"><span style="font-style: italic;">Merry Christmas, Darling</span></a> about four times since she woke up.<br />Linda is great with dreams. She remembers them so well and helps me believe that this is how people who have passed on, come back to visit.<br />She felt that <a href="http://kmdaigle.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-dad.html">my Dad</a> wanted her to send me this song. How did we come up with that<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDFHiSkcnKeCJCPUVMIZbOK0sJIzI1MruDGNH9ovoQoDDyz4iQL8yfce8RTPlNI2H7qSK_T8Adn9pgOpj5TuQpxAuRR1gjRgzSzpl5RWUsj1q-f3LBUFFtWfzF2J_tevsUBAj-zpL_XZsa/s1600/tree"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDFHiSkcnKeCJCPUVMIZbOK0sJIzI1MruDGNH9ovoQoDDyz4iQL8yfce8RTPlNI2H7qSK_T8Adn9pgOpj5TuQpxAuRR1gjRgzSzpl5RWUsj1q-f3LBUFFtWfzF2J_tevsUBAj-zpL_XZsa/s200/tree" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553961887812363826" border="0" /></a> you ask...well here's how.<br />In the dream, he wanted to get to the carpenters in New Britain. I was going to give birth to my third child in New Britain. The song is sung by The Carpenters. And the lead vocalist is KAREN Carpenter.<br />I truly believe, and I know Linda does too, that this was my Dad's way of letting me know he wished he was here for Genevieve's birth, but in his own way he was. Or was at least thinking of me/us.<br /><br />Now everytime, I hear the song I think of him. I feel him with me. I say "I love you, Dad". And feel some peace. Even on the way home today. I felt as though he was saying "hello".<br /><br />This year, it is ten years since my Dad died. Some days it feels longer and some days it seems like only yesterday. It's hard. This year seems harder. But I will be ok.<br /><br />I recently had another friend talk, I mean really talk, to me about my Dad. It was sad, but somehow I felt a level of comfort in talking about him and telling people about how wonderful he is, and how much he is missed. It's therapeutic I think.<br /><br />So, Merry Christmas everyone. Enjoy those around you. Take comfort in those that are with you, life is too short.<br /><br />When I asked Linda why my Dad was in her dreams and not mine...her response..."You have two, almost three kids, you need your rest...he can come to me and I can tell you." Love you Linda!<br />I believe it was you, Dad. Even today on my way home! Miss you. Merry Christmas!<br /><br /><br />Are you a believer too???Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-51039427513044555872010-08-27T14:55:00.008-04:002010-08-27T15:53:23.595-04:00A HeroA hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself. -Joseph Campbell<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljRB8RumPnNieambPPLP_iQQFxF8m1Z97wOJsKYGOjZxPtTN8K4rMmxeRUSrtalug0uewa-liZDSrJNAgoKeK1W_f4GwY3ZUWgbMIpkQvuET2MmBB1fHKRO94FTvDXeRLbbfh-8614QTp/s1600/27418_70000529_3802_n.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 96px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljRB8RumPnNieambPPLP_iQQFxF8m1Z97wOJsKYGOjZxPtTN8K4rMmxeRUSrtalug0uewa-liZDSrJNAgoKeK1W_f4GwY3ZUWgbMIpkQvuET2MmBB1fHKRO94FTvDXeRLbbfh-8614QTp/s200/27418_70000529_3802_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510173798170852562" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL21pkG4eXQzR_h9WYiYe-EKQJBJsAMWgqD8nvp2Q0JR958TeRHl8jM3wiNIYJq_v9BElW0ugRdMY866J1kUfjcfdfb1FjeLX07AsXrJ8Pog06YjIJjxx_hGvcM9ZWsyvdcItVa1HfJW7j/s1600/ranger.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL21pkG4eXQzR_h9WYiYe-EKQJBJsAMWgqD8nvp2Q0JR958TeRHl8jM3wiNIYJq_v9BElW0ugRdMY866J1kUfjcfdfb1FjeLX07AsXrJ8Pog06YjIJjxx_hGvcM9ZWsyvdcItVa1HfJW7j/s200/ranger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510173438134830370" border="0" /></a><br />Over the past week I have been trying to make sense of something that I am not sure I will fully understand myself.<br /><br />For those who have not heard, my cousin, Sargent Steven DeLuzio, was killed in Afganistan last weekend. Since hearing of his death, I have tried to think of him, find photos, read posts and comments, remember every last memory that I could. Plus I want to shout at everyone I see. I want them to know about Steve, what kind of man he was, how much he loved his family and this country. I want everyone to know him and never forget that he gave his life for them.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho8SyNcIzdD7tQSMdgd4bkNuCvijfmky1c95Ksm7oAGsqGNSyxsKRLMAwPCXxZXMK259ZPenRHqjcI1-BOrGhwD4yKLRQ_eICbPW9117rEjw73NnjLHVp-NnJDAcaIblXQZUcuIBeHvQob/s1600/12934_549117806581_23001075_32330300_3494364_n.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho8SyNcIzdD7tQSMdgd4bkNuCvijfmky1c95Ksm7oAGsqGNSyxsKRLMAwPCXxZXMK259ZPenRHqjcI1-BOrGhwD4yKLRQ_eICbPW9117rEjw73NnjLHVp-NnJDAcaIblXQZUcuIBeHvQob/s200/12934_549117806581_23001075_32330300_3494364_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510173950192001970" border="0" /></a><br />I've been trying to balance all the pride I feel with all the sadness that I feel. It is tough! Plus then if it tough for me, how impossible it must feel for his Mom and Dad, Diane and Mark; his brother and sister-in-law, Scott and Vicki; and of course his fiance, Leeza. I have wished more than once this week that there was a way for me to lessen the pain they all must be feeling.<br /><br />Many people don't understand the war, and I am not sure I really do either, but when I think about Steve and Scott, who was serving over there too, and any and all the men and wome<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgku_cClv1MtmATpYMZEAis4GkzXAJXiP5U8UGRYsTdu7UvPVv9siykjleI775ItHDahjwcwJCINgZsb7jMVGU2RwwMIoytuGjFmmxq0wW8vFKQwALyEpp9yWToByeG6eaPm9VIffFS9hU9/s1600/n724848143_898280_9844.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgku_cClv1MtmATpYMZEAis4GkzXAJXiP5U8UGRYsTdu7UvPVv9siykjleI775ItHDahjwcwJCINgZsb7jMVGU2RwwMIoytuGjFmmxq0wW8vFKQwALyEpp9yWToByeG6eaPm9VIffFS9hU9/s200/n724848143_898280_9844.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510178095403537618" border="0" /></a>n over there I think, all I really need to do is support them. This is what our country has decided to do, or forced to do...whichever way you choose to look at it, supporting the troops has to be what we can do as Americans.<br /><br />Our Governor has requested that all flags fly at half staff until Steve's funeral, which is a wonderful thing. My brother-in-law said that he wants to personally thank the families that have lowered their flags and I feel that same way too. But on the other hand, there is a flag at the end of a street close by that has not been lowered, and I want to march myself up to their doors too and ask them to lower it.<br /><br />Steve was an outgoing, always smiling man, who made anyone and everyone that he talked to feel comfortable around him. He would take the time to ask you about yourself. He would take the time to let the little kids know they were important too. I remember when Charlotte was just over a year old, and we went to Christmas Eve at his Aunt Joanne and Uncle Phil's house. Steve and Scott both were there themselves. Charlotte was a very shy little girl. They both waved at her during dinner, and then when there was less people around, and she was comfortable to walk around herself. They both sat on the floor and played with her or tried to get her to come and play with them. So cute!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslyiEI2ZJb3w5vQQFCtBHsUDLg0Bfq-BAtb8SyF-NSsr_r8-hSrJkN5YE2pCT2Bu22NMmdc65pcW8HqQiwCyoaBOmk38vW3KWvidAvX_jOPsVD2-F43tG-bcrR7wVtWomE9MLN99QGaVR/s1600/41136_422288103143_724848143_5015978_5559091_n.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 145px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslyiEI2ZJb3w5vQQFCtBHsUDLg0Bfq-BAtb8SyF-NSsr_r8-hSrJkN5YE2pCT2Bu22NMmdc65pcW8HqQiwCyoaBOmk38vW3KWvidAvX_jOPsVD2-F43tG-bcrR7wVtWomE9MLN99QGaVR/s200/41136_422288103143_724848143_5015978_5559091_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510178655753920434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Oh Steve! If there was something I could say to you now, it would be this. We are all so unbelievably proud of you. You gave your life, no only for something that you believed strongly in, but for all of us. Choosing to do this with your life is so amazing. I will miss the razzing you gave me about the Red Sox. Almost every time I posted a status on Facebook related to the Red Sox, you would comment. And even at home, Red Sox razzing became the norm. An avid Yankee fan, through and through.<br />Even in Afganistan, you were so upbeat about everything. I can remember a couple of posts about "Dear Rain, Enough is Enough..." or "Afgan Dancing 101" or "The best part about being up at four am...". You could make us smile even from half way around the world.<span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> You are a true American Hero Steve. You will forever be remembered for the ultimate sacrafice that you made for me, our family, this country, and the freedoms that we all take for granted on a daily basis. You will be missed, but never forgotten. </span></span>I miss you Steve. I will never forget all you did for us. Rest now. Love you.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-qTkCbM_7rScYnWup51y-RYyldoFx_Lbcq0uGiRBrD5Q7ybxMMby5wv_UTlUNgJYNM7dRN8rFYN4jQ0eFGPd_Ag55DdDVnAR-xOqzYEsry6SO3ysLC3bG-RYldpdgTDkdDPO2n-DmS2m/s1600/40168_418422451964_9904506964_5287372_5506267_n.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-qTkCbM_7rScYnWup51y-RYyldoFx_Lbcq0uGiRBrD5Q7ybxMMby5wv_UTlUNgJYNM7dRN8rFYN4jQ0eFGPd_Ag55DdDVnAR-xOqzYEsry6SO3ysLC3bG-RYldpdgTDkdDPO2n-DmS2m/s200/40168_418422451964_9904506964_5287372_5506267_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510178884416636930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And I'm proud to be an American,<br />where at least I know I'm free.<br />And I won't forget the men who died,<br />who gave that right to me. -Lee GreenwoodKarenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-41894800525480384102010-08-13T15:07:00.008-04:002010-08-13T15:54:28.827-04:00I Remember...I remember the ups and downs.<br /><br />I remember the nurse calling and saying "you're pregnant"!<br /><br />I remember telling Daddy you were coming!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiirZGoKyS1LLcyej4_XnC_mZE9YPJLe6XR2jghXsbV4SdbPRQwKtvTTF8Aoum5iVTHJMvhlsF1Pr5UjAsw5WK5v96RT_duSHlWQSvXR4fzuzrnB1KDUpbnXBc4X9lrYoTEbw6deIsE98-q/s1600/get-attachment.aspx_1.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiirZGoKyS1LLcyej4_XnC_mZE9YPJLe6XR2jghXsbV4SdbPRQwKtvTTF8Aoum5iVTHJMvhlsF1Pr5UjAsw5WK5v96RT_duSHlWQSvXR4fzuzrnB1KDUpbnXBc4X9lrYoTEbw6deIsE98-q/s200/get-attachment.aspx_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504983715498080770" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I remember the last MD<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOsbGJwjjARtdMmkp28GtxVncxIrYAx-FIp8gguEx819EQkJ4kFdCLAAdjL_I8N-t2YN2o3fqDRcdd8Zr_T4NAS8-8z4DJhWVBHdwzscz3qgjpJtK31AWmZpI3W06RVWL-jddMa2sn6bFC/s1600/100_0148.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOsbGJwjjARtdMmkp28GtxVncxIrYAx-FIp8gguEx819EQkJ4kFdCLAAdjL_I8N-t2YN2o3fqDRcdd8Zr_T4NAS8-8z4DJhWVBHdwzscz3qgjpJtK31AWmZpI3W06RVWL-jddMa2sn6bFC/s200/100_0148.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504983598937048146" border="0" /></a> appointment. Dr. Mihalek said "Are you ready to have a baby?" Me "NO!" Him "Yes you are. Let's do it tomorrow".<br /><br />I remember not sleeping that night.<br /><br />I remember going in to the hospital with butterflies in my stomach.<br /><br />I remember thinking this is what we've wanted for so long!<br /><br />I remember shaking when I got my IV.<br /><br />I remember getting my epidural. And then it not working on one side.<br /><br />I remember having a mirror so I could see you coming.<br /><br />I remember Daddy saying "It's a Girl!" And crying, crying, crying!<br /><br />I remember holding you for the first time. My little baby girl. My gift from God.<br /><br />I remember naming you "Charlotte" because we wanted you to have a special name. Named after a special guy. And your middle name "Anne", after a special lady.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwc9ZMGhVKnulzZ75JAAIVskJblOYlY5J7Q4jhTHt3XbG-ZTfTh3qLdaUBz_MtLDb6qXsEmzCzsms4ITi_uWQbtj03sdTz5VnA7X-w8-b9lz33bGO7c_x1kgAmP_bXzLJNZqRLatHSAqn/s1600/100_0127.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwc9ZMGhVKnulzZ75JAAIVskJblOYlY5J7Q4jhTHt3XbG-ZTfTh3qLdaUBz_MtLDb6qXsEmzCzsms4ITi_uWQbtj03sdTz5VnA7X-w8-b9lz33bGO7c_x1kgAmP_bXzLJNZqRLatHSAqn/s200/100_0127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504983378710435426" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I remember Grammie coming to the hospital after midnight to see you...she couldn't wait.<br /><br />I remember Nana and Grandpa coming to see you, and Nana wore pink!<br /><br />I remember so many aunts, uncles, friends, cousins, etc. etc. etc. came to see our little miracle. Lots of them wearing pink!<br /><br />I remember bringing you home. Sitting in the backseat with you because we were so nervous.<br /><br />I remember writing down every little thing you did, or we did for that first year.<br /><br />I remember your first day at Lisa's. Oh how I cried!<br /><br />I remember your fluffy head!<br /><br />I remember when you started talking...could it be only at ten months old! Yes it was!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNY1NX_o2anjXCgVy1mmbyF7wbgAq8R0mEase6divVLkuWqU4s3vmC8mlAWWDtmu45EpYqtGzIpAkkz4HAVry1vBMek4tduVoBH_BVteY1qEIchsMNnULlVNWrktA5W6BcjL5q9sWOwQZU/s1600/100_1473.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNY1NX_o2anjXCgVy1mmbyF7wbgAq8R0mEase6divVLkuWqU4s3vmC8mlAWWDtmu45EpYqtGzIpAkkz4HAVry1vBMek4tduVoBH_BVteY1qEIchsMNnULlVNWrktA5W6BcjL5q9sWOwQZU/s200/100_1473.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504983830467689154" border="0" /></a><br />I remember your "open mouth kisses".<br /><br />I remember your first birthday! On the Places You Will Go!<br /><br />I remember you were the one who started saying "It's just gas"! :)<br /><br />I remember you and your siblings are what <a href="http://kmdaigle.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-truly-matters.html">truly matter</a>.<br /><br />I remember having you tell the world that you were going to be a big sister!<br /><br />I remember you being do excited to come visit Ian and me in the hospital.<br /><br />I remember how much you wanted to help.<br /><br />I remember what a wonderful <a href="http://kmdaigle.blogspot.com/2009/07/big-sister-little-brother.html">big sister</a> you became to Ian.<br /><br />I remember your giggles.<br /><br />I remember how much you love <a href="http://kmdaigle.blogspot.com/2008/07/books-books-books.html">books</a>. You used to want to sleep with them. Beg me to take you to the library!<br /><br />I remember your hugs.<br /><br />I remember so many of the things that <a href="http://kmdaigle.blogspot.com/2009/01/green-lollipops.html">you said</a>.<br /><br />I remember your first day of <a href="http://kmdaigle.blogspot.com/2009/06/dancing-queen.html">dance</a>. You were so scared. Now we can't stop you from dancing!!<br /><br />I remember your first day of preschool. You were so excited. And I cried! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TVI0YzhXzTYNyhOevcOQTipr8Vekza1cUK3-MS1rVWtwjDvfuELdTtVcnm3FKx1tGja4yshkxgLMhP_bk8P-2188I5a0ISjnSGdD06fVOQqGj_Zg1aTUDAdsqKKajwOaMBslw3VF13DM/s1600/IMG_3186.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TVI0YzhXzTYNyhOevcOQTipr8Vekza1cUK3-MS1rVWtwjDvfuELdTtVcnm3FKx1tGja4yshkxgLMhP_bk8P-2188I5a0ISjnSGdD06fVOQqGj_Zg1aTUDAdsqKKajwOaMBslw3VF13DM/s200/IMG_3186.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504984576722511314" border="0" /></a> Oh how I cried!<br /><br />I remember your excitement when we told you we were having another baby.<br /><br />I remember you insisted it was a girl. We tried to prepare you for the fact it might be a boy.<br /><br />I remember you were right! You were the first person we called when Genevieve was born, and you said "I told you it was a girl"!<br /><br />Oh Charlotte, I hope you will always know the joy you brought and continue to bring into our lives. You were our first miracle.<br /><br />Now with kindergarten looming on the horizon, I just can't believe it is time for you to grow up that much more. Everyday I look at you and think you grew a little more overnight. You're not my baby anymore. You're not a toddler either. You are a little girl, who loves Barbies, playing hide and seek, stuffed animals, making friends, and who is a light in our lives!<br /><br />I hope all your dreams come true. I hope you stay the happy girl you are today!<br /><br />We love you Charlotte!<br />It's time for kindergarten! *deep breath*Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-47083574191569777362010-08-02T21:59:00.007-04:002010-08-02T22:25:16.694-04:00Fears<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRO3wDwlOs7ykh40Duw0W_YqpA6oH8oWqfvQdLFMt0JQmDD41FY-pNV45HgeI6jfR73PnMT7ON9k5j-mxtMAWf35lUXiJ_rOHucgWl4BNPPdaz5ukHaMhy8a2Id2j3AQ7Kne7dWsQ-j98/s1600/fear-face.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRO3wDwlOs7ykh40Duw0W_YqpA6oH8oWqfvQdLFMt0JQmDD41FY-pNV45HgeI6jfR73PnMT7ON9k5j-mxtMAWf35lUXiJ_rOHucgWl4BNPPdaz5ukHaMhy8a2Id2j3AQ7Kne7dWsQ-j98/s200/fear-face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501001866631728626" border="0" /></a><br />What is fear? Is it something that is in your subconscious? Is it mind over matter? How do you control or calm fears? I have been thinking about this so much in the past few days and weeks.<br /><br />Why, you ask?<br /><br /> I have struggled my whole life with fears. Most are little things and some are somewhat bigger. I have resided to the fact that these are me, but I won't let them rule my life. I don't want them to be the things that are constantly on my mind. I need to let them go as much as I can. I'm trying. I hope I will.<br /><br />But, in the past few weeks and such, my little boy has become almost crippled by fear. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxh6nadxLDaQUM6ZRnRvlC0OAfgHui9ddPvcgGPo4UFePjiZxatvRUfR89GO3QUSuO92I0san3mnlsQCsffaq4R8DBBBac920Lmq5uzUdQw6FJ62er4bOkyltk-9X28qPOpHTZq89WdGEj/s1600/sad-boy.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxh6nadxLDaQUM6ZRnRvlC0OAfgHui9ddPvcgGPo4UFePjiZxatvRUfR89GO3QUSuO92I0san3mnlsQCsffaq4R8DBBBac920Lmq5uzUdQw6FJ62er4bOkyltk-9X28qPOpHTZq89WdGEj/s200/sad-boy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501002214668205234" border="0" /></a>He has always been, from the moment he was born, and extremely strong startle reflex. He would literally shake when presented with a loud noise, or and unexpected sound. Now, picture the fourth of July. Fireworks and all. My poor little boy has not been the same since.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE1BXLTqoCxwTqC7f8RTxGxEN7109BRFATBDKbyuQ-kVeBBWRt-cA1ETPyqnFsuO4Fg2pd-eImRzVJ0JLsXN9QX1vGl4AARKex80BASk_0zjahtihi_MfS9MRkQZ7HE0Ft3SeLUi0AXU1M/s1600/fireworks1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE1BXLTqoCxwTqC7f8RTxGxEN7109BRFATBDKbyuQ-kVeBBWRt-cA1ETPyqnFsuO4Fg2pd-eImRzVJ0JLsXN9QX1vGl4AARKex80BASk_0zjahtihi_MfS9MRkQZ7HE0Ft3SeLUi0AXU1M/s200/fireworks1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501002590608946546" border="0" /></a>Knowing how it feels to be afraid, and how it can over take your mind, I of course don't want that for my boy. I want to help him to not be afraid. I want to be sure he always feels safe. But how?<br /><br />The OT in me wants to give him some sensory strategies that will help him to become almost desensitized to loud noises or even those noises that just may be unexpected. But the Mommy in me wants to hug him and tell him it's all ok. There's nothing to be afraid of. Then the woman in me, just wants to reason with him, explain what fireworks are, why they are not scary, etc. etc.<br /><br />BUT HELLO....he's TWO!<br /><br />So, I guess putting it out there makes it less of a fear of mine that he will continue to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylO-BFkt9YVlfs_smVnS2uUy_R1QPBumC8mRv-0KKuCEmJ7en6Gw6erbeUUfukKBEFfz-jhzjA0qpU7KyYyJjg9PZiskoGct9X48lH1HmR59Fw1wqEyOUDXsbC_72a3xScWwBAzMV02JE/s1600/hearing-protection_l.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylO-BFkt9YVlfs_smVnS2uUy_R1QPBumC8mRv-0KKuCEmJ7en6Gw6erbeUUfukKBEFfz-jhzjA0qpU7KyYyJjg9PZiskoGct9X48lH1HmR59Fw1wqEyOUDXsbC_72a3xScWwBAzMV02JE/s200/hearing-protection_l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501003129120862690" border="0" /></a>be crippled by this. I will help him through it. I will try to calm his fears. I will hold his hand and make some modifications for him when I can, so he feels more comfortable.<br /><br />I love you, Ian. You are safe. I will always be there for you no matter what your fear. And in the mean time, I'll buy you some earmuffs????Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-52029100789620967282010-07-13T16:02:00.005-04:002010-07-13T16:24:50.945-04:00Moments<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRF7exDAKVsxhXCbbqB4AnHJ8jXf5PquztJpzsxRFYiBsLNlIk695SnZyvvM_ZayBweREa9f2paqIWe9FOEPKXcJl1mKgJr1c8di5dC_5K3rk4de7VTJBrJXxvbE-aN161V3jVYODjVZd/s1600/zenna_by_monokowalla.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRF7exDAKVsxhXCbbqB4AnHJ8jXf5PquztJpzsxRFYiBsLNlIk695SnZyvvM_ZayBweREa9f2paqIWe9FOEPKXcJl1mKgJr1c8di5dC_5K3rk4de7VTJBrJXxvbE-aN161V3jVYODjVZd/s200/zenna_by_monokowalla.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493489225070018754" border="0" /></a><br />Do you ever look around at the moment you are in and just feel happy? Or at peace? Some people use the phrase Zen. I don't know about that, but there are those moments that if you really consciously stop to take a minute and think about what is happening around you, it is amazing.<br />Now, I don't want to sound too "out there", but I have been lucky enough in the last week or so to really be in these moments. I think when you are conscious about stopping to "smell the roses" as they say, you find yourself doing it more and more.<br /><br />Last week, Gordon and I were at my in-laws summer place with the kids and we were doing I-don't-even-know-what, and I felt it. I was just so happy in that moment that it brought a tear to my eye. I know, I know...those of you that know me well are thinking...no big surprise, but it was quite powerful. I mean it.<br />Then it happened again...we went out for ice cream. All five of us. We were sitting o<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqMRh56K0Pj_YnzdEope2t6oR-0r7nQlQ3JQhZhrcrvZItSZ01SQOWSbns1Zl3nUl_hhoSfd-J6odr5_o-DYiG46JUnaPKgf7EBeX3ZYPJQMUbovuiZhc3tgNvwX4MGDVCP7dICqC6ZYS/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 88px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqMRh56K0Pj_YnzdEope2t6oR-0r7nQlQ3JQhZhrcrvZItSZ01SQOWSbns1Zl3nUl_hhoSfd-J6odr5_o-DYiG46JUnaPKgf7EBeX3ZYPJQMUbovuiZhc3tgNvwX4MGDVCP7dICqC6ZYS/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493488692027278354" border="0" /></a>utside the ice cream shoppe and I just smiled from the inside out. I can't explain it and I am not sure I'm doing that great of a job explaining it here either.<br />All I can say is try it. Take a moment in whatever you are doing and stop and think about all the wonderful things around you.<br />Mine has been my husband and my kids. They mean the world to me,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTL_uTCGp9kgTDuneHPdzdiq39TbWANbhGbUeOz4WHzNnmgIbHotP4iYZeeNSNTXZmuuyVchX8Ez3QdE-J2xo3sDgeYc2bl_VmfiSGq0U5TAgoMUS2IKtZByddzTNA4btiBHrGyWh9WON/s1600/kidsleep"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 87px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTL_uTCGp9kgTDuneHPdzdiq39TbWANbhGbUeOz4WHzNnmgIbHotP4iYZeeNSNTXZmuuyVchX8Ez3QdE-J2xo3sDgeYc2bl_VmfiSGq0U5TAgoMUS2IKtZByddzTNA4btiBHrGyWh9WON/s200/kidsleep" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493488856025254722" border="0" /></a> and I think sometimes I get caught up in the day to day stuff or the routines of it all and don't stop to see the wonderful gifts.<br /><br />Today I was driving home and all three of my kids were asleep in the back. I could see only two, but I knew that number three was asleep too. It made me think more and more about that feeling of happiness, peace, or whatever it is. I had it. In the midst of a traffic jam on the highway. Zen.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-23768953913518584442010-06-26T14:36:00.006-04:002010-06-26T14:56:08.114-04:00Balance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNcb1g2R0A5w4bOXtashlSPO8_lMSbnb6P7xgW4bgJN9JqfR9tEEdi1kCz831EaFhacb5OfGBDTBLBo-r4DxC0y5MkuzcUXcohZtXt5uk0ePDBoyUxvSW4OSkqdkysWAsPtynS4KF5yaN/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 95px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNcb1g2R0A5w4bOXtashlSPO8_lMSbnb6P7xgW4bgJN9JqfR9tEEdi1kCz831EaFhacb5OfGBDTBLBo-r4DxC0y5MkuzcUXcohZtXt5uk0ePDBoyUxvSW4OSkqdkysWAsPtynS4KF5yaN/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487157688415448898" border="0" /></a><br />I need to find balance. But how?<br />I have three children and a wonderful husband. A new home. A demanding job. Fabulous friends. Loving family. I hobby that I miss. Etc. Etc. Etc.<br /><br />Where and how can I balance all of this so that I feel fulfilled?<br /><br />I have an exciting opportunity to work in a clinic this summer, that appears to be VERY similar to the one I would love to own one day. I think it would be so much fun and I would learn a ton.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObgEEL05ALIihqUXxnE5W1dswl367g7dg12q-9sVwDKVF2d3q-NLiKfOMvp_QiInVpabCvXccURzAeKXqhTveABBOol_QrVYSGelC0GA2-Gq9hJTc7HZmRjMpsL3oNH600CYBnJ1IaHEe/s1600/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 108px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObgEEL05ALIihqUXxnE5W1dswl367g7dg12q-9sVwDKVF2d3q-NLiKfOMvp_QiInVpabCvXccURzAeKXqhTveABBOol_QrVYSGelC0GA2-Gq9hJTc7HZmRjMpsL3oNH600CYBnJ1IaHEe/s200/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487157508513778626" border="0" /></a>On the other hand, my children are only going to be 4, 2, and new for this summer and I don't want to miss out on anything.<br />Plus we have a new house, that I have been having a great time trying to make into our home. It's fun. And during the school year, I don't have time to make things like I want to.<br />There are friends in my life that I feel like I never see. I miss just hanging out with them, whether it is with their kids or not. I miss them.<br />My family and Gordon's family used to get together for family dinners every once in a while, and now for some reason we don't.<br />My kids want to do so much, join things, play here, visit there, and I am having trouble making it all happen for them.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66yVQfRy4Xx4C1sVnzmf4SM9AgIXezJV0A0Cc8OE7SgkWRabaAB4advmTNCqaNit6Yir3nOD_LAw4vcjy256vepqugoKzrOjh4JoGsO75tqMVhqgO3UQyujwCv7JDb23c0wxiBtwpoiQk/s1600/images-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 104px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66yVQfRy4Xx4C1sVnzmf4SM9AgIXezJV0A0Cc8OE7SgkWRabaAB4advmTNCqaNit6Yir3nOD_LAw4vcjy256vepqugoKzrOjh4JoGsO75tqMVhqgO3UQyujwCv7JDb23c0wxiBtwpoiQk/s200/images-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487157982572494498" border="0" /></a><br />UGH!<br /><br />so much, and so little time! I need to prioritize, I guess and make some decisions. I know I can't do it all, but I find myself asking why...<br /><br />Balance, where are you? Or do I just need to learn how to juggle?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-69307271275713744892010-03-25T13:35:00.004-04:002010-03-25T13:46:58.882-04:00Tears and FearsWhy do we cry? Sadness. Stress. Emotion. Happiness. There are so many reasons. I sit here, bawling. I just vacuumed the whole house, and each room I was thinking of all the memories we have here.<br /><br />As many of you know, we are selling this house at the end of May. I am filled with so much emotion about this big move that it has been hard to see clearly.<br /><br />We bought this house ten days before our wedding. We have been through so <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_OC7SO1QLO_ACxd7RnrXD079OSCkPRk8UBVsDsBB-phVxo7_7NY5SbcsF9zIqvIRaHupVzOCJsfoimK7Pq9Zc_0l2y41BGgH5COOrtxsu5f3QEWFGJqNGA0p0TIt5T0qgldVjGCdkn_C/s1600/IMG_3891.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_OC7SO1QLO_ACxd7RnrXD079OSCkPRk8UBVsDsBB-phVxo7_7NY5SbcsF9zIqvIRaHupVzOCJsfoimK7Pq9Zc_0l2y41BGgH5COOrtxsu5f3QEWFGJqNGA0p0TIt5T0qgldVjGCdkn_C/s200/IMG_3891.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452628959421007938" border="0" /></a>much here. We did amazing things to this house to update it and make it seem more like ours. We put on a roof, new windows, redid the family room, put on a deck, and then made the nursery for our babies, and a big kid room as we added to our family.<br />Plus we went through our infertility trials here. Shots, medications, disappointments, and finally the greatest words "you're pregnant".<br />We came home here after my Dad's funeral. We came here after each baby was born. We had countless family gatherings here.<br />We, before kids, had New Year's Eve parties here. Man, they we fun!<br /><br />So many memories!!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3OMiCjBi6cl7F4VUegGO7ezl3z3P-EwY6c2htxmXTwEXy3USuE_UYx6ia5TJe3UtLgLojUipiK3uorATYqLJaUYYQmvoNfCHPq218xssdOKKbAy4kCdPlzBpRuIhQ27eoB_SLsY0dt9p/s1600/IMG_3934.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3OMiCjBi6cl7F4VUegGO7ezl3z3P-EwY6c2htxmXTwEXy3USuE_UYx6ia5TJe3UtLgLojUipiK3uorATYqLJaUYYQmvoNfCHPq218xssdOKKbAy4kCdPlzBpRuIhQ27eoB_SLsY0dt9p/s200/IMG_3934.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452628754699394914" border="0" /></a><br />Now, as Gordon says, it is time to start our new chapter. Move to our new home, start memories there. So much to look forward to in our new house. This house, on Bunce Rd, was a great home...<br />Now it is time to move to our new home, on Surrey Place, and open the book of our lives in a new chapter.<br /><br />*Deep Breath*Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-49020410080432320042009-12-07T11:37:00.004-05:002009-12-07T11:47:03.316-05:00It's Time!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfNUCwGLDY0vpnlnbjG-y-HcTeb8CdUMHhxpjf8zvWnz3A2jS7_3pivz9R-x3NMsT2DCtQJZi82cg1vxPHTt8AGbJA5VgY3H2zacTcGBU12WHLwiSvTGRsCcOg9GejxXZTuHDo0T3J6dQ/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 101px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfNUCwGLDY0vpnlnbjG-y-HcTeb8CdUMHhxpjf8zvWnz3A2jS7_3pivz9R-x3NMsT2DCtQJZi82cg1vxPHTt8AGbJA5VgY3H2zacTcGBU12WHLwiSvTGRsCcOg9GejxXZTuHDo0T3J6dQ/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412536025759768562" border="0" /></a><br />Yep, it's time.<br />It's the holiday time.<br />It's time for Baby #3 to make his/her appearance.<br /><br />Tomorrow I will go into the hospital at 7am, and be induced into labor to welcome our third miracle into our family. I feel ready in some respects and so not ready in others.<br />How will we handle being out numbered? How will Charlotte and Ian continue to feel special? How will we divide our time? How will I handle having three little ones and working and managing our home? How will Gordon and I be able to find time for ourselves?<br /><br />These are all questions that I have, but deep in my heart I know that it will all be fine. Gordon and I have a very strong marriage, I've said that before. We can handle anything together. He is my rock, and I think I am his as well.<br />Charlotte and Ian are the best of friends right now, so I know they will handle the new baby in stride. <br /><br />All these questions are my own fears. The fears of again becoming a new Mom, to a new little person. I think it helps to just get them out.<br /><br />I know I can do it! I know I have the strength within myself and the strength of my amazing family and friends to help. <br /><br />It is just the anticipation and the maybe unfounded fears.<br /><br />Welcome little one! We are ready for you! It's time!Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-82429635182470887002009-09-29T20:14:00.008-04:002009-09-29T21:01:20.189-04:00Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghMLY4iDCLvIdDsKl0H4YT6xSUvcJLj6dGZo2Groc_70zfriJcKFLZx71ADmrxFOlaIXUeuONnEMEJ0ES_Uy-QOojZ0LUVw_6K4NOag0vCnrb63oLf4RXMdkPfg3RFJFD965qQnR14sR9/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 84px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghMLY4iDCLvIdDsKl0H4YT6xSUvcJLj6dGZo2Groc_70zfriJcKFLZx71ADmrxFOlaIXUeuONnEMEJ0ES_Uy-QOojZ0LUVw_6K4NOag0vCnrb63oLf4RXMdkPfg3RFJFD965qQnR14sR9/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387049088209242882" border="0" /></a>Ok, so I am sure you've all heard by now about our scary night in New Hampshire over Labor Day Weekend. (and no it wasn't just because with were with Mike, although he is alittle scary. hehe!)<br />Charlotte had an allergic reaction to what, we had no idea at the time. Swollen lip, turned into coughing, wheezing, difficulty breathing, and hives everywhere. By the time we got her to the emergency room, she was having such a hard time breathing, it was so scary. But, my little girl was so brave. So strong. She did great. And the doctors and nurses at the Parkland Medical Center were the best. They really help to keep Charlotte calm, and me calm. I think keeping me calm is sometimes hard.<br />Anyway, long story short, we now know she is severely allergic to tree nuts. Yep, tree nuts. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZr-n-Wexwu3PK_7AixwLWRen0mmp8RAF639mkUgbdX9B2rRoxSkuglf-5e2sbqxcc_EDKQwVNfg_Ncg2XQedItXCbdjdTZPe17rtYjK9MrdWiisZ83SsedOJu5JEq_m4HnJ1_t_gKQ3f8/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 88px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZr-n-Wexwu3PK_7AixwLWRen0mmp8RAF639mkUgbdX9B2rRoxSkuglf-5e2sbqxcc_EDKQwVNfg_Ncg2XQedItXCbdjdTZPe17rtYjK9MrdWiisZ83SsedOJu5JEq_m4HnJ1_t_gKQ3f8/s200/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387051180277933170" border="0" /></a>Not peanuts, but pretty much everything else. Now epipens, reading labels, and teaching a four year old to ask about nuts before eating anything is our life. I feel like a tree nut Nut!<br /><br />Then at work, I am trying to do the job of two right now. We are short handed and I am attempting to pick up the pieces, see twice as many kids, and get back to every teacher that asks me. It is crazy. I am exhausted! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2Ue-3N56lRnWyj8E43tmyM21HAdz8vwdvko9roICOQLrWVnsZJoob4VyuwiidKugTsO7B61A967PxZ8-f2lZpOKDWWdJ2NkUnyYQOvCUBwo_stU-qzmn0cgt__EqXVTxt1MufD4INGHV/s1600-h/images-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 93px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2Ue-3N56lRnWyj8E43tmyM21HAdz8vwdvko9roICOQLrWVnsZJoob4VyuwiidKugTsO7B61A967PxZ8-f2lZpOKDWWdJ2NkUnyYQOvCUBwo_stU-qzmn0cgt__EqXVTxt1MufD4INGHV/s200/images-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387058973216297058" border="0" /></a>I am hoping people at work understand, but I know that deep down, people don't care that I am short handed. Everyone has a job to do and everyone keeps track of their own. So, I am doing what I can and praying each day for the strength to get through. Even at work I am feeling nutty!!!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXY7fuLG-mJSMHWI0QlXlGZaWGUfapIcZ6N40F_ZwR3_wzR0HuyiorEsszluNFq-oQoblj9xMRCBFYWsv7vUwZLeA3JtEcrCxdx-TRwaGjkXkdGumPnL6xfGRlr8LPAnK0fGmrrR_c7bp/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 131px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXY7fuLG-mJSMHWI0QlXlGZaWGUfapIcZ6N40F_ZwR3_wzR0HuyiorEsszluNFq-oQoblj9xMRCBFYWsv7vUwZLeA3JtEcrCxdx-TRwaGjkXkdGumPnL6xfGRlr8LPAnK0fGmrrR_c7bp/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387056548587212242" border="0" /></a>Now finally, the H1N1 vaccine! Ugh! What to do? Pregnant women are at the top of the list to get this vaccine. Now it is scary. It has been rushed to market because of the flu scare. My OB/GYN tells me that <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">if </span>I get the swine flu, I could have some serious complications. But getting the vaccine, my baby and I <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">definitely will </span></span>get the vaccine, with all the added ingredients, that we don't know what the side effects on me or my baby will be. I am losing sleep over this debate. I feel like a nut!<br /><br />It's been forever since I've posted. It's been forever since I've seen my best friends, and been able to talk to them. It's been forever since I've gotten a good night sleep. It's been forever since I have felt good about my job each day. Something has got to give. I need to crack these nuts. Now you all know why it has taken me forever to post...<br /><br />Does anyone have a nut cracker?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-80665174262314743202009-08-28T10:23:00.000-04:002009-08-28T10:23:32.131-04:00The Push.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtb6QbdX0iTo-YrvftpReHZdrt4i7ANY2fifCiW2hpWHfq7o9afJ6gkQtvseyjc8Ir98-VxQlKP3bQNuMzVUPm3EiPjZOA9IMxgc4_kIPID56S2mC1cHqy6ivSBjTyVn815CnISGYmfxto/s1600-h/holding-hands-uid-1420628.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtb6QbdX0iTo-YrvftpReHZdrt4i7ANY2fifCiW2hpWHfq7o9afJ6gkQtvseyjc8Ir98-VxQlKP3bQNuMzVUPm3EiPjZOA9IMxgc4_kIPID56S2mC1cHqy6ivSBjTyVn815CnISGYmfxto/s200/holding-hands-uid-1420628.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375019093201334978" border="0" /></a><br /><span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:large;"><strong>"You never know when one act, or one word<br />of encouragement can change a life forever."<br /></strong>~ Zig Ziglar </span></span></span><br />I have been so weepy lately. Maybe it's pregnancy hormones, maybe it's lack of sleep, maybe it's the fact that work starts next week and I am completely stressed already. Or maybe it is because my little girl is going to preschool this Fall. She actually starts next Tuesday. She'll go half days for four days a week. We bought her backpack (Princess of course), we got her a lunch box to bring her snack in each day (again Princess of course), and some other supplies for school.<br />SCHOOL! I really can't believe how fast time goes. I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with her. Just like it was yesterday. Then the day she was born, was such an amazing day. She truly was a miracle to us. All our children are, but there was something about Charlotte.<br />These days I find myself watching t.v. and back to school commercials come on and I start crying. Man, I am a sap. How do you give her the push she needs to go, when all you want to do is hold on?<br />My little girl, is not so little anymore. She wants to go to school. And I know she is ready, but I think I might need some kind of support group or something.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiJP1gBnCdOT9rUqnEWI_4euYZ86mxC2_vlIOFi4vKe0SqEVI3CxfOk1x1wAsKgSJXFWXMZElbh8abnEBJwh41tCjzzw-K57lgo4rDVD9iqj-qmUK5-aYgCKo6K_g0tCut7WmGg9XabZhE/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 137px; height: 103px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiJP1gBnCdOT9rUqnEWI_4euYZ86mxC2_vlIOFi4vKe0SqEVI3CxfOk1x1wAsKgSJXFWXMZElbh8abnEBJwh41tCjzzw-K57lgo4rDVD9iqj-qmUK5-aYgCKo6K_g0tCut7WmGg9XabZhE/s200/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375019233149210978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I recently got this link in an email and it got me thinking about school, my kids growing up, and how it can be hard to see, but wonderful at the same time. If you have a few minutes click the link and see what I mean. It is worth it. Or atleast I think so.<br />Click <a href="http://www.eaglesneedapush.com/index.html">here</a> to see the link.<br /><br />So September 1st, think of my little <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Big</span> girl heading to preschool...and send some support my way, I think I might need it.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-87845823119944049412009-08-18T13:24:00.000-04:002009-08-18T13:25:04.112-04:00John Hughes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16Nd4g1GPp80vHjs3jWeltG7QtNZUvMy6IeKGdv4UGDL0Q2mA48085BGkjGQHd0NJlpugggU1uwQrZXzZNEoT4THzN6HIGFPxZ6WWzPxcXkSBA7xPpAjljPEwOK6oMh_Xy8U3QHjMi2Gp/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 68px; height: 80px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16Nd4g1GPp80vHjs3jWeltG7QtNZUvMy6IeKGdv4UGDL0Q2mA48085BGkjGQHd0NJlpugggU1uwQrZXzZNEoT4THzN6HIGFPxZ6WWzPxcXkSBA7xPpAjljPEwOK6oMh_Xy8U3QHjMi2Gp/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367653581627599538" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000455/">John Hughes</a> was born February 18, 1950. Died August 6th, 2009.<br />He is one of the most influential writers of teen angst from the 1980s and 90s. He wrote and directed some of my all time favorite movies of the 80s.<br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088128/">Sixteen Candles</a>,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BODJU8IO-Ehnd3JxU8yrC70gUBQfH_FK8mj0OeJRiRL9wMPdoPUKqoSyy52jbfxaS0286kUBt3HRaelJQZjahe-jWj2CWM_M-N9dte0dzYjzuBpB10pzKddazVNNlX8Oz8nuqv5SKs5d/s1600-h/images-6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 90px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BODJU8IO-Ehnd3JxU8yrC70gUBQfH_FK8mj0OeJRiRL9wMPdoPUKqoSyy52jbfxaS0286kUBt3HRaelJQZjahe-jWj2CWM_M-N9dte0dzYjzuBpB10pzKddazVNNlX8Oz8nuqv5SKs5d/s200/images-6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367650147987562578" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088847/"> The Breakfast Club</a>, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjliK7zwIqc9mpX-Pz4cp9EDlCCXhFn8s08Fa6Uobv2n-MizbtpBR4RGmS2VhV8kWn9ExokiOFEJ5qHNNwOHmmIF9QH3tNnLMcjVmf4PT4XyuH9Qiz7ST5gG-QdWKclEteZO5RRGrdP1K5/s1600-h/images-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjliK7zwIqc9mpX-Pz4cp9EDlCCXhFn8s08Fa6Uobv2n-MizbtpBR4RGmS2VhV8kWn9ExokiOFEJ5qHNNwOHmmIF9QH3tNnLMcjVmf4PT4XyuH9Qiz7ST5gG-QdWKclEteZO5RRGrdP1K5/s200/images-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367649740725732786" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091042/">Ferris Bueller's Day Off</a>, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpowzShl6525IY4UlQsMuKgyBDuUSVd03QnuAerrEghjS4Fj50GTV2MJXHxg1dvU0SAjw3LbSnLiOzHuHWsoBwPZwvL5WZKFxDnTWm1eR0iuLS0evkEJP15FxKWmHx1fPG0_J3m1omDZ1S/s1600-h/images-7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 69px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpowzShl6525IY4UlQsMuKgyBDuUSVd03QnuAerrEghjS4Fj50GTV2MJXHxg1dvU0SAjw3LbSnLiOzHuHWsoBwPZwvL5WZKFxDnTWm1eR0iuLS0evkEJP15FxKWmHx1fPG0_J3m1omDZ1S/s200/images-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367650436030088562" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0094006/">Some Kind of Wonderful</a>, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcb1RRfgLwPdiorfovgNsIJUUWZvKJFZJYJNrUMteFs5w2GVEXvHViscR9UUgCbDEzBwuFj6EARM9PIbcLet5y7PlFcd1_0dCTkdSBkHJZ0j8RsxcxT_sB-sM1-Ml6XQEYCXbdrWPQde0G/s1600-h/images-4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 100px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcb1RRfgLwPdiorfovgNsIJUUWZvKJFZJYJNrUMteFs5w2GVEXvHViscR9UUgCbDEzBwuFj6EARM9PIbcLet5y7PlFcd1_0dCTkdSBkHJZ0j8RsxcxT_sB-sM1-Ml6XQEYCXbdrWPQde0G/s200/images-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367649997127659266" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098554/">Uncle Buck</a>,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhssyrsUmQqNekf8LR10w52paawr5wsEqFzZKpQIjJ8l5hij1SQR2JmboLn0YI3O9bTKL7tuvHBFJknneer8S_RI830nHIytCOXyJA2D5i6hBCsXAKj-Gk_OoOWjJynlqp6B30WndTuKv0B/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 98px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhssyrsUmQqNekf8LR10w52paawr5wsEqFzZKpQIjJ8l5hij1SQR2JmboLn0YI3O9bTKL7tuvHBFJknneer8S_RI830nHIytCOXyJA2D5i6hBCsXAKj-Gk_OoOWjJynlqp6B30WndTuKv0B/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370374186668720818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091790/">Pretty In Pink</a>;<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1y5kJokUrrzNB31WL5QplnaaIc9SKgqnMXPT03i-AciaB8J-KSqYmSEX83OUokFa8h_c-Bvcg3O4UQYCBhdE2bK1QGPNmP71U7aU41Q271F1IJ8r-LcNye3rDiKH9Rv6xQPK_dB5ObvN0/s1600-h/images-5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 93px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1y5kJokUrrzNB31WL5QplnaaIc9SKgqnMXPT03i-AciaB8J-KSqYmSEX83OUokFa8h_c-Bvcg3O4UQYCBhdE2bK1QGPNmP71U7aU41Q271F1IJ8r-LcNye3rDiKH9Rv6xQPK_dB5ObvN0/s200/images-5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367649864214103906" border="0" /></a> I'm sure there are more that I just can't remember at this moment. These movies I could watch over and over again and to this day they still can make me laugh right out loud. Plus they were movies that were about things teens are going through. Who wouldn't want the popular guy in school to like you, who doesn't want to just fit in, who doesn't want to take a whole day off and just have fun? All these movies did that.<br /><br />He was only 59 years old, and had a heart attack. Life is so fragile.<br /><br />Thank you John for all these movies that I grew up with and can quote even today.<br /><br />Like "Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe?" or "I'm thinking of trying out for a scholarship" or "Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain... ...and an athlete...<br />...and a basket case...<br />...a princess...<br />...and a criminal...<br />Does that answer your question?... Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club". From the Breakfast Club<br /><br />Or "Lake, Big Lake!", "You know, I'm getting input here that I'm reading as relatively hostile", "Oto-mo-biiile?" All from Sixteen Candles.<br /><br />There are so many...no need to go on. But if you haven't seen these movies. Rent them!<br /><br />They are worth it!<br /><br />I also recently found this <a href="http://wellknowwhenwegetthere.blogspot.com/2009/08/sincerely-john-hughes.html">post</a> from John Hughes' pen pal. Not only did we lose a gret writer/director, but a great man.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDG8bubt1UUaoSzjtfnQ_rcfTbl6XlAKZMgClobd3-npvlHujvdo4OzMWnmZ3tdHv2xz_PzpAo6inrv0Iv6Am5CJSkkaJdrIDhPkIOo9g9woXMyAjRZgXf-IfX8lnDxqsD_4W_i-chSj-_/s1600-h/images.jpg"><br /></a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-32695357932355779912009-08-08T13:23:00.000-04:002009-08-08T13:23:09.059-04:00Staying CoolHow does a pregnant Mom of two stay cool on a humid 90 degree summer day?<br /><br />Head to the beach? Doubtful.<br /><br />Stay in the AC and turn on the t.v.? Maybe.<br /><br />Fill up the kiddie pool and have fun with her kids? Definitely!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlnVU3w2gTh8smLaJXwFKRX7AEqMr414AjjMo-Ho_gO8JWmrCdKYVb8RGW1UjC-4nKgrOYQt2xpmRCU0wQPNj6oUNLcquI2ryPfNAGA76Icz2bekDQbwldiiF1-A9fzw1uMeB0R9JBecL/s1600-h/IMG_3091.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlnVU3w2gTh8smLaJXwFKRX7AEqMr414AjjMo-Ho_gO8JWmrCdKYVb8RGW1UjC-4nKgrOYQt2xpmRCU0wQPNj6oUNLcquI2ryPfNAGA76Icz2bekDQbwldiiF1-A9fzw1uMeB0R9JBecL/s200/IMG_3091.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367395397293385330" border="0" /></a>We sure did have fun! They wanted to splash Mommy and pour water on my "toe-ies". Who am I to stop them?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-77848156005153720682009-07-23T14:56:00.003-04:002009-07-23T15:04:26.106-04:00Wedding March?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2BkfdLoBWAX70ABOsnFG2GauApMamSTzQKUkPoADouKBmipcKaxpfxo9buSj888AJoOxI3bPlkgRjkpDkOWCjH2aKuODFc291idn23-itBxgDxp__G03pkkv8gYc6FHmQv9Tm60mrvkp/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2BkfdLoBWAX70ABOsnFG2GauApMamSTzQKUkPoADouKBmipcKaxpfxo9buSj888AJoOxI3bPlkgRjkpDkOWCjH2aKuODFc291idn23-itBxgDxp__G03pkkv8gYc6FHmQv9Tm60mrvkp/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361733341367325954" border="0" /></a><br />So, I get this email today from my cousin, Tracy, and the subject was "Fun Video--with music". So of course I open it. It was a Youtube video that she said "thought you'd get a kick out of this".<br /><br />Man, did I! It is great! Worth the watch. Click <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-94JhLEiN0">here</a> to see what I mean. It's so funny. <br />About a five minute video, so be sure you have the time.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-90346850723952417582009-07-20T13:37:00.004-04:002009-07-20T13:51:12.815-04:00Big Sister, Little Brother.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1czbBHD7vV2bBBXKGgaMG0ObkxyHTUOnIAjm69Eg8euZwjhyphenhyphen7t3AS7kfo0jz5R0NTr3isiw5CL9v6JP5rC4DFIgxwQLizC71QT6R2Wmxk9fM6DomjaAjxTJiCZkrLHtVOhZ6Eftd-aMkM/s1600-h/IMG_2967.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1czbBHD7vV2bBBXKGgaMG0ObkxyHTUOnIAjm69Eg8euZwjhyphenhyphen7t3AS7kfo0jz5R0NTr3isiw5CL9v6JP5rC4DFIgxwQLizC71QT6R2Wmxk9fM6DomjaAjxTJiCZkrLHtVOhZ6Eftd-aMkM/s200/IMG_2967.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360599620455543602" border="0" /></a><br />About a little over a year or so ago, my sister-in-law wrote a <a href="http://aadaigle.blogspot.com/2008/01/advice-to-big-sister_09.html">post</a> to Charlotte about being a big sister to a little brother. (if you get a chance to read it, it's worth it) And until recently I really didn't see the true interaction between them.<br />I decided to write this post after I heard this morning..."Ian, it's time to go in the car, we are going to the store" (which was of course the pretend car) Ian responded by saying "Ok, Char-It" and then she said "no call me Mommy". And he did. He said "Ok Mom".<br />Getting him to participate in her pretend sequences is just beginning. "Come on Ian" or "just sit here Ian" are regular phrases I hear these days.<br />Now don't get me wrong, there are definitely times that Ian refuses or says "no" (which happens to be his favorite word these days). But there are many times, where playing sleepover or house just happens under Charlotte's direction.<br />I love it.<br />It is so cute. I need to get Gordon to video tape some of these things.<br />It's going by so fast.<br />Charlotte is becoming more and more of a little girl and Ian is a little boy. Charlotte has all kinds of pretend play and Ian is talking in three word phrases.<br />When did this happen? <br />My little ones are growing so fast.<br />I wish it would slow down, while I love watching them grow.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8742319345669572733.post-4322352315537942052009-07-19T21:31:00.001-04:002009-07-19T21:35:59.672-04:00another year.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaIuepH_qQNtRpmjO9nNTn0w5JXuDt-08eb6VQenDKcecGSFsJrNmlpam9iKZukwa8V18roVhlYe_TWr6i7xKOJXm4BNsI74o5xaj42P5UoA9J0gJVbIiIN6qsYKTuHlr8HwvNNO0dMsc/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaIuepH_qQNtRpmjO9nNTn0w5JXuDt-08eb6VQenDKcecGSFsJrNmlpam9iKZukwa8V18roVhlYe_TWr6i7xKOJXm4BNsI74o5xaj42P5UoA9J0gJVbIiIN6qsYKTuHlr8HwvNNO0dMsc/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360349800371732450" border="0" /></a>a rose.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13380094388679176570noreply@blogger.com1