tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12611186752453272382024-02-20T14:34:13.119-08:00THE KOSTRZEWA 5Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.comBlogger352125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-13269958623978666072017-06-18T20:54:00.001-07:002017-06-18T20:55:07.760-07:00it's been awhile... It's only been just shy of two years, so let's dust off this blog and see what happens.<br />
<br />
There's no need for an update, I'm a prolific instragrammer and most updates are just pictures of my kids, and my kids are my life. My purpose for writing tonight is the just be writing again. And of all nights, the eve of Ivy's surgery-versary.<br />
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That's a thing, a surgery-versary. Every year, on June 19, from three years ago until forever, I will celebrate. I imagine Ivy will be in her 20s and I'll fly to wherever she is just to be near her. To hold her. June 19 was (and still is) the best day of my life.<br />
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I love The Moth on NPR. It's an obsession that has grown into a hobby that has made me think of pursuing other things because of the joy I feel when I share my stories. Two years ago I told the story of Ivy's surgery at the story slam in New Orleans, and a few months ago it was selected to be on the radio. Families from all over the country contacted me thanking me for being honest with the fears, real with the pain, and awkwardly humorous about something so intense. I felt my vulnerability paid itself tenfold because I was able to connect with people. That's what life is about.<br />
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Three years ago tonight, I had just fed Ivy to bed and the most real fear filled my whole body. I was worried she was sick because she coughed, about three times. If she was sick, she couldn't have the surgery. I didn't sleep that night because I knew that when I woke up, it was go time. I didn't want to hand her over to the doctors. I didn't want her to be put under. I didn't want to let her go.<br />
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She was so tiny. She didn't even sit up on her own yet. Waiting in the room before we went down stairs to the OR I felt like we were lying to her. We looked at her, and she starred back at us with her deep blue eyes thinking it was a normal day. They dressed her in this little peach hospital gown, and I was angry that gowns were even made that small. The neurosurgeon went through the "risk" forms one more time, as protocol would demand, and as she did, she handed me tissues. She made a mental note from prior appointments- mom's a crier.<br />
<br />
None of this day is a blur. I could walk you through every single minute. The people who visited, the food that was brought, the 15 minutes of League of their Own I watched on my mom's iPad. I can tell you about when a nurse came out and said, "Avery's mom?" and I stood up and walked to the door, only having Ken pull me back down and tell me that Avery was at home. I can tell you about how my best friend took a personal day from work to sit with me the entire day. I can tell you about how my mom moved in with us for a month to care for Avery and Eliza. I can tell you about how my dad came to the hospital and was overcome with the experience and walked the hospital, and even made small talk with the reconstructive surgeon who was working on Ivy.<br />
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Etched in my mind are the sounds of that day. The way the door opened to the waiting room. The way you felt when every parent was just waiting to hear their kid's name called. It was three years ago, but it could have been yesterday.<br />
<br />
I stayed with Ivy in the PICU her first night and the next day when Ken came, he told me that my parents took the kids to the park. I was exhausted. I didn't sleep with Ivy because a combination of anxiety and complete joy dwelled in me making sleep only an option. I left the hospital for a few hours to shower, but I drove to the park first. I walked up and Avery spots me and comes running, and then of course Eliza followed. I held them in my sweaty arms and I kissed their wet curls and they said, "Where's Ivy?"<br />
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At home my mom was bustling about in the kitchen making lunch for the girls, and they were playing. I stood next to the refrigerator, and broke down sobbing. An enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders. She was alive. I breathed in this joy and exhaled my fear that I rarely admitted but more certainly held in my soul. My mom held me and cried too. The I went to take a shower, but turned back one more time, looked at my girls and said "This doesn't make sense without Ivy."<br />
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Tonight I listened to The Moth, like I do on Sunday nights, and was so moved by the stories. Then I thought of Ivy's story, of mine. So I pulled up the podcast on my phone and listened to myself share the most terrifying experience of my life on public radio. And cried.<br />
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One day I can give that story to Ivy.<br />
One day we can listen together and she can know what a brave person she is.<br />
(here's the link: https://themoth.org/stories/if-this-hair-could-talk)<br />
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Happy Cranio Surgery-versary my baby girl. I love you more that you'll every know.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-27804972818334227972015-08-28T08:30:00.001-07:002015-08-28T11:58:28.436-07:00a sweaty hug // thoughts on new orleansOur house is up and going these days around 6:00 AM. This is because of Avery's school starting early, and because to get the three ladies fed, dressed, and out the door, it takes about an hour. I'm not a morning person, you can ask Ken reference, but once we're in the car, I get to enjoy one of my favorite things about New Orleans- the morning.<br />
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When Ken and I were first dating, we would head to the quarter in the morning to walk around just as shops were opening, rolling up the gates that covered their store fronts, hosing down the sidewalk, preparing for the hundreds of people that will come visit that day. It was quaint, quiet, and beautiful. Even Bourbon street was charming, but of course if you walked too far towards Canal street, you'd still see pictures of naked ladies, but, whatever, the charm was still there.<br />
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My mornings now are different, but just as charming. I'm trying to find the best route to get Avery to school. Uptown provides all sorts of fun road closures so you really need to figure out the best way to get to school, and then two other options because you just never know. Today we took La Salle to MLK. The weather has been gracious, the windows were down and the city was waking up. It was 7:00 AM and a group of men were already sitting and chatting in the neutral ground. A different type of charming, grown men waking up early to sit together in the middle of the road compared to the quarter waking up for tourists, but it still gets me loving this city more than I first did nine years ago.<br />
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A lot of talk this week about the 10 year anniversary of Katrina, the day the levee system failed (because I listened to NPR too much) and I've found that people are quite opinionated about how to commemorate. You can't celebrate it because nearly 2,000 people died and countless people were displaced, and even more lives were completely altered for the worse as a result. It was a horrible tragedy. And as I saw it unfold from my house with my college roommates in California, I had no idea the depth of pain people were dealing with, and even moving my life here, I still have no idea. I'll never claim to, and I always hope I never come off like I get it. Traumatic events are etched in our minds, and this can never go away.<br />
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That being said, my Facebook has been filled with people being like "all this Katrina stuff...blah, blah, blah" and everyone's annoyed. This could be a Facebook thing, this could be a media thing, but I just think we need to chill out and focus on the good. New Orleans is good! And I think if you asked her, New Orleans, what she thought about it all, she'd probably say, "DGAF". I can't believe that's the most profound thing I could have written, but it's true. It's like a sassier version of "the city that care forgot."<br />
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There are things that separate us in New Orleans. People who lived here before Katrina, and those who moved here after. People who lived here before and returned have crazy credibility. Their experiences are insane, and their stories are intense. And I've heard so many and every time I'm in awe of their resilience, and their ability to persevere and come back.<br />
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There's this other group of people, people who found a new life <i>because</i> of Katrina. People who first moved to New Orleans in response to Katrina. People who had no idea what they were getting into, drove across the country with a Honda full of life possessions and started adulthood in a broken city. That's where I fall, in the middle.<br />
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I'm so quick to say <i>when</i> I moved here, because while I did move after Katrina, it was less that a year after. There's a pride I carry with that move. It was hard, and a bit scary but produced the best outcomes. Just like how when I tell people I taught for five years before staying home with the girls, I specifically say, PUBLIC school. Like, in 2007. I'm sure it's annoying but those dates are important because living in Gentilly in July of 2006 was like living in a ghost town. Every 5th house on the block was occupied, and the ones in between still needed to be gutted. FEMA trailers were more common that working street lights, and the smells, oh Lord, the smells. It's also important to note that I taught in August 2007. That's when we didn't have rosters, and on the first day of school, all the second graders that showed up at the school lined up at my classroom door, and one walked into my room, the next kid walked into the other room, and so on. I wish I had the ability to evaluate a kid on sight because as luck would have it, the "every other kid" roster creation made two very different classes. A crazy one (mine) and a calm one (the other one.) Teaching in 2007 meant that on the first day of school, every toilet broke because they all hadn't been flushed that frequently in 2 years, and my room was right next to the bathroom and the smells, oh Lord, the smells.<br />
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So is it a matter of credibility to commemorate/celebrate the anniversary of Katrina? Are people frustrated because the media doesn't properly articulate the pain of this day? I'm getting annoyed at everyone getting annoyed, which is just, well, annoying.<br />
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What we all have though is a story, and what we all need to do is <i>listen</i> to them. The most valuable thing that our relief team did when we gutted a house was listen to the homeowner. In between ripping out walls and creating a pile a debris that contained their life's possessions, we'd stop and talk with them as they saw curtains they made wrapped up in molded drywall. We'd give side hugs as homeowners just broke down when they found their son's prom picture on the ground. We'd eat fried chicken on the curb as homeowners reenacted how they escaped out of the roof of their house. We were present, we listened and as much as having a gutted house helped them move forward, having people hear their story I believe made a stronger impact.<br />
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There does come a point where it's too painful to talk about it anymore. And maybe that's where a lot of people are now who are getting frustrated. Augustine, a homeowner that we worked with a lot during our first year here, gave the most detailed account of her experiences. I rarely left a conversation with her where I didn't cry. We gutted her house, her son's house, and some of her relative's houses. We ate crawfish for the first time with her, and she hosted our team of 11 in her FEMA trailer and fed us till we couldn't move. It was crammed, it was hot, and it was delicious. Her husband died from a heart attack a few months after Katrina while living in a shelter. She talks and talks about everything that happened, but when she speaks of her husband, specifics are limited and she just says, "it was all too much for him." She came and spoke at a couple of the meetings we held for the college students that came to work during spring break of 2007, and after two times speaking in front of groups of a few hundred people, she told me, "I think I'm done. Can you find another homeowner to share their story?"<br />
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Maybe we should be done talking about Katrina. Maybe she's had her presence known for too long. Maybe we should talk about other things. Maybe we should just talk about New Orleans, and not the hurricane that almost took her away.<br />
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Last night at my softball game, where I exclusively play catcher, the umpire and I had a delightful conversation in between pitches and swatting misquotes off our legs. (It's slow pitch, y'all.) He asked where I was from and I gave him the brief story of me, and he said, "Looks like you found your life in New Orleans." Spot on, blue.<br />
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I completely love living here. Everyone who knows me knows that. I miss the beaches of California, but I fear that if I traded the Mardi Gras parades for them, I'd grow tired of the ocean. I think of the people I've met here. Obviously Ken, who came alongside and journeyed though it all with me. I think of the homeowners who taught me about resilience, about my pastors who have taught me about faith, about my neighbors that have taught me about compassion, my students who have taught me about patience, and my babies who have taught me about sacrifice. All of the greatest things have happened to me while living here. <br />
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You know how when you find a great band and you hesitate to tell people about them because they're like "your" band. And then when people discover them later you're like, "oh yeah, I've been listening to them forever, like way before they were big." That's sorta how I feel about New Orleans. Like she's the best kept secret.<br />
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This is my story. This is my New Orleans. I found a life here, and I'm forever grateful. New Orleans is like a sweaty hug; it's kinda messy, a little sticky, but feels so good.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-75462218321924080112015-08-05T07:07:00.001-07:002015-08-05T08:28:44.109-07:00ice cream manWhen Avery was born, the duration of time spent in the hospital recovering from her cesarean birth was a total of five days, and when we were released, the weather changed. Along with everything else.<br />
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When we got home, the windows were open, the screen on the front door was in use, and there were a handful of pink balloons tied to the porch. It never felt so good to come home. The house had a fresh smell, as my mom had cleaned every square inch of our house to welcome us home. She brought new towels and hand soap, and if I catch a whiff of this scent, I'm thwarted back to the most tender time of my new reality- having a baby in my house. I remember the smell of a pot roast simmering from the back of the house prepared by Ken's mom. It was all too perfect, and terrifying. I feared the night because babies are just ridiculous and need you so much at night. I had no clue what I was doing. Avery cried so much. I cried so much. Ken held steady.<br />
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I would sleep when she did, but sometimes dreaded falling asleep because she was going to wake me up so so soon. I would scroll through Facebook and see friends with kids who weren't babies and they were smiling and just eating sandwiches and I JUST WANTED AVERY TO BE A KID ALREADY and not this hard baby. I then longed to be pregnant again, because I was going to actually read the books about what to do when you bring the baby home, and WAY less about what size of fruit she was that day.<br />
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During the day naps, I would nod off to the sounds of my neighborhood. Kids walking to the park from the school I taught at down the road. Kids who were actually in my class, and I just missed teaching so much. I heard the usual symphony of cars driving too fast, and music blaring so loud, and then of course, around the same time every day, the ice cream man.<br />
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The tune that's played from the ice cream man in New Orleans is fabulous, as are most things here. I spent the first month of Avery's life drifting in and out of sleep, and I would either hear this song, or be thinking of this song, but for some reason it played over and over in my head. Sleep deprivation is no joke.<br />
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While summer is making it's way out, and hopefully ushering some type of fall, the ice cream man blends the two and stays around even longer than those humid days, and our family has grown to love him.<br />
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For years after, the bells of the truck would summon my children to race to the front doors, dramatically pull the curtains to one side, and watch as he drove past. It's been the same guy for the five years we have lived here. And EVERY time he drives past, he'll look to his left and see Avery in the window, and he'll ring his bell, special for her. Then it was Avery in one window, and Eliza in the other. And now, all three squeeze in and watch him, hoping for him to see them, and it's only about the best thing to happen in their afternoon.<br />
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This summer Avery has soared and grown. Avery has stopped taking naps, and has blessed me with endless questions about, oh, just EVERYTHING. I'll try and get work done, but she's just wanting to play, and who can pass that up. She's wanting to be read to, and then wants to try and read to me. She wants to look at sight words, work on mazes, create cards, talk about animals from the zoo. Her company has been the highlight of summer for me. Those couple hours everyday when it's just her and me. We emptied the coin jar and pulled out all the quarters, and put them aside. "This will be for when the ice cream man comes," I told her. And a week went by without hearing him. Every evening, upon Ken's arrival home from work, "Well, the ice cream man didn't come today. Maybe tomorrow."<br />
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Today Avery and I were gluing this animal puppet thing together and we heard the bell. It was like a fire drill. "Quick, get your shoes, I'll grab the quarters. Wait, let me get him to stop first." "Okay mom!" When race outside, Avery can hardly contain herself. "We thought you left our street! Where have you been?"<br />
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We walk around to the side of the truck where the pictures of all the treats are and Avery's face is a glow. She picks something rainbow, and I pick a drumstick, and we pay in quarters, and tip like crazy. Avery's so excited, again, that she's speechless. I'm just laughing because I don't remember the last time I had been that excited. It was a moment I'm going to cherish forever.<br />
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We sat on the couch eating our treats, sampling each others, and I grab the top of Avery's head, then cup the side of her face, and I just stare at her. I want to freeze time forever. I want endless summers of crafts and ice cream. I want Avery to stay my little girl and not grow up. I want to just do it all over again, and again.<br />
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Five years is a long time some days. Avery and I can go at it. We're loud, we yell, we cry. We have no clue what's ahead of us in those teenage years. But, damn. I love this girl so much. I loved her so much we she was a baby too, I just didn't know what the hell I was doing.<br />
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Why do the mundane, everyday events trigger so many emotions sometimes? I think it's because everything is always changing, kids are always getting older, transitions are relentless and happen constantly. But for us, here on Cadiz street, some things remain the same- we with always love the ice cream man.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-4762295214603728952015-07-15T12:26:00.000-07:002015-07-15T12:26:44.630-07:00around here, today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night I was reading our blog, and reading stories about mundane days, trips to the park, basic stuff that makes up my life, and I took a lot of joy in it. So, I'm basically doing that today. Mainly because I had the nice camera out, and because almost every picture of Ivy is from my iPhone, but also because my brother posted this picture on Facebook today of Avery when she was 9 months old and it tripped me out because that really doesn't feel like all that long ago. And then next month, Avery starts Kindergarten. It all seems to be happening too fast. So I need to pause and capture more of these days. I need to take stock in what's happening now, and not long for what's to come. While I'm at it, an update on the girls seemed long overdue. Let's go!</div>
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IVY :: 20 months old</div>
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy is ridiculous, for the most part.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy runs, jumps, and acts like she's 5 when playing at the park.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy LOVES her pacifier and TWO blankets (ba-bas) when she naps.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy's skull is all fused correctly and the screws from the surgery have dissolved! Wahoo!</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy doesn't say but 15 words clearly, but communicates really well. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">We understand her, and she gets away with EVERYTHING.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">She eats so well, and makes me happy because the other two, well, don't.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy takes one fat nap during the day, and would probably take more. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy loves to wake up at 6:15 AM.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Ivy still loves to be held and is always down to be snuggled. </li>
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ELIZA :: 3 years old</div>
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza is ridiculous, almost all the time. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza will retreat to her room a few times everyday just to read by herself. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza encourages Ivy all day. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza doesn't eat green food, at all. Prefers ketchup. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza spills water and milk from her cereal bowl every day, every time. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza, oddly to the above, has amazing balance and rhythm. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza will say, "i love you mom" when she wants to watch a show.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza pretty much only wants to watch shows. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza is a home body and prefers wearing her PJs all day than go to the park. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">She's the first one to say, "I want to go home" when we are at the park. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza is petite. Her and Ivy wear the same clothes. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Eliza is starting school in a month!!! 3 days a week in the morning. </li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8pq-fDG9i6D9bGz92-q2hcZA2trg3KlOCQb2ZLiL3s5k3Q9gHqVdwBHkmcMlR_Cu48XQv9OKpiQcgKNxBkEXhK9ZF3EVK2Kn2gWAq16HBXhh8RQylKZdTTIXMbESd8HKRxm_g7P1sg/s1600/IMG_5418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8pq-fDG9i6D9bGz92-q2hcZA2trg3KlOCQb2ZLiL3s5k3Q9gHqVdwBHkmcMlR_Cu48XQv9OKpiQcgKNxBkEXhK9ZF3EVK2Kn2gWAq16HBXhh8RQylKZdTTIXMbESd8HKRxm_g7P1sg/s640/IMG_5418.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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AVERY :: almost 5 years old</div>
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<li style="text-align: left;">Avery has just stopped taking her daily nap. (Thanks for almost 5 years of naps bub!)</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery LOVES to eat chicken with any kind of sauce. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery doesn't have any tonsils.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery is pre-reading, and it's as fantastic as that sounds. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery still prefers dad, and I'm totally okay with it. :)</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery gets herself dressed every morning and always grabs an oversized t-shirt and soccer shorts.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery still sleeps with her baba. (Ivy is her clone, BTW)</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery and Ivy love to play together, running and jumping all over the house. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery is really smart. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery can draw hearts, faces, rainbows, and can write anything. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Avery is ridiculous 90% of the time. </li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoIJ672wwKu98V7X9XXEcMV25Lbsnva1JKcDFatNRRNKVMbKlwWN29UT99663JSnlSwjBjnkWW7aXlKp7ALMaWYYqw7k1PwzTojINx5mA5nLLOUkQykmPLCiCpoU8PN8MPV2wUEX_oA/s1600/IMG_5433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoIJ672wwKu98V7X9XXEcMV25Lbsnva1JKcDFatNRRNKVMbKlwWN29UT99663JSnlSwjBjnkWW7aXlKp7ALMaWYYqw7k1PwzTojINx5mA5nLLOUkQykmPLCiCpoU8PN8MPV2wUEX_oA/s640/IMG_5433.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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BEAUMONTY || 30 years old, recently adopted</div>
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<li>Beaumonty is completely ridiculous. </li>
<li>Beaumonty loves to drink diesel.</li>
<li>Beaumonty is from Texas, but we don't hold that against her. </li>
<li>Beaumonty prefers Ken, which I'm totally okay with. </li>
<li>Beaumonty loves to take long drives and really purrs when on the freeway. </li>
<li>Beaumonty has like 100 things wrong with her but we love her anyway.</li>
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And some more pictures...</div>
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IVY, YOU'RE HUGE! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnajo_NdKDZJKIT9UhQorGDa7AVsvmrJXddg9BzVCQd5BGG8_yWXThYBPjmghh69DcSkIXEYof4Vm2wIu43-59btdiPUEA8-i8bizjEcGckcJMSrOq9Coei25RL50X7vjQWtfyGBFU7w/s1600/IMG_5464.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnajo_NdKDZJKIT9UhQorGDa7AVsvmrJXddg9BzVCQd5BGG8_yWXThYBPjmghh69DcSkIXEYof4Vm2wIu43-59btdiPUEA8-i8bizjEcGckcJMSrOq9Coei25RL50X7vjQWtfyGBFU7w/s640/IMG_5464.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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THE NEW PARK TWO BLOCKS FROM OUR HOUSE! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmSxjLUuAcUuhK0a9WaJ0p7kSiGHOGE94ebRRznQc-WkXWh0myud7OBWqBPjqxVCZWzWyy-uHRPD-vFyrw7zZwkHSjxhFLPgEo_PDHBtgf__6cVtQtmb0mqFHAoYIxNg5XPxCzCTfMA/s1600/IMG_5472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmSxjLUuAcUuhK0a9WaJ0p7kSiGHOGE94ebRRznQc-WkXWh0myud7OBWqBPjqxVCZWzWyy-uHRPD-vFyrw7zZwkHSjxhFLPgEo_PDHBtgf__6cVtQtmb0mqFHAoYIxNg5XPxCzCTfMA/s640/IMG_5472.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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IVY, I SAID WE'RE LEAVING. (bottom right corner, Ivy!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPsl4uxHpPY64mkSFf0Syeqpof2FX646uSZ-Bx71Sd5T3BAuTc6Pu9Velb8QUa1UUJfIzq329syw2Cv7l_SPzFdOpUZhnq6UxUfCjx4zV3bvu_Z_kN2mf-ygZcdT7w1P_x5XsmeF_CA/s1600/IMG_5476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPsl4uxHpPY64mkSFf0Syeqpof2FX646uSZ-Bx71Sd5T3BAuTc6Pu9Velb8QUa1UUJfIzq329syw2Cv7l_SPzFdOpUZhnq6UxUfCjx4zV3bvu_Z_kN2mf-ygZcdT7w1P_x5XsmeF_CA/s640/IMG_5476.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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REAL CUTE FOR A MINUTE</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImW3rU0Ckyq6g2nQtv-8s0pyIxTEGPCzvMm0jJ_iHW4UMz36seF8sOXSSIF5yahIXB4MsVoUA71-ghwhlAHaWp41wtzmlF78scWjIcO8-KvtoUYOT74fSmgOZcO0Umiozn2QdlNfZPg/s1600/IMG_5479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImW3rU0Ckyq6g2nQtv-8s0pyIxTEGPCzvMm0jJ_iHW4UMz36seF8sOXSSIF5yahIXB4MsVoUA71-ghwhlAHaWp41wtzmlF78scWjIcO8-KvtoUYOT74fSmgOZcO0Umiozn2QdlNfZPg/s640/IMG_5479.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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GOTTA HOLD THEIR HANDS, ALWAYS</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqcRAWPZBheTbbL_MjK7hzSRFcSEbEAaE5KqFKN0zcHYYoOZOepLz2NBM7IkWxRoorM0eZ6mOSKVwMuvWPeIWQHaEP7ZjKMLYsfa1gpOkgJlGf1XheDclZC69pLK9gq5JUWbbX-63Cw/s1600/IMG_5482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqcRAWPZBheTbbL_MjK7hzSRFcSEbEAaE5KqFKN0zcHYYoOZOepLz2NBM7IkWxRoorM0eZ6mOSKVwMuvWPeIWQHaEP7ZjKMLYsfa1gpOkgJlGf1XheDclZC69pLK9gq5JUWbbX-63Cw/s640/IMG_5482.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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WELL, THAT WAS FUN!! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-52345943392115675832015-06-22T09:48:00.000-07:002015-06-22T09:48:53.678-07:00tales of the babe-dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqtY3OHoHLgr1vNyjC4wkigkyDeArv193fJ9_m-xmCjBjliXv5kXDmC5UKFTVhMc4FXBDsN7ZP0wxsDbenKxI7KJIZdaV9xeKJ-qHxbAI2XNOmETrgsF3QLeS-I3enxfWkZ1xcDosLUQ/s1600/IMG_0283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqtY3OHoHLgr1vNyjC4wkigkyDeArv193fJ9_m-xmCjBjliXv5kXDmC5UKFTVhMc4FXBDsN7ZP0wxsDbenKxI7KJIZdaV9xeKJ-qHxbAI2XNOmETrgsF3QLeS-I3enxfWkZ1xcDosLUQ/s640/IMG_0283.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I was looking through photos last night, just feeling so grateful for Ken and his love for our daughters, that I ended up putting all these in a file titled "babe-dad" because that's what we call him in this house. He is steady and adventurous. He's a dreamer and a planner. He's in love with his girls. He balances all the ragging hormones in this house, and does it with grace. He's serves us like Christ does and models to us what faithfulness and unconditional love looks like. Another year of parenting with this guy and I can't believe we've been through this much together. Knowing this is only the beginning excites me. One day the girls will know how lucky they are, and in some ways, I think they already know. Thank you, Ken for the man you are and the father you've become. To the moon. </div>
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Some favorites from this past year... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9M0PGLVJ4NmInsa6nRPaNE0BifRTnt5ln7jvPdkk9xnG_DcY8DBA7fo4u_g88D84X-0sFq74PiVsv4XGBow7U6QTG7av4FNj4LzR7Q7JA4TX89oPSFJcUHY1gHT89pIonGaastkPRw/s1600/IMG_1373.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9M0PGLVJ4NmInsa6nRPaNE0BifRTnt5ln7jvPdkk9xnG_DcY8DBA7fo4u_g88D84X-0sFq74PiVsv4XGBow7U6QTG7av4FNj4LzR7Q7JA4TX89oPSFJcUHY1gHT89pIonGaastkPRw/s640/IMG_1373.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ivy's second night in the hospital might have been more difficult than her first. The heavy meds had worn off, and she was starting to realize she couldn't see and was frustrated. I had been at the hospital for two days at this point and Ken sent me home and stayed with Ivy. He stood next to her bed for hours rubbing her and calming her to sleep. This picture does a number on me. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwufHLxGa1za94pt7QtgL9THFQKFzpMZIW_VN4xgDNe9iTjc0Uj5F9e-y4r3ve5ZRHwxU3GuTbzyX4yalBA6Ghyphenhyphen7TxQMlZu-Ie7xY07kK7RSrZUOkCLL78KncjFB1oUC4zkwgejI6hg/s1600/IMG_1253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwufHLxGa1za94pt7QtgL9THFQKFzpMZIW_VN4xgDNe9iTjc0Uj5F9e-y4r3ve5ZRHwxU3GuTbzyX4yalBA6Ghyphenhyphen7TxQMlZu-Ie7xY07kK7RSrZUOkCLL78KncjFB1oUC4zkwgejI6hg/s400/IMG_1253.jpg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnZ2t05784gC0iSL1BCOpQsmqwUtT4E8v9m8DWccz620JSWHoH2LDN09nIWR56bvyTtJGrzQwc_KhNI72g_PsnZNOyM-kMy4UfHoz_N2mYdkumEmt8M4xOXqDZWuUrJ2HzOth9YVUsg/s1600/IMG_1285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVnZ2t05784gC0iSL1BCOpQsmqwUtT4E8v9m8DWccz620JSWHoH2LDN09nIWR56bvyTtJGrzQwc_KhNI72g_PsnZNOyM-kMy4UfHoz_N2mYdkumEmt8M4xOXqDZWuUrJ2HzOth9YVUsg/s400/IMG_1285.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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< right before surgery || a few hours after ></div>
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You'd be hard pressed to find a guy who loves Mardi Gras more than Ken. </div>
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WE LOVE YOU BABE-DAD!!! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-32128746561630204932015-03-20T05:53:00.000-07:002015-03-20T05:53:58.994-07:00The Twirl Shop makes Dresses!<div style="text-align: center;">
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I'm using the blog today as a shameless shop update. These dresses are a labor a love and I really hope you like them!! My girls were the best models. Enjoy! Enter the giveaway on Instagram (@thetwirlshop) for a chance to win a dress and a pair of Freshly Picked moccasins!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKbZu3DQEhSSB6gXkcLczP7KX6GV-GToLpIOqvTZpuirSwBXhWeiCSvXyF7vCUamWbJcLG7x5RnMpGXxnqA7ZkEf2wRRgal0ACwf-hANPUBb1TyIyvn1oup3XRLL6bIR0V-gWaIR2mw/s1600/IMG_6061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKbZu3DQEhSSB6gXkcLczP7KX6GV-GToLpIOqvTZpuirSwBXhWeiCSvXyF7vCUamWbJcLG7x5RnMpGXxnqA7ZkEf2wRRgal0ACwf-hANPUBb1TyIyvn1oup3XRLL6bIR0V-gWaIR2mw/s1600/IMG_6061.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">THE BIRTHDAY DRESS buy it <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/226856941/the-birthday-dress-toddler-girls-dress?ref=shop_home_feat_4"><span style="color: purple;"><b>HERE</b></span></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsuSq64GpSJl_qKibZ02IX7ghYPfl3_aE55v8OeDYANCoRYtMjPsuSsPmMAM1Q7ftsqne2eiQZmOtzx8PguuuqWXPUc9IBRiI4ZZfHIrRYOlF8pEdn9W5kExRmdkYgorMRMs6R3y2NYw/s1600/IMG_6072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsuSq64GpSJl_qKibZ02IX7ghYPfl3_aE55v8OeDYANCoRYtMjPsuSsPmMAM1Q7ftsqne2eiQZmOtzx8PguuuqWXPUc9IBRiI4ZZfHIrRYOlF8pEdn9W5kExRmdkYgorMRMs6R3y2NYw/s1600/IMG_6072.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">RETRO MOROCCO buy it <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/226855654/retro-morocco-toddler-girls-dress?ref=listing-shop-header-3"><b><span style="color: purple;">HERE</span></b></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRblgGyZ19y5vkahxVGxcxrPhSUOT30GJWFYiu8JPKr7ohbmq3d5ZBqIPbJah0DEDLfK7NZLceYrrL62UpubsDWog5OwYCdeGSaqi269tZir-KAWPq-oOTu8fjnIHlGxMMmxEPeiXHMQ/s1600/IMG_6078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRblgGyZ19y5vkahxVGxcxrPhSUOT30GJWFYiu8JPKr7ohbmq3d5ZBqIPbJah0DEDLfK7NZLceYrrL62UpubsDWog5OwYCdeGSaqi269tZir-KAWPq-oOTu8fjnIHlGxMMmxEPeiXHMQ/s1600/IMG_6078.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">SEERSUCKER FLORAL buy it <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/226856409/seersucker-floral-toddler-girls-dress?ref=listing-shop-header-2"><b><span style="color: purple;">HERE</span></b></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWodYllfojE5HO2Jc0NPAKHbkaNtRKVPZz5hVnW6PuV3XDsnOvve_FDGSSG7wE7BW1x-9AHeO-J-kDEr-FOFCBJqC3poIRMWsdCFENDcASswuPUvcIzKRoumeXngvFENePdvEA9okaUg/s1600/IMG_6105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWodYllfojE5HO2Jc0NPAKHbkaNtRKVPZz5hVnW6PuV3XDsnOvve_FDGSSG7wE7BW1x-9AHeO-J-kDEr-FOFCBJqC3poIRMWsdCFENDcASswuPUvcIzKRoumeXngvFENePdvEA9okaUg/s1600/IMG_6105.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">PEACHY BALLOON buy it <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/226856032/peachy-balloon-toddler-girls-dress?ref=listing-shop-header-1"><b><span style="color: purple;">HERE</span></b></a></span></div>
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Head over to the shop to see more pictures, if you'd like. </div>
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Thanks!!! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-80890697476555530332015-03-13T08:52:00.002-07:002015-03-13T08:52:29.242-07:0010/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMnMQidFHr-lElJAyfQpxugUWQpekFU23u0z5qTUJKifeL8yq3rKx9w6TQUQgS4YwGxaR6mtkqzFAfhcd0kTGtIHJxjbByd8DZqKDJc7bzyhP8Rt_s-6SeqNGIoaJQM4j8Dp7dRZhow/s1600/IMG_5619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMnMQidFHr-lElJAyfQpxugUWQpekFU23u0z5qTUJKifeL8yq3rKx9w6TQUQgS4YwGxaR6mtkqzFAfhcd0kTGtIHJxjbByd8DZqKDJc7bzyhP8Rt_s-6SeqNGIoaJQM4j8Dp7dRZhow/s1600/IMG_5619.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8SYuY5JOLe-SqLXEyEf4Jq8H7gbj03pTwYlkH8cPnCDK-eoB1utIgPSG_nfzUGRoEtXbe3YvIFJzfD1GvD0biMzl3xCYEWFL0dtM0mvFVSMm8RQ6yXtE8i4xZLzMzMhIJ0yVDheFY7g/s1600/IMG_5549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8SYuY5JOLe-SqLXEyEf4Jq8H7gbj03pTwYlkH8cPnCDK-eoB1utIgPSG_nfzUGRoEtXbe3YvIFJzfD1GvD0biMzl3xCYEWFL0dtM0mvFVSMm8RQ6yXtE8i4xZLzMzMhIJ0yVDheFY7g/s1600/IMG_5549.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgawqoOSTJQOh2MDJcq0mfsWL61fUpH88VueM_2T-1Xgukv87W5QR2qj6xSDAljHuuBv4LghygOC_RC_V5q2zgQAhvjXtmlw1fFQlhrPTbaHKUgYeS9XQFDuxjB0ZGWvRF_YaYNN6wd9g/s1600/FullSizeRender-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgawqoOSTJQOh2MDJcq0mfsWL61fUpH88VueM_2T-1Xgukv87W5QR2qj6xSDAljHuuBv4LghygOC_RC_V5q2zgQAhvjXtmlw1fFQlhrPTbaHKUgYeS9XQFDuxjB0ZGWvRF_YaYNN6wd9g/s1600/FullSizeRender-18.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">A weekly portrait of my children</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Avery (age 4.5) : show me your angry face</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Eliza (age 2.5) : we snuggled for an hour yesterday</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Ivy (15 months) : </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">peek-a-boo champ</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-81758550744443584332015-03-11T08:39:00.001-07:002015-03-11T08:40:39.796-07:0010 on 10 // March<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hello, and happy rainy hump day! I haven't done one of these in a while so here we go! I started another round of whole30! I did it back in August and it was really great for me. It helped my body in so many ways, but then I ate cake on Avery's birthday in September and it's been downhill ever since. And forget new year's resolutions to eat better, it was Carnival season! No one can refuse king cake, it's just rude. So, after all the celebrations, March seemed like the best time to do this again. </div>
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Here's a standard breakfast- sweet potatoes, spinach, eggs and black coffee.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkYkZQ4NOSsAmWxavfcJ5RN1LG0OGQHsavkXy8BDfyFgpaiCVBx8XGqaTbhLgwXzztxJd6xNwRqsbMPBJGInLNczHg1L-9Ij47U7ja-BXxKMcBgAR6x2rl-FL45JXYlrhI4g95Ja_NA/s1600/FullSizeRender-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkYkZQ4NOSsAmWxavfcJ5RN1LG0OGQHsavkXy8BDfyFgpaiCVBx8XGqaTbhLgwXzztxJd6xNwRqsbMPBJGInLNczHg1L-9Ij47U7ja-BXxKMcBgAR6x2rl-FL45JXYlrhI4g95Ja_NA/s1600/FullSizeRender-8.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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In the morning I'll check my twirlshop instagram feed and post something clever that convinces people to buy something. Serisouly, there's a method. This picture is way old, but after doing my shop taxes, I realized that I've sold over 100 of these black and white skirts (called CHIC CHICK which you can buy <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/190414136/chic-chick-black-and-white-skirt-baby?ref=shop_home_active_1"><b>HERE</b></a>) so I needed to let the world know! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0tE4453isqQ6eL6BNKdzl3BpQlB8gQk1Mv5ZVSDWK99aD5IP1WuqNlD329LmGTKg2qfNGukhmIz3yibRt_mK5YOLp3bXF0h4rJAAtvUVU4ioWb4g08dHEPBFFcxZyqtpJ76nPUaFpg/s1600/FullSizeRender-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0tE4453isqQ6eL6BNKdzl3BpQlB8gQk1Mv5ZVSDWK99aD5IP1WuqNlD329LmGTKg2qfNGukhmIz3yibRt_mK5YOLp3bXF0h4rJAAtvUVU4ioWb4g08dHEPBFFcxZyqtpJ76nPUaFpg/s1600/FullSizeRender-9.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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Peanut has been complaining about her hair getting in her face. You know that perfect curl that falls right between her eyes? Apparently, it bugs her. So, we did pigtails for the first time and, well, you can see her thoughts on the situation. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9hDq3LpMQjXzMSREYtXf4ond6rNTGboyDlBLXJ4m3K5n7QlLc59PSfq53U7HPZmgh48d3zfcAK2yDOP6P_-_ORLdg_qiBwgczMcEuj0a1fCpgnV954hWYr4_-DWgqPwKjP26d02ECw/s1600/IMG_5443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9hDq3LpMQjXzMSREYtXf4ond6rNTGboyDlBLXJ4m3K5n7QlLc59PSfq53U7HPZmgh48d3zfcAK2yDOP6P_-_ORLdg_qiBwgczMcEuj0a1fCpgnV954hWYr4_-DWgqPwKjP26d02ECw/s1600/IMG_5443.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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Picking up Avery in the pouring rain, and then getting home and it's still raining! This is us waiting for it to stop, which it never did so we were some wet puppies while eating lunch, but it was fun. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnexubI2VPSu2eC352cOSJQH0B6BBVhtzJEdPsnivP0thGemif0qA4E4pmjIeXu4-kk9Sfk0XEajlwVBYRUgjhuIQeQkpsuymzKnNIgROAEiwfj5jlnHnPKSuIBTxtItQ0EUDd0Xl3w/s1600/IMG_5446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnexubI2VPSu2eC352cOSJQH0B6BBVhtzJEdPsnivP0thGemif0qA4E4pmjIeXu4-kk9Sfk0XEajlwVBYRUgjhuIQeQkpsuymzKnNIgROAEiwfj5jlnHnPKSuIBTxtItQ0EUDd0Xl3w/s1600/IMG_5446.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ivy is always hungry! And when Ivy is hungry, she'll walk herself over to the table and just wait for her food. She'll do this for dinner time too while we're all doing something, she'll realize she's hungry and just sit here until we get the message. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxRv3oWwOcOfSxoasPo0T3h75PrX1ZIGOGo6HXdipqiLfzKxODuDBSieo_VBQh-dz7Ycjru4ajpcEZhs6ihUXwX3M5ap5_tbs38_byvktYo0HjUuhOy3DANFjEfc6q7WrDFLzkbPjNg/s1600/FullSizeRender-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxRv3oWwOcOfSxoasPo0T3h75PrX1ZIGOGo6HXdipqiLfzKxODuDBSieo_VBQh-dz7Ycjru4ajpcEZhs6ihUXwX3M5ap5_tbs38_byvktYo0HjUuhOy3DANFjEfc6q7WrDFLzkbPjNg/s1600/FullSizeRender-10.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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And then Chef Mom whipped up the best meal- chicken nuggets! I didn't even add some fruit which normally makes me feel better about what I'm serving them. Sometimes, y'all. Chicken nuggets. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPmd4j5I9AuvXQh1rNJAdMDTAh7yRYoJ_nHzk46RYzEbfpa9HZgQuyplZ-qwp-nUmvFHEPMlaH6BhGCxjXDdNatQusz3n-aeq6iZisXC9peKZb3SNwmJ4_98-zvE9x9FYB-90LDaGkQ/s1600/IMG_5456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPmd4j5I9AuvXQh1rNJAdMDTAh7yRYoJ_nHzk46RYzEbfpa9HZgQuyplZ-qwp-nUmvFHEPMlaH6BhGCxjXDdNatQusz3n-aeq6iZisXC9peKZb3SNwmJ4_98-zvE9x9FYB-90LDaGkQ/s1600/IMG_5456.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Whole30 lunches are the hardest for me to come up with. I usually just want chicken nuggets, but made this instead. Chicken with some whole30 mayo, wrapped in lettuce topped with mustard. Stop drooling, you know that sounds delicious. </div>
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After naps we met dad for dinner on Freret and these monkey butts. Love them so. All of the sudden they seems like kids, and eating dinner at a restaurant is actually fun. </div>
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At night, my friend picked me up and we went to <b><a href="http://themoth.org/">The Moth</a>.</b> If you don't know what that is, it's story telling put on my NPR. Each month there's a theme and people submit their names in a bucket and ten names are picked. You then have 5 minutes to tell your story. There are three judges in the crowd and they give you scores out of 10. I went in February and didn't get picked, and then went last night and I got picked! I got picked last and I was so incredibly anxious the whole time waiting in anticipation for my name to be called. I was nervous, and I'm never nervous speaking in front of people. I used to do that all the time in college, but in college I didn't have a time limit and I wasn't sharing a story about my brave little baby Ivy. The theme was "hair" and I told about Ivy's surgery. I made the connection to the theme because I thought they were going to shave her hair for the surgery, but they ended up not. The story gave a brief account of the journey of Ivy's craniosynostosis. I almost cried once towards the beginning, and got choked up on the last line, but all in all it what the best. And if you win, you get your story aired on NPR. You can see the scores below, and I wasn't there to compete because my nerves were so out of control, I wasn't thinking about that. I just wanted to tell Ivy's story. But, I ended up getting second place by 0.1 points! I was shocked. The sweetest part though, when I was done and people applauded, the host came up and to ask the judges for their scores. And she said, "Okay, judges, what are your scores for Ivy and Melanie's story." Because that's what it is! It's our story! My friend secretly recorded it, so if you're dying to hear it, let me know and I can send it to you. Telling a story at The Moth was on my 2015 goals, and I did it! Wahoo! <span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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I just took this one to make 10 photos, so not on the 10th, but she is the best. Never too much Ivy. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-49605009423703452512015-03-05T08:15:00.002-08:002015-03-11T08:40:29.546-07:009/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">A weekly portrait of my children</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Avery (age 4.5) : she has the best sense of humor lately</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Eliza (age 2.5) : typical morning for peanut, the book lover</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;">Ivy (15 months) : </span>here we have our first whispy, signs of curls to come!<br />
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BONUS! (HEART EYES)</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-47392379200113334722015-02-26T09:02:00.000-08:002015-02-26T09:02:16.617-08:008/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">A weekly portrait of my children (</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">guest photographer DAD):</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Avery (age 4.5) : face she makes when we say, "smile for dad!"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Eliza (age 2.5) : will do anything her older sister does. </span><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Ivy (15 months) : </span>she's not looking at dad, but rather a cookie</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-10850174816128620102015-02-19T06:51:00.002-08:002015-02-19T06:51:37.624-08:007/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">A weekly portrait of my children:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Avery (age 4.5) : best seat in the house for Tucks</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Eliza (age 2.5) : photo booth at our pancake party</span><br /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Ivy (15 months) : </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">absolutely, hands down, LOVES mardi gras</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">And this because, I mean, my favorite. </span></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-14584651713309289502015-02-13T07:50:00.001-08:002015-02-13T07:50:05.737-08:006/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">
<span style="background-color: white;">A weekly portrait of my children:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Avery (age 4) : wearing her mask on the way to muses</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Eliza (age 2.5) : scooting and styling</span></span></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Ivy (age 1) : from the top of a ladder, being sweet with dad</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-80274823740759109472015-02-06T08:31:00.001-08:002015-02-06T08:31:14.953-08:005/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">
<span style="background-color: white;">A weekly portrait of my children:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Avery (age 4) : big cheesin</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Eliza (age 2.5) : a new face when I ask her to smile</span></span></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Ivy (age 1) : binkie and baba (blanket) all the time</span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-82959102187838184182015-01-30T07:24:00.000-08:002015-01-30T07:24:02.322-08:004/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">A weekly portrait of my children:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Avery (age 4) : happiest outside</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Eliza (age 2.5) : "i push ivy, mama"</span><br style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Ivy (age 1) : scaling the slide</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-60310155841418125312015-01-22T07:27:00.000-08:002015-01-22T07:47:55.662-08:003/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">A weekly portrait of my children:</span><br />
<br style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Avery (age 4) : don't blink, because they get old fast</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Eliza (age 2.5) : too cool for school, or </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">joanns (so many trip to joanns...)</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Ivy (age 1) : big girl table, big girl spoon, yogurt everywhere</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-24363217148986447022015-01-15T18:51:00.000-08:002015-01-15T18:51:30.031-08:002/52<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">A weekly portrait of my children:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Avery (age 4) : doing homework</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Eliza (age 2.5) : fully </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">occupied by a mirror while mom folds laundry</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">Ivy (age 1) : bath time is her favorite time</span></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-21911951706010369122015-01-09T09:24:00.000-08:002015-01-09T09:24:19.478-08:001/52<div style="text-align: center;">
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A weekly portrait of my children:<br />
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Avery (age 4) : painting is her favorite<br />
Eliza (age 2.5) : telling me about the owls in the trees<br />
Ivy (age 1) : not yet a "walker" but a darn cute "stander"<i> </i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-90339764858893155052014-12-19T12:04:00.002-08:002014-12-19T12:07:44.446-08:006 months!This blog has been lonely for a while. Sorry about that. I've been sewing and watching West Wing a lot, so my computer has been occupied, as have my hands for typing. But, today is December 19! I'm sure this holds a lot of significance to you, but for us, or me rather, it's 6 months since Ivy's surgery. And y'all, I'm having mad flashbacks of when we found out about her condition a year ago. Christmas last year was tender to say the least. I didn't know so many things about Ivy and her life, so we cherished so much of it. My mom knew this feeling I was having a flew out to spend that holiday with us. Mom of the year award, right there.<br />
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We had Ivy's one year well check, 3 weeks late, which fell on the day we found out about her cranio, one year ago. (Did that even make sense?) My doctor, with whom I love, asked how Ivy was doing, and I can't really complain even though she's a touch fussy and clingy. I said to her doctor, "She's good, she's alive." HEAVY MEL!!! But my doctor understood what I meant. And she goes, "Yes, she is! And doing so well, but let's look at her ears while we have her here." So, Ivy had a ear infection, but y'all, a year ago, she needed x-rays and an emergency CT scan of her skull, so, having to grab an antibiotic was much easier than driving to the hospital with a world of unknowns on the horizon. Like, sheesh, what's that expression these days? ALL THE FEELS!<br />
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I do love Ivy. I love what her life has done to me. I'm completely selfish with her. She just wants to be held all day or play at my feet or cry at 2:00am for some extra snuggles. And I really do love it. It's super cheesy when mom's say "can they just stay small forever?" But, truth be told, that's all I want in the world with my Ivy. She took 2 steps on Sunday and 4 steps yesterday, and I wanted to push her down so that she never walks and I can just hold her forever. Oh my gosh, I'm absurd.<br />
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Ivy's scar barely shows now, and the dissolvable lego pieces they put to keep her skull plates apart only leave tiny bumps near her temples. (Obviously I don't know what they are called, but Dr. Mom called them lego pieces.) And some days, I don't think about. She's one of the girls, playing and goofing with the rest of them. But sometimes, she's that one month old who was recently told that she was deformed and my arms were the only thing to protect her from the world. I told Ken that I don't know why I want to keep her a baby so badly, and he said that for months that baby stage was peppered with a lot of fear and worry, and those milestones held different meanings. He said I didn't get that "normal" baby time like with the other two because there was this lingering Thing hovering over us.<br />
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But that's gone! No more hovering! But the memories of this year are fresh and I hope I ever forget how intense that time all was. A year ago, I was so scared yet so hopeful. And today, I'm just incredibly thankful.<br />
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Didn't I say that I was done blogging about Ivy's cranio? Ha, yeah right.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">a month before surgery</span></i><br />
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A couple other posts about my girl and her cranio, if emotions are fun for you. </div>
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<a href="http://thekostrzewas.blogspot.com/2014/08/moon-river.html">HERE</a>, <a href="http://thekostrzewas.blogspot.com/2014/06/red-elevators.html">HERE</a>, and <a href="http://thekostrzewas.blogspot.com/2014/01/dear-ivy.html">HERE</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-75144858395410347572014-11-04T15:14:00.001-08:002014-11-04T15:14:24.527-08:00skeleton pajamasI don't know how I get sucked into these trends. I'm usually very quick to declare the opposite. But those dang skeleton pajamas. What is it with those? Everyone has them, gap, old navy, carters. It's like, really adorable. This Halloween the girls have really taken to all the decorations around town. It became part of our evening ritual, to go look at the skeletons on St. Charles. I do think the corner of St. Charles and State takes Halloween more seriously than Christmas, from a street watchers perspective. I'm not going to put a picture of this, because you have to see it. It's fantastic.<br />
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Anyway, as we make our way home from the evening event, Ken and I pretend the skeletons are gone, or that they are sleeping. The girls then try to hard to find them. It's wildly fun to be a Kostrzewa. Avery has increased in the "smarts" category lately and will call us out on our silly antics. She now knows where we're going once we leave the house and make our first turn on to whichever street. This could be said that we don't go to but 10 places, or that she's quite observant. But, skeletons. Our girls love skeletons!<br />
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So, we find ourselves at Walmart a couple days before Halloween, and I'm not sure what I was buying. You really go to Walmart just to get ONE THING. And it's not like Target where you go there for fun. Target is fun. Walmart is a chore. Do you agree? It was a dreadful day at Walmart, as most are, and the social commentary. Oh, the social commentary. I can't share that with a 4 year old so the texts to Ken are constant.<br />
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But on clearance, we found skeleton pajamas. Like super ridiculous pink ones where the bones are made up of hearts, and they happened to have a 4T, 2T, and 12 month all right next to each other. Just like that. And then ended up in the cart, and we quickly left Walmart as to keep some hope in humanity in tact.<br />
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We raced through dinner, and took quick baths and pulled the pajamas fresh out of the dryer because it was skeleton pajama time! I convinced myself that the girls earned new jams because of their crazy impressive milestone of all three of them sharing a room, which still blows me away. So, I took a million pictures!!!<br />
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I posted one on Instagram, but these were the lot of them. I'm like a 20:1 ratio of what I snap to what gets posted. So absurd.<br />
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Ivy LOVES her sisters. It's been just about the best thing to happen to me. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-24649191581047886682014-11-03T06:01:00.001-08:002014-11-03T06:01:41.779-08:00the twirl shop Holiday line! <div style="text-align: center;">
It might be too early to start with all this Christmas stuff, but it's never too early to get some holiday skirts in your life! I added my Holiday line up to the shop and I think it's all fabulous. Here it is!</div>
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ORNAMENTS (ORDER <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/209461207/ornaments-holiday-skirt-baby-and-toddler?ref=shop_home_feat_1"><b>HERE</b></a>)</div>
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HIPSTER CHRISTMAS (ORDER <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/207882826/hipster-christmas-holiday-skirt-baby-and?ref=shop_home_feat_3"><b>HERE</b></a>)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24V1uzO2-gRVztukKhdN6pi3P9f9i7PvxupPngKhM7WgEcXwtt7LKMEFDuJ7DS6Qy36gX7nmNqpeWYhRZz75ViGtPJfLNSzeIwz4osRKQxpL5Vi-mGqjgrXRWZX_rC1-qyoSRiy5yLg/s1600/IMG_9971.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24V1uzO2-gRVztukKhdN6pi3P9f9i7PvxupPngKhM7WgEcXwtt7LKMEFDuJ7DS6Qy36gX7nmNqpeWYhRZz75ViGtPJfLNSzeIwz4osRKQxpL5Vi-mGqjgrXRWZX_rC1-qyoSRiy5yLg/s1600/IMG_9971.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
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TWINKLE, TWINKLE (ORDER <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/209461521/twinkle-twinkle-holiday-skirt-baby-and?ref=listing-shop-header-1"><b>HERE</b></a>)</div>
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ST LUCIA (ORDER <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/209462245/st-lucia-holiday-skirt-baby-and-toddler?ref=listing-shop-header-3"><b>HERE</b></a>)</div>
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TWINKLE, TWINKLE GREEN (ORDER <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/209461673/twinkle-twinkle-green-holiday-skirt-baby?ref=listing-shop-header-0"><b>HERE</b></a>)</div>
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COCKTAIL PARTY (ORDER <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/207893281/cocktail-party-holiday-skirt-baby-and?ref=related-4"><b>HERE</b></a>)</div>
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AND FOR FUN, A COUPON CODE! ENTER: <b>ATWIRLINGHOLIDAY</b> FOR 15% OFF YOUR PURCHASE. HAPPY TWIRLING! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-30404126213906643262014-10-07T10:02:00.001-07:002014-10-07T10:02:04.088-07:00update with photosFriends! How are you? This is a photo dump, so if you're looking for ramblings, that's not today. If your'e looking for something to quickly scroll through, this is the post for you!! I do try to keep this blog to family stuff, but the shop has been occupying most of my free time and I want to share what has been going on! First off, these new skirts and bibs are in the shop now:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB4Rr-ovlqZMrBXUxR24HbugXVtLj5RpWjlSkAv7VRqXG8Z1lJ8JRxrcOglqysRqar90B848R_jfrokKgXwBSzhgsSn-C-KT6DfqS6ul-349l4PeRKsGVisTdDKXhsy38fnPHRzMmR1w/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-10-07+at+11.14.46+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB4Rr-ovlqZMrBXUxR24HbugXVtLj5RpWjlSkAv7VRqXG8Z1lJ8JRxrcOglqysRqar90B848R_jfrokKgXwBSzhgsSn-C-KT6DfqS6ul-349l4PeRKsGVisTdDKXhsy38fnPHRzMmR1w/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-10-07+at+11.14.46+AM.jpg" height="458" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguTRwptsVGEAw6ewnShFuWIsoKeECwOX8gps1F70nWf5Zt90XJJQDuDwYBSCt4TsnrcC-c5ZHwFX0cfUCHTEWeko-MvwhAy8MqeQVJkklsWlmEg6PwIP13YNTmoW5Idj6BLCzBGABPA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-10-07+at+11.15.59+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguTRwptsVGEAw6ewnShFuWIsoKeECwOX8gps1F70nWf5Zt90XJJQDuDwYBSCt4TsnrcC-c5ZHwFX0cfUCHTEWeko-MvwhAy8MqeQVJkklsWlmEg6PwIP13YNTmoW5Idj6BLCzBGABPA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-10-07+at+11.15.59+AM.png" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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There's a coupon code right now: HAPPYFALL to save 15%. Shop <b><a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/thetwirlshop">HERE</a>! </b> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXLNXPUsoNGJIxI9WxKk2P4cktedjWm4ODmmMKkuXnBl-ziY_lxK_wy-UNaezEIsi8WUhPJUjqTMnkRm45J9VxdOOdffAD6dBRmFbueKY7Jy8CHDXeciZB_UjoFUrskY8W_VE3Uy31g/s1600/IMG_8447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXLNXPUsoNGJIxI9WxKk2P4cktedjWm4ODmmMKkuXnBl-ziY_lxK_wy-UNaezEIsi8WUhPJUjqTMnkRm45J9VxdOOdffAD6dBRmFbueKY7Jy8CHDXeciZB_UjoFUrskY8W_VE3Uy31g/s1600/IMG_8447.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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The Twirl shop is now an LLC! So, technically I own my own company. This, this is thrilling. Oh the conversations I can have a cocktail parties. Now, to get invited to a cocktail party. That's the next goal. (Banner designed by <a href="http://instagram.com/ramsg"><b>Rachelle!</b></a>)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjNIQz3J20SbMmrXqV1AHzOknJ0O2guz5OmxVsbiZzKGJM7tWJGIs0kV_GuIZ0Qe2JdkaBle-MHhAsWUyYNzq7MBB5OGqcHfkxLmJXyu2CXw6aaWo_nb30hn5Sdx7BBLykefuooWaSw/s1600/IMG_7622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjNIQz3J20SbMmrXqV1AHzOknJ0O2guz5OmxVsbiZzKGJM7tWJGIs0kV_GuIZ0Qe2JdkaBle-MHhAsWUyYNzq7MBB5OGqcHfkxLmJXyu2CXw6aaWo_nb30hn5Sdx7BBLykefuooWaSw/s1600/IMG_7622.JPG" height="456" width="640" /></a></div>
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Do you wanna build snowman?? These Olaf shorts are for boy and girls, with pockets! </div>
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Check them out<a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/204139714/olaf-cozies-shorts-for-boys-and-girls?ref=shop_home_active_11"> <b>HERE.</b></a> </div>
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Okay, enough about the shop. </div>
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Now for the fabulous Kostrzewa 5!</div>
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Ken has indulged me in selfies lately. This is entirely pathetic that things like this make me happy. He knows how much I love pictures, so we went to a wedding this weekend and he initiated these selfies. Swoon. He also looked dang handsome this weekend, so it's probably just him wanting a picture of himself. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaasJcK2-WKXlioe5pi1YoAxsauJWBqJ1HMqWcx3zl12m89u6xwhxCAhVJqEf-Z90SIwIVg4qLKK6fmmaoVKbGnQPe_yxKiWV-J1MDEVGihJKT2Ft2c3xUfoT5tMv-y2nLTkM3BzcbRg/s1600/IMG_8432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaasJcK2-WKXlioe5pi1YoAxsauJWBqJ1HMqWcx3zl12m89u6xwhxCAhVJqEf-Z90SIwIVg4qLKK6fmmaoVKbGnQPe_yxKiWV-J1MDEVGihJKT2Ft2c3xUfoT5tMv-y2nLTkM3BzcbRg/s1600/IMG_8432.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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I like to think that tower in the back is the Eiffel Tower. But, to the left is the mighty Mississippi River. Just as good as Paris!! </div>
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On Sunday, after church, Ken will take Ivy home to nap, and the girls and I pick up lunch somewhere on Freret Street to eat while watching the Saints game. This mural, in front of Gasa, Gasa is fantastic. And a little creepy. But, super hip. So, of course, I told my kids to stand in front of it. Then I stood in the middle of the street to snap it. Safe and smart. </div>
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My baby turned 4! Oh, she's so beautiful, it's difficult sometimes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMf18Yzpq4bMZD-UbQ_afL07nYn8ydnMex39YjyTs3MeoSQDfrNhUZXt9zsRHifVbB96to4AMX_-uhsdmFgNzf8ViteOTbjcWiAfIakv92QBuf7yszPJjHd-j-KLR4SXY0OhicmbJTQA/s1600/IMG_8036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMf18Yzpq4bMZD-UbQ_afL07nYn8ydnMex39YjyTs3MeoSQDfrNhUZXt9zsRHifVbB96to4AMX_-uhsdmFgNzf8ViteOTbjcWiAfIakv92QBuf7yszPJjHd-j-KLR4SXY0OhicmbJTQA/s1600/IMG_8036.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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Avery wanted to celebrate with her class, which was great for me because all I had to do was bake some cupcakes! Her class, I love. I love her teacher, and love her friends. Being in a classroom, I'm normally the teacher, so being the mom was new for me, but so awesome.</div>
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Ugh, I love this picture because she's so happy with her friends. </div>
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These two. I just, I can't.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1WEa5hoUnf0A8pAWAvWAKL5PoXMg948emAv8dQQRm0VZPZGOnTtA8EaW67g1uF47R6XkusQnDOqZEM6V7ntomB7QKqeHjB3ecR_amGsk2kjsvjoar6akQj9voSR_PHO4Myxd95ObRg/s1600/IMG_7902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1WEa5hoUnf0A8pAWAvWAKL5PoXMg948emAv8dQQRm0VZPZGOnTtA8EaW67g1uF47R6XkusQnDOqZEM6V7ntomB7QKqeHjB3ecR_amGsk2kjsvjoar6akQj9voSR_PHO4Myxd95ObRg/s1600/IMG_7902.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQj9JWjzwC31l-mSqsj69m9Uwz7bKHpUIy12FFHhxb230qqpZcA9yNe_2h261MzOKhKcv5_PhwRBzTxZzdlXio9heI-CRYjlvPsZ0Gjpm8v4bQh1mOORcKrIbYJXU5_mmD1PcPf4bTw/s1600/IMG_8187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQj9JWjzwC31l-mSqsj69m9Uwz7bKHpUIy12FFHhxb230qqpZcA9yNe_2h261MzOKhKcv5_PhwRBzTxZzdlXio9heI-CRYjlvPsZ0Gjpm8v4bQh1mOORcKrIbYJXU5_mmD1PcPf4bTw/s1600/IMG_8187.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Another selfie with Ken?! This was probably the most beautiful day ever. The weather was divine. </div>
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Like white on rice; Ivy on my hip.</div>
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BLAAAHH!! MY PEOPLE! I LOVE MY PEOPLE!</div>
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Little nugget, helping me sew. She'll be one in November.</div>
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FULL DENIAL MODE. </div>
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We'll end this with the sun setting over the Mississippi. I used a self timer, and this was what we got. </div>
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One shot, because I felt like a tool box doing this while people walked by. So, you know. </div>
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The girls were also dancing to gangsta rap, and the words were obscene, so we ended this real quick. </div>
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Love you all! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-44174094489468459592014-09-23T15:02:00.002-07:002014-09-23T15:02:18.137-07:00samosasThere are about a dozen things I would like to blog about, and sometimes while I'm waiting in the carpool lane to pick up Avery I take "notes" in my phone and I talk out my thoughts, and when I read it later, it's super lame. This was, however, my invention when I was in 3rd grade (talking to the computer and it types for you.) Damn you Apple, taking everyone's dreams.<br />
<br />
So I want to write about the whole30 thing I did, or how my baby is really old now and I'm drenched in emotions about it, or how much I love watching "The Blacklist", or how Napoleon Ave owes me at least a month of my life because the TRAFFIC IS SO TERRIBLE!<br />
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But, today, SAMOSAS.<br />
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Sunday night, we went to Nirvana. It's an excellent Indian buffett where the kids eat for free. At this point, since now Ivy eats like a maniac, this is the most economical eating out option. And since I don't eat like a normal person (or do I?) during the week, Sunday we go hard. So, all the naan, buttered chicken, and lentils. We were eating outside, and I scanned our table, and saw the KID sitting across from me, the peanut no longer needing a booster eat, and the baby, sitting in her high chair clapping her hands, and the handsome man who decided to marry me. And the weather was at this point of feeling like nothing, in that I wasn't sweating, and I breathed it in and felt complete.<br />
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I asked the waiter if they sold samosas and he brought out two huge samosas, filled with potatoes and peas with dipping sauces. Why did I want samosas? This are not common appetizers in my life. I'm purely a chips and salsa kinda woman, or a cheese plate. And then I had this "I can't believe that how much my life has changed in ten years" moment because of these samosas. Let's explain.<br />
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I went to Sri Lanka in the summer of 2005, and lived at an orphanage teaching English during the day at a middle school/high school and then did a makeshift camp for the girls at the orphanage during the evenings. It was, and remains, one of the best experiences of my life. One day, we were all going to an orphanage opening in a neighboring town. Much like a club opening, with less disco lights. It's a huge deal because Sri Lanka is closed to adoption because of some truly terrible people going about it unethically, and with the tsunami that had recently hit and the on going civil war, there were a lot of orphans. Every church in the country had an orphanage (either a girls home or a boys home) which is really beautiful to me. So, our trip. What would have taken 2 hours to drive to, took around 8 because of the Tamil tigers (silly terrorists) who had seized control of the bridges that allowed you to travel to these towns. So we drove inland and then back out to the coast. We left before sunrise and rice and lentils just didn't sound to good so I skipped breakfast, and loaded the bus with 80 happy girls, who didn't mind any of the trip. We drove, and it was hot, and I was a mess. Hungry, sweaty, with a couple of 8 year olds sitting in my lap. The bus broke down a few times, needed gallons and gallons of water because the engine was over heating. So The Rev, the nicest man in Sri Lanka, reroutes the bus to a little town to get food, for about 100 people. He then comes back on the bus with dozens of brown paper bags of food. I could have cared less what I was eating, I was famished. The girls calmly handed out food to everyone and I took a huge bite not knowing what it was. It was a tiny samosa, filled with potatoes and beef. And it was delicious! I ate as many as I could get my hands on, and the taste and experience attached to it will always trigger this amazing time I had in Sri Lanka.<br />
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Back to Sunday night, I'm sitting by Ivy, feeding her bits of my food and she's loving it, and I looked at her clapping after each bite and couldn't believe how fast life happens. Not just how she's not a baby anymore, but how not that long ago, I was in Sri Lanka. And how in ten more years, I'll have pre-teens hogging the bathroom every morning, and I'm sure I'll look at them and remember when we were eating samosas at Nirvana. I don't know if I have ever wanted life to speed up, but I know that daily I wish it would just slow down. At the park the other day, I was <strike>jogging</strike> walking with the littles and this man yelled, because he had headphones on, "this is the best time of your life!!" and that simple phrase set me up for the rest of the day, probably week. I thought I had had my "best time of your life" season when I went to Sri Lanka, or when Ken and I were newlyweds, or when I got to spend four years in San Luis Obispo for college, but the best is right now? Yes, it is.<br />
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Of course, it's hard so see the best when Avery throws a chicken bone at Eliza, or when Ivy screams when I leave the room, or when Eliza eats sand, but every night, after the tantrums and the protests of bedtime, Ken and I are just so happy to have these kids. We settle into the couch and talk briefly about the girls, (and then quickly turn on "The Blacklist.") If this isn't the best, I don't know what is.<br />
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We never know what's waiting in our future, and while my life may not look great to some, my heart and life before the present has been preparing me for loving what I have now. I see pictures of my face as I look at my girls, and I remember how I looked at the kids in Sri Lanka and it's all too familiar. I know my heart is where it needs to be.<br />
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Be careful next time you order an appetizer, you never know what might happen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNoa7QoyT-HcR9ebAuj98eq40VC4KDAjMZuUXLRInHWXVl-OI0hw45m4Qm_HmuuNEovQsCkiz9DA_cyKXiSTUUIbhVOf15IB8n_ezpvkGSmhxEYf4RFDNeQM3dKxLDLZWMBRHsi5altA/s1600/1927688_512044107405_7604_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNoa7QoyT-HcR9ebAuj98eq40VC4KDAjMZuUXLRInHWXVl-OI0hw45m4Qm_HmuuNEovQsCkiz9DA_cyKXiSTUUIbhVOf15IB8n_ezpvkGSmhxEYf4RFDNeQM3dKxLDLZWMBRHsi5altA/s1600/1927688_512044107405_7604_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFPvyhrvHGvrwcNZ2DLLr8bgzCJFWFi0iorv25iQiA1DLVSuL8thANG-yRZpAly6S_UGI8oyLSeAUF-Ghx5jtlvfArgWyWIlos_3JESyPj4xUYEGZlCqsgAEVyBPpxTPbDdZuXnbnvA/s1600/1927688_512043932755_2703_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFPvyhrvHGvrwcNZ2DLLr8bgzCJFWFi0iorv25iQiA1DLVSuL8thANG-yRZpAly6S_UGI8oyLSeAUF-Ghx5jtlvfArgWyWIlos_3JESyPj4xUYEGZlCqsgAEVyBPpxTPbDdZuXnbnvA/s1600/1927688_512043932755_2703_n.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></div>
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Sri Lanka // 2005</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oKnvm-CyxsAW-x1q4nSJWMpypVZR60Qv4j1NwqsQBWyP03L1fhLaPs9jDp0ddZIC2Z4bFmAHwjB7cTjHZltSd-gU2hfgivWatbGBRo2YC7O_erasNwBCQzL27qT69NFr_YZnsEcWOg/s1600/77683_809007899585_1554932_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oKnvm-CyxsAW-x1q4nSJWMpypVZR60Qv4j1NwqsQBWyP03L1fhLaPs9jDp0ddZIC2Z4bFmAHwjB7cTjHZltSd-gU2hfgivWatbGBRo2YC7O_erasNwBCQzL27qT69NFr_YZnsEcWOg/s1600/77683_809007899585_1554932_o.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSEDO3nk80ZCUzPRWp0eOpeEo8xydBLwPxWjCCjZjUAyn7QhpjrL1XraM4laorG0j32tTZx8Nbxcp5tmK9y5Nud8yzieKx85WqD-fAe2Rg0zV8OZYSW3_CWRLkf9GMN4Owc2KY8p9_A/s1600/257054_563359053681434_1266993942_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSEDO3nk80ZCUzPRWp0eOpeEo8xydBLwPxWjCCjZjUAyn7QhpjrL1XraM4laorG0j32tTZx8Nbxcp5tmK9y5Nud8yzieKx85WqD-fAe2Rg0zV8OZYSW3_CWRLkf9GMN4Owc2KY8p9_A/s1600/257054_563359053681434_1266993942_o.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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Avery // 2010 + Eliza // 2012</div>
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Ivy // 2013 + 2014</div>
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(They all look really similar, while my crow's feet are getting evermore crowy each year. </div>
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A sign of a woman who has laughed a lot, and smiles constantly, and possibly needs better eye protection when in the sun.) </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-16489630182843063412014-09-04T14:06:00.001-07:002014-09-04T14:07:47.509-07:00hello, how are you?Isn't it about time for a fun photo update from the kostrzewas? Happy Thursday, y'all. That's what you're about to get. Highlights: Avery started school! Ivy started crawling! Eliza started wearing sunglasses and her hair makes the most perfect curl down the middle of her forehead. That's noteworthy, yes? Ken started school too! Mom started (and just finished) whole30! It's been a whirlwind here.<br />
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Brevity has never been a strong trait of mine so there are a million pictures. So, pour yourself a drink.<br />
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When they're not yelling at each other, they're lovey dovey.</div>
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Dear Mom, you will never go to bathroom alone ever. Love, all three of us that now are mobile</div>
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What caption would add to this picture? nothing. </div>
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Ivy "go with the flow" Marie taking in the park and the library with the sisters</div>
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You may have seen a thousand of these on Facebook, BUT THIS ONE IS THE BEST!</div>
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Our new normal with A at school. It's good. </div>
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A new model for the shop. </div>
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I get a text a day of Avery in action at school. This would be her second breakfast. Tough life, kid.</div>
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We saw Ivy's plastic surgeon for her check up and everything is great! I have been looking forward to this appointment with such anticipation. I was expecting us to share a drink and toast his success and her recovery. I was prepared with a heart felt thank you speech wherein I would explain to this man that he has changed my life, etc. But then the appointment was 5 minutes and he said, "looks good!" and started to walk out. "Oh, um, Dr. St. Hilaire? Can I get a picture of you... holding Ivy?" pause... "Yeah, sure." And then Ivy put her hand on his shoulder and he was instantly in love. I forget that he doesn't hold babies, he just opens their skulls and touches their brains. It must be hard to be so brilliant and then have to talk to moms who are crazy. I didn't cry though!! </div>
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Avery and dad went on a date to the Superdome for the Saints first home game. You see, Ken is one of the nicest guys. Pretty much the opinion across the board. He manages the bus drivers that come to his school, and one of his drivers gave him these tickets. Because, Ken is nice. And then when they came home, he goes, "I should have brought some of your business cards. Ladies kept complimenting Avery's skirt. You could have sold out of these!" hashtag good dude. </div>
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I still make her model on the weekends. Sorry/not sorry kid. </div>
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Sunday mornings. My favorite mornings. </div>
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Playing with the neighbors dog. And playing with my "allergic to dogs" heart. </div>
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20 pounds of the best</div>
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After we drop off Avery at school we take to city park, which is actually amazing.</div>
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I NEVER KNEW! I walk everywhere with the babies and Eliza loves to find blue dog in the sculpture garden. </div>
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It's as if Ron Swanson was consulted by Roy Lichtenstein for this sculpture. </div>
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(If you understood all of that, you are my best friend.)</div>
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Welcome to the sheeeet show! The 3:1 ratio at the pediatrician is always a party. </div>
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Wednesday T-shirt day! Yes! </div>
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The evening light shines through the window right on Ivy. And then her eyes pierce my heart. </div>
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"Had a good month in the shop!" said that annoying girl who sells skirts. </div>
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Yes, Ivy. It is funny when you're sisters get kicked out of the tub for fighting. </div>
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I think of her scar as like a collection of freckles in a swirly line, and it seems to be adorable. </div>
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Ivy's in a booster! Welcome to the table, child. </div>
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After Breaking Bad swept the Emmys, I suddenly got 4 orders for these skirts. </div>
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Thank you, Heisenburg. </div>
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I also make bibs and burp cloths now. So, fun? </div>
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<strike>Stop talking about your shop. </strike></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNCH3uvCo59F9geuY7bGhlILt0jagvqw8BDss98PVsk3AQ_jjZRJS0bdjFrKSIfCXd_bzjqUIRwtEc_qRAJME3EMODzKJTXks_bJiTXin0SzAo7bVAZ51Tqc3gG5h9j8KMNfw5F3W4hA/s1600/IMG_5937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a> And then two months just fly by and this baby is looking great. </div>
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Weekends with these monkeys is the tops. Avery got dressed herself. </div>
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The small movie theater near our house is showing Robin Willaims movies every Sunday night and last Sunday was Dead Poets Society. The place was sold out with a line around the block. This movie, I cried of course. </div>
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That curl! Will not fail. </div>
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Snark face at whole foods, post school.</div>
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My babies taking it easy as mom sweats into her eyeballs. It's toasty out there folks. </div>
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She wakes me up with this face. And the curl, can't forget that curl. </div>
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Phew! Are you still there? That was a lot, probably too much. Oh well!</div>
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You were warned. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-70857732894522859492014-08-11T14:18:00.004-07:002014-08-11T14:18:57.162-07:00moon river<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's almost been two months since Ivy's surgery and I have to remind myself that it happened because her recovery has been wonderful. Flawless, really. We were at Joann's yesterday, just me and Ivy and she was sitting in the seat of the cart, playing with stuffies and flipping through an elmo book when the lady who was cutting my fabric looked at her. "That's a mighty big scar for such a tiny baby." I was caught off guard. "Huh? Yes, right. Yes, she had skull/brain surgery a couple months ago. Now, I'll take two yards please." It was as easy as that. But often that prompts more questions. "What was wrong?" And in the past 8 months, since knowing about Ivy's cranio, I have summed it up rather well, "The plate above her right eye was fused prematurely so they (surgeons) went in and released the fusion while correcting the deformation that was developing on her left side due to her brain growing asymmetrically. It's called coronal suture synostosis." <i>That's it, right? Now, where are the seem rippers?</i> </div>
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"You know, I have a scar too." The lady precedes to unbutton the top of her shirt to reveal a scar from when she had open heart surgery when she was baby. She shared all about it, and I listened. I wanted to know every detail. Because the greatest thing about all of this (all being Ivy's cranio/surgery journey) is when people listened to you share this experience. Really listened. Countless people, upon hearing about Ivy's condition, googled and researched and most likely scared themselves seeing images and learning facts, etc. I have had so many conversations over the past 8 months where people asked me how she was doing and then said "Yeah, I read that." Blew me away. How thoughtful. As not to bother me with those scary details that were in her future, they went and learned about it before talking to me. They just wanted to know how I was doing with it all, with a genuine concern for my mama-heart. </div>
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I have started about a dozen posts about Ivy's surgery. Details, then personal reflection, then delete, then start again. It's hard to wrap it all up. It's hard to relive some of those moments, even if they were amazing moments, that intense rush of emotions floods my eyes instantly. As the days go by and were further away from the surgery, I still have a time each day where we are right back in the hospital, it's when I put her to bed and we sing.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">I wanted to have an arsenal of songs to sing while in the hospital. I have songs that I sing to Avery, different ones for Eliza. For Ivy, I knew she wouldn't be able to see me for a few days, but I wanted my voice to comfort her. We grew pretty close in the months prior to surgery, because there were days when I just couldn't let go; days where it was emotionally easier for me just to hold her all day. I wanted my voice to calm her, so I added some songs and sang them to her nightly so that she'd associate them with home. One, her favorite, is "Moon River." Who knows why I started singing it, but I did and she loved it instantly. She'd smile through her binkie at me with those big blue eyes. I knew, it was our song. </span><br />
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<i>Moon river, wider than a mile // I'm crossing you in style some day</i></div>
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<i>Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker // Wherever you're going, I'm going your way</i></div>
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<i>Two drifters, off to see the world // There's such a lot of world to see</i></div>
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<i>We're after the same, rainbow's end, waiting, round the bend // My Huckleberry friend, Moon river, and me</i></div>
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If you know me, you know that parts that put a lump in my throat. The early days of June, I could barely finish this song without weeping, but with her in my arms it was cathartic. <i>Wherever you're going, I'm going your way.</i> I thought about if this surgery goes South, and we're left without a Ivy shaped void in our family, what then? How would we go on? And I thought about heaven, and that if she did go to her eternal home early, that I'd be "going her way" soon. We all would. And while the thought of heaven brings great joy to me, the thought of her earthly journey ending was too much to bear.<br />
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The beginning of the second verse, <i>Two drifters, off to see the world, there's such a lot of world to see.</i> I thought about the adventures my mom and I went on, the travels and experiences we shared. We got to see the world, I want to see the world with Ivy. There's so much for her to see. I would pray that Jesus would let her see those things. Every night. I like to think of the rainbow's end, that no one can really arrive at on earth, as heaven. While we're after the same, rainbow's end, I want to be with her. That's all I wanted, was to still be with my Ivy. I would sing to her, kiss her forehead, pull her in a little bit closer every night before laying her down, and I'd come out to the front of the house to Ken who saw my red eyes he knew I had sang to her.<br />
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The afternoon of June 19 is up there with the greatest few hours of my life. When I got to hold her hand, as I couldn't hold her due to the IVs and such, and I got to sing Moon River to her, only on the other side of surgery. She'd fidget and clench my index finger and I'd say, "there's such a lot of world to see, sweet Ivy" and all was right in the world.<br />
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Ivy's 9 months old tomorrow. She's crawling, pulling up on her sister's bed, eating everything and wearing her scar well. She's quite a special little girl. Now, at night when I sing to her, I'll save "Moon River" to the very end and she'll sing with me. No other song but that one, she'll lift her head from where is was resting on my shoulder, look and me and smile. Then she'll start humming, or making noise of some fashion, but I know she's singing. It's easily my favorite part of everyday.<br />
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To those of you who have read all about Ivy on this little blog, I appreciate you. Your comments have been encouraging. You're listening to me with genuine hearts, so I thank you. Thank you for your prayers and support. I feel all too blessed to have been given this life, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to share it through this outlet. So much love for each of you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01966029633075402263noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1261118675245327238.post-66171042913678643742014-08-01T08:28:00.003-07:002014-08-01T08:28:29.043-07:00it hasn't been that hot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What else can I say other than this summer has been delightful, and horribly fast. Avery starts school in two weeks, like a big school. Public school. Monday thru Friday school. Uniform school. "I get to eat lunch there" school. Holy fish, I'm more nervous than she is. <div>
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It's all about to change. Avery's daily grind is going to have like a million more people in it. I think I'm going to run for room mother. I don't know if schools here have those, but I'm going to make it happen. Can you imagine being the teacher of my first born? Moms who were teachers, and then are moms are the worst in parent-teacher conferences. I'll be like, "Let me evaluate you, and then I'll get back to you about Avery's growth." I'm certified to do that. Seriously.</div>
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We're doing a big thing here. I have been part of the "movement" in education in New Orleans since 2007, and Ken is currently, I often thought, "this is great, but when I have kids, they'll be homeschooled," because the schools just weren't where I wanted them to be. But A LOT has happened, and we found a school, a public charter school, that we really like and we're jumping in, the deep end and we're letting go a bit and taking a leap. Avery will stand out, of course, but I think she's the type of person who will always stand out. Just the way we like it. Everyday when she spends time cutting out toys for her Oriental trading magazine, she was says, "I'm a good cutter, now I can go to school." Yeah girl, you go. </div>
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We still get Avery from 1:30 on so we'll still take trips around town, but I think I'm going to miss that girl horribly. I mean, there are days where I'm like, "can she stay all day?" cause, you know, mother and daughter dynamics. For the most part though, she's incredibly charming and genuinely funny. Now other people get to see this and be blessed by it. Go therefore, child, and make jokes in all the nations. </div>
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So, hellooooo August! Let's not have any hurricanes, okay? </div>
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