tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88943041292663607532024-03-05T00:06:03.808-08:00Growing MamaKathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-76324421825465811772016-09-01T21:27:00.003-07:002016-09-01T21:27:39.094-07:00All Summer LongToday is September 1st (ok honestly it's late enough at night that it's probably technically the second by now but regardless it's the start of September) and I have been waiting for this day all Summer. Why? Not the start of school, or the return of all things pumpkin spice, but because I can finally stop feeling guilty over the fact that all I can think about is the coming Autumn. Besides planning for the arrival of an October baby, my focus all Summer has been only on the Fall. My rhythm has been off and I have had no joy in this current season.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ63nnrelHVYUQYypX9oMo_eLq-7NrFiJ513erZpbNsyU4dAEn11-ZNc-SlomWP9kaMcnzOEBEJwYD3ExXcMKZxqGEjsP44AYycKqj14UdcO1XxhZlK5kSYsv9NZnI_J8FJafz8QWnYvI/s1600/DSCN0603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ63nnrelHVYUQYypX9oMo_eLq-7NrFiJ513erZpbNsyU4dAEn11-ZNc-SlomWP9kaMcnzOEBEJwYD3ExXcMKZxqGEjsP44AYycKqj14UdcO1XxhZlK5kSYsv9NZnI_J8FJafz8QWnYvI/s400/DSCN0603.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From one of last year's Autumn adventures.</td></tr>
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<br />
I should start by explaining that Summer is my least favorite season; I love it for what it is and some of the things it brings. But I just don't do heat, or humidity, or that burning thing in the sky that replaces the sun. I enjoy planting a vegetable garden, but we didn't have the new beds built in time this year. I love our yearly reenactment camping trip, but we didn't take it this year for various reasons. I look forward to cool grass in my toes, evenings under the stars, fresh air, but it has been too hot and humid for even being outside in the evening. And yes being very pregnant and even more heat intolerant is not helping.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX2V3ScyYtXmusVOVzaJuzjIXWjWpkNaSHtA4M7RxkTEpNjGZ2hzgGki30NQNkFJ_LwVukZ22axU0T7jrFPa1p97UL5hFm_DDnPPNqFhBvIsKWuaMhLTBqvZ75bQ1yLo3mVhOfN0PRng/s1600/DSCN0597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX2V3ScyYtXmusVOVzaJuzjIXWjWpkNaSHtA4M7RxkTEpNjGZ2hzgGki30NQNkFJ_LwVukZ22axU0T7jrFPa1p97UL5hFm_DDnPPNqFhBvIsKWuaMhLTBqvZ75bQ1yLo3mVhOfN0PRng/s400/DSCN0597.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out from the top of Bowman's Hill Tower, <br />Washington Crossing PA</td></tr>
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And so I have spent all Summer waiting for the days were the evenings become longer and cooler, where it's acceptable to start putting out gourds and making apple flavored desserts (my vote for the true flavor of Fall). I look forward to returning to the outside, opening the windows again, and not hiding inside. Soon my internal rhythm will once again sync up with natures and all will be at peace. And then there will be cool weather and blazing trees, and I'll really be happy.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-70711412269773659522016-08-04T20:27:00.001-07:002016-08-04T20:27:39.300-07:00Healing Through Breastfeeding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jx8KshPNpi8MsnnMVeCdrvkWmV8ong1MQNOPXr1w33VNN-XretF6MvAX4_sVDquYqH3OaePb__mgv622K2LyZn_0C96Z2qqJ4F_kid5hkuHsAMIByUGfh_vwLfF8KO8G2GJ22yW3JIY/s1600/DSCN0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jx8KshPNpi8MsnnMVeCdrvkWmV8ong1MQNOPXr1w33VNN-XretF6MvAX4_sVDquYqH3OaePb__mgv622K2LyZn_0C96Z2qqJ4F_kid5hkuHsAMIByUGfh_vwLfF8KO8G2GJ22yW3JIY/s200/DSCN0108.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Latch</td></tr>
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It's <a href="http://worldbreastfeedingweek.org/">World Breastfeeding Week</a>, and I wanted to take a little time to share with you my breastfeeding story. I am very lucky I have been blessed with an easy breastfeeding journey; it's what helped Jellybean and I bond, and it was the balm that helped sooth the emotional wound from her <a href="http://mamagrowing.blogspot.com/2015/04/on-eve-of-jellybeans-first-birthday.html">birth</a>. In the hour between when she was born via cesarian section and when I finally got to hold her I felt like my body had failed me, and that I had failed her. In the happiness of having her safely here I was depressed and a little angry. And honestly those feeling continues for more than a few months past her birth. But the moment she was placed in my arms she nuzzled in close and latched without much help. I felt relieved, I felt elated, I felt like I could in fact do this mothering thing, despite the extra intervention to get her here. I still worried that somehow her birth would leave a mark on our relationship, that some how we would not fully bond. She has proven me wrong.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKbVr-CKrV5FcsBXCSED4GKrYUnyY7HDFRWNDE7WokXYEoPdzy4d1xLI9SyoD7_fIOCD4DWyVDZSs0V7fWBadYBXHbrSMc3nsDRc7uMR4W1WHFRlhmNJ47-VOidIFxby1GSeLP1bG844/s1600/nursingtoddler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKbVr-CKrV5FcsBXCSED4GKrYUnyY7HDFRWNDE7WokXYEoPdzy4d1xLI9SyoD7_fIOCD4DWyVDZSs0V7fWBadYBXHbrSMc3nsDRc7uMR4W1WHFRlhmNJ47-VOidIFxby1GSeLP1bG844/s320/nursingtoddler.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nursing a Toddler</td></tr>
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Not only did my champion nursling take to the breast easily<br />
, but my milk came in quickly. With in a week she was over her birth weight. We never suffered thrush, clogged ducts or nipple confusion. Her and I became a fairly inseparable pair. Even though she willingly went to other people to play and socialize when she was tired or hungry there was only one answer and one person she wanted, Mama and her milk. Our biggest nursing hurtle was trying to get her to take<br />
a bottle or a binky, she never really took to a bottle and only picked up the binky as a toddler when she started weaning. I was fortunate to breastfeed her a few weeks past her second birthday before my body decided it needed to focus on feeding the little baby growing inside my belly and not the wiggly little girl on my lap. I look forward to being able to nourish and bond with another little nursling, and pray that it will go as smoothly as my journey with Jellybean. <br />
<br />
It has been a few months since she fully weaned, and while she will now except others for comfort she is still my ever companion. And if she could articulate it properly I think she would tell you that she is part of me, or that I am part of her. But either way we are an extension of each other, and that is more than just because I am her mother.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-6791161904745961742016-08-01T16:56:00.000-07:002016-08-01T16:56:07.099-07:00Growing Some More<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOF8BQgutn1MWaYuJ41czvunUE3W7l2ziMiS1PaNZaGk6lmLFZJa_MkwwkoB7q4y5DCS3OWaZ8Y2kMxdEJuAJTFVI8MvXi2SUO6v04ddp8L8u7bFBdAIUDYFuyUzOIWmb1UTaM4Za4PXs/s1600/Baby2anouncement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOF8BQgutn1MWaYuJ41czvunUE3W7l2ziMiS1PaNZaGk6lmLFZJa_MkwwkoB7q4y5DCS3OWaZ8Y2kMxdEJuAJTFVI8MvXi2SUO6v04ddp8L8u7bFBdAIUDYFuyUzOIWmb1UTaM4Za4PXs/s400/Baby2anouncement.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our very subtle baby announcement came a month<br />before we moved in to our new home.</td></tr>
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Things have changed since I last sat down and looked at my blog. We have finally move into our new house even though it is still unfinished (but that's another post). And we have been blessed with the surprise of adding one more to our family. This little mama is growing another little person. <br />
<br />
I was hoping to use this as an opportunity to write post upon post about being pregnant, and waiting for baby. But honestly this time is a lot different. Our whole situation is different. We are just as excited, but there is no time for naval gazing and reading about baby names when you have a house to complete and are trying to keep a toddler from climbing the drapes. We haven't been as social and I'm not working outside the house; so there is no one to ask how I'm doing or if they can touch my belly. I am not having a baby shower and there is no long registry. I haven't been as good about eating a high nutrient diet or doing my prenatal yoga. There is no birthing class or pile of Mommy Magazines.<br />
<br />
And part of me feels really guilty. I really thought it was going to be a magical little time, like it was with Jellybean. And I wonder if some how this little boy is just getting gypped. I know he will be just as health and loved as Jellybean, but I do still worry that some how it is effecting him. I guess part of my job as a mother is to worry about these things. But really I just feel guilty, and sad for him.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-86679346781274488012015-12-14T23:02:00.000-08:002015-12-14T23:02:32.796-08:00I have been under a lot of stress lately. I mean a whole mess of stress. And I wish I had something philosophical to say about how it makes us stronger. Or something spiritual, like how it brings us closer to God. But all I can really say about stress is that it makes me fat. Yep I eat my stress. If I've had a bad day my husband gets a text requesting emergency cup cakes be picked up on his way home. Or I'll make myself nacos at 10 o'clock at night. And to add insult to injury, when I'm stressed my cortisal levels go sky high and I start holding on to weight with even the healthiest of diets. The only thing stress brings me closer to is the next size up in ladies wear. <br />
<br />
So, I am stressed. I'm eating crap. I'm not sleeping. I'm getting depressed about getting fat. And my chronic, but usually controlled, pain causing disorder is now flaring up. Fabulous.<br />
<br />
I know how easy it is to get stuck. But right now I'm not ready to go back to healthier ways. It's partly because I know no drastic change is going to make it through Christmas which is days away at this point. Part of it is because I know it will be easier when things become less stressful. But really I'm just not ready.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-29799882724934040742015-12-14T22:37:00.000-08:002015-12-14T22:37:46.242-08:00How We Got Here: Or Why the Summer of Transition Has Turned into the Autumn of Indigestion.Before we were married my husband and I moved into a little cottage on a lot that was equally woods and field. The house was a little ramshackle and the yard overgrown, but we loved it and we cared for it and made it our own. We rented from a family friend of Turi's with the understanding that we would be offered to buy it below market value when the owner was ready to sell it one day. Mean while three years pass; we have weathered a hurricane cutting up 30 trees that fell during it, replaced the crumbling front steps and patio with a new deck and made the interior livable. We also started a family and quickly realized one bedroom wasn't enough. <br />
<br />
So in March we started looking at houses to see what was available. At the end of April our landlady informed us she was going to sell the house the following spring, listing it above what it was worth and well above our price range. So we started house hunting. And it was exciting<br />
<br />
Our hunt became a comedy, we saw houses with no floors, houses with no roofs, houses with no septic tanks or water hook ups. We knew we were looking at fixer-uppers, we knew we were going to have to put a little sweat equity in and that this was never going to be our dream house. But we thought we would be able to find something with 3 bedrooms and a garage. We did, it was lovely; a passive solar house with and acre of land three bedrooms plus a finished basement and an amazing sunroom. We were out bid. We try again, look at more homes. And find a beautiful 1800's home with three bedrooms, a huge attic, and half an acre of land that backs up to a small river. And it was taken off the market the day we put an offer in. I lost track after seeing our 45th house. We made no plans for the summer, just in case we would be closing and working on our house. We didn't take our beloved yearly vacation. We didn't plant a garden. And we didn't find a house. My excitement has turned into disappointment.<br />
<br />
August comes along and our landlady tells us she has sold our cottage and that we have to move out by October 31st. Panic sets in.<br />
<br />
We still had no house. And so we continue looking. In fact we see one house for the third time. It was at the top our our budget before we even thought about remodeling, the taxes were high and it had no kitchen and very little yard. But we both loved the house, it had enough rooms and a garage. It also had a roof, and was hooked up to water and sewage. We were running out of time and options. So we thought about it, prayed about it, and crunched the numbers. We put together a low ball off, hey it had been on the market for over a year, might as well try. And that day, it goes to auction. Now I am just frustrated.<br />
<br />
Turns out it is an online auction, like eBay for houses, and we can still take out the style of mortgage we were planning on. And the opening bid is way less than our original offer. Great. So we wait. Then we bid. Then we wait again until someone out bids us. Then on the last day of auction we get into a biding war. We place our last bid, the auction ends and it looked like our bid didn't make the dead line. Shortly after Turi gets an email... we are the highest bidder. We won. We have a house. But wait, the reserve was not met, the seller can still reject our offer. And so we wait again.<br />
<br />
We finally hear back from the seller. The house is ours, we have to close within 45 day. We do a happy dance, sign our contract and FedEx a deposit. 45 days is not a problem, we have a mortgage guy ready to go, we have the paper work ready and we need to move in before that anyways. I'm starting to get exciting again.<br />
<br />
Days go by, then a few weeks. We find out our mortgage requires a licensed contractor to do all the repairs. We can't find a contractor. Then we learn we can't move in until all the work is completed. We still can't find a contractor. I check in with our mortgage guy, he is sitting on our paper work. Oh, he won't even start the filing process until we have a contractor. We have a meeting with a HUD inspector, we finally find a contractor, our mortgage guy still hasn't filed our papers. I am so frustrated by now.<br />
<br />
He finally files them. And we have to wait again. <br />
<br />
It's mid October, we start packing and looking for a place to stay for a few weeks while we finish rehabbing our house. We are still being told that it shouldn't be too long. But just incase we found a short term rental and the biggest storage unit I can find. Our intrim rental is scary, like hasn't been cleaned in years, leaking pipes, windows falling out of their casings, scary. We have no choice, so we move our bare essentials into the 400 square feet of the most inhabitable part. And our relator files for an extension on our closing date, because our mortgage guy is still sitting on our paper work. Now I'm really scared.<br />
<br />
We are assured that we will be able to close by Thanksgiving. Our loan was finally approved. We had to talk to their closer about a few final things, but we'd close by Thanksgiving. Two weeks later our mortgage guy still hasn't sent our paperwork to the closer. We file for another closing date extension. Our paperwork finally gets transferred, we get insurance, we file more papers and we have to wait 10 days. But WE GET A CLOSING DATE. Thanksgiving happens and everything seems to be back on track if delayed a bit. I am starting to feel grateful.<br />
<br />
Come to find out everyone on our team missed the fact that there was an extra fee, equal to a commission payable to the auction company at closing. Our closing date is cancelled. So I spend a very tens evening verbally giving our mortgage guy what fore; he forfeits his commission and applies it to the fee. And after less than pleasant afternoon lawyering our lawyer, she goes and gets the auction company to decrease their fee. We scramble to make up the difference. Our closing date is rescheduled. I think there may be a new permanent knot in my stomach.<br />
<br />
The day before our closing they find out their is still a lien on the property. Our lawyer takes care of this before even telling us. Apparently she was scared to tell me. And the morning of our closing our realtor possibly bribed the fire chief to come do an inspection she was originally told was not needed. I'm so glad I didn't know about either of these things until they were taken care of. We do our final walk through and go to closing.<br />
<br />
At the office we were met by our realtor and a closing agent from the title company. No one from the sellers side, no one from our mortgage company, and not even our lawyer. This seemed odd. We were told to bring our I.D.'s and a check book. First thing the title company asked for was a bank check. A certified bank check. For the entire amount of our closing costs. It's only 3;30 pm and our bank is down the street. So I go to the bank and Turi starts signing (he had more papers to sign).<br />
<br />
Finally. Finally we have keys in our hands.<br />
<br />
We still have to go through the rehab process, and our contractor is not ready to start. And we are still living is a scary rental. But we own a house.<br />
<br />
This has been a nine month process, and I very much feel like I'm at that point in a pregnancy were I have passed my due date and I just want to go into labor and be done with it. <br />
<br />Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-70374178569119097602015-10-12T20:01:00.002-07:002015-10-12T20:01:42.177-07:00Why I Wear<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6ougs2vbR4aSZ9toECoRKteKEUT6LKkIMrodc9XMoK18fjS5jmXn7_Vb7RmQzNX6-nqxQwh5p6NBkIczBoh4QAOZ_vBkl4JwkqAZU8j5yyaxiZ3fu1evdYxrJLkBxGRDPhGQRQ3MX4I/s1600/DSCN0359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6ougs2vbR4aSZ9toECoRKteKEUT6LKkIMrodc9XMoK18fjS5jmXn7_Vb7RmQzNX6-nqxQwh5p6NBkIczBoh4QAOZ_vBkl4JwkqAZU8j5yyaxiZ3fu1evdYxrJLkBxGRDPhGQRQ3MX4I/s320/DSCN0359.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Old Sturbridge Village</td></tr>
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Babywearing, for some it's just something they do, for others it is a way of life. For me it is a<b> life saver</b>. <br />
<br />
When I was a new mother, <b>healing</b> from a cesarean and home by myself all day with a new baby who wanted to be held, babywearing is what allowed my to do that. Holding Jellybean in my arms on the couch or in the rocking chair was doable. But when I got up I just couldn't. I couldn't even stand up while holding her, and putting her down standing up and then picking her up was only slightly better. Carrying her anywhere was hard and painful. Babywearing is what allowed me to <b>comfort</b> and <b>bond</b> with my newborn, it kept me from using muscles that weren't ready to be used. It kept my tiny little girl happy and and from crying. And it occasionally allowed me to get something to eat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzph9me1sJDEgyKNNg_1DRI5Hoa5tDezpLsQGCGbP3NXqHVVMfULLhG0FHVhETr-wYrcIBJta9hv23asrwAUR7ENw9Ymg4fg63oNs7ep5XLkhwovhQfw0P5QwgU-kQjA1xigIMYhyByAo/s1600/DSCN0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzph9me1sJDEgyKNNg_1DRI5Hoa5tDezpLsQGCGbP3NXqHVVMfULLhG0FHVhETr-wYrcIBJta9hv23asrwAUR7ENw9Ymg4fg63oNs7ep5XLkhwovhQfw0P5QwgU-kQjA1xigIMYhyByAo/s320/DSCN0347.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Fancy Night Out</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Now that I am healed and doing better babywearing is a <b>joy</b>. I have enjoyed my sister's rehearsal dinner at a loud and fancy restaurant, while Jellybean slept <b>safely</b> tucked away in my wrap. Jellybean has explored Old Sturbridge Village, met an ox and a sheep, watch the turkeys, nursed and napped. All while safely being worn on me. We have hiked, gone to historical reenactment events, Black Friday shopping and late night parties all while babywearing. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Babywearing has even allowed me to <b>keep my child close</b> while at work. Saving us the cost of daycare and all the headaches that go with finding a loving care giver.<br />
<br />
I would not be able to to the wife, friend, sister,<br />
or mother that I am without babywearing.<br />
<b><br /></b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5erisnkXgOX-Sp1ms7DXUrKwCF9ABwMlKY-RePTd8-gQaafP7p0rZCvZWljGn7_D-Gzh6f15VYoY4Rx1kPQEeFxvMqz5o-dOM1nivBtOPwk8TsMu4shrg36BztQKZdziCuRXQ9byfjRU/s1600/lillebaby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5erisnkXgOX-Sp1ms7DXUrKwCF9ABwMlKY-RePTd8-gQaafP7p0rZCvZWljGn7_D-Gzh6f15VYoY4Rx1kPQEeFxvMqz5o-dOM1nivBtOPwk8TsMu4shrg36BztQKZdziCuRXQ9byfjRU/s320/lillebaby.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting Ready for Our Walk</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Babywearing allows me to be me.</span></b></div>
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Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-19152643869325279222015-09-16T19:54:00.000-07:002015-09-16T19:54:46.327-07:00The Great Book SchemeI have a plan, like all of my plans it is a cunning plan. And hopefully unlike most of my plans it will be fully carried out. I am calling this plan <i>The Great Book Scheme. </i>After a few years of not writing, and not reading anything beyond a book on nutrition, pregnancy or birth, and early childhood development my brain has gone soft; so I am endeavoring to read again. I mean truly read, and challenge myself. There are rules and guidelines. And I would love for any of you to join in with me. <br />
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<b>The rules:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I will read 18 books a year, that is a rate of 1.5 books a month. Not counted in that number is <i>The Bible</i> which I will also start reading (I have done this before and plan for it to take three to four years to get from cover to cover). </li>
<li>Any book reasonably over 500 pages counts a two books; for example <i>Little Women</i> is only one book, but <i>War and Peace</i> is two. </li>
<li>I can re-read books that I read in college, because well it's been a while and I don't remember half of them (which is another reason for this exercise). </li>
<li>And I have to follow the Guidelines laid out for choosing books. Thirteen of these books have specific requirements and should be chosen at the start of the year.</li>
</ul>
<b>The Guidelines:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Two books must be poetry. They can be an anthology or a single poet, and can be read slowly over the course of the year.</li>
<li>Two books must be classic novels. I know this is a little vague. By classic I mean something you would read in a college literature class, the ones you think of that define a genera or a style, the ones everyone should read. And 'modern' classics do not apply.</li>
<li>One play by Shakespeare. I have a love-hate relationship with the Great Bard, but all in all he has been very influential on the English language and I just need to suck it up and cope.</li>
<li>One medieval primary source or scholarly text on the period. I am a member of the <a href="http://www.sca.org/">SCA</a> and would be remiss not to read something about my field each year.</li>
<li>One spiritual work. I'm Christian, of the Anglo-Catholic persuasion, so this will be works by the saints or other religious people from the Catholic or early Anglican churches.</li>
<li>One on food. Mostly whole food or traditional food cook books or food history. Who doesn't want to learn the long history of salt.</li>
<li>Three 'self betterment' books. These will be non-fiction, how-to type books on child development, gardening, finance, anything that I wish to learn about for real life application purposes. Honestly it's really just more of what I've been reading the past few years.</li>
<li>Two Great Books. These are any of the Great Books of a classical education that do not fall into any of the above categories.</li>
<li>Five free choice books. These can be more from the categories from above or they can be that book a trusted friend insists I read. These books won't be chosen at the beginning of the year like the rest, but can be picked through out the year as I feel the need to continue reading on a topic or need a flight of fancy into cheesy modern fiction.</li>
</ul>
I may sound like a lot, and it could very well be. But the point is to challenge myself. <ul>
</ul>
Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-71347419088066455942015-07-15T22:04:00.002-07:002015-07-15T22:04:25.520-07:00The Sleepless Secret We have a big secret in our house. My wonderful, curious, independent, amazing, well behaved and reasonable toddler doesn't sleep through the night. Not only does she not sleep through the night but she wakes up every hour. And the only thing that will get her to go back down in nursing. I am her lovey and if her father dares try to comfort her she will cry herself into hysterics.<br />
<br />
It is exhausting.<br />
<br />
And while I curse the fact that I have gotten no sleep or that I woke up with a back spasm because the sleep I got was in a weird position trying not to roll over on the baby that has climbed into bed; I know I will one day miss the sweet baby cuddles. <br />
<br />
But tonight is not that night.<br />
<br />
Tonight is the night I wish I could stick a pacifier in her mouth and a dolly under her arm and just send her off to bed.<br />
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But I can't<br />
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I can't have my child scared and upset because I'm not there. So I will finish my tea and post my blog entry and go back to bed before she wakes up again. And tomorrow I will be tired.<br />
<br />
But my child will be happy.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-87985570017784100942015-04-22T20:21:00.001-07:002015-04-22T20:21:21.218-07:00On the Eve of Jellybean's First BirthdayAt this time on this night a year ago my waters had broke and I was in hard labor with our precious little Jellybean. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpAUgEVKN7wp_i3kNw_trZVx0St0IeJWkGmsgSz7bJq_IuW9WqzYZ01Qr9utiI94gGYcXoBtchGIWKAZ9i-420e-TpTB2SIj2wHFN3MN8zoL-00k1Mym3SjiSZwUNkpTHhtn5AVkdh14/s1600/10155882_10152761986278625_7065895688027195115_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpAUgEVKN7wp_i3kNw_trZVx0St0IeJWkGmsgSz7bJq_IuW9WqzYZ01Qr9utiI94gGYcXoBtchGIWKAZ9i-420e-TpTB2SIj2wHFN3MN8zoL-00k1Mym3SjiSZwUNkpTHhtn5AVkdh14/s1600/10155882_10152761986278625_7065895688027195115_n.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready to head to the hospital.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Yep, contractions a minute apart, lasting a minute in length and it when on like that for 14 hours. And you want to know something, labor was pretty cool. My contractions felt purposeful, uncomfortable but productive and not painful. Pain came later. Pain is how I knew something was wrong.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsf560vHgf7c4mJZ3uiw3m9PFxAezl7hPJyWr5fG27YI_Tn9wdWV3icdDoUJz0iN_xcIByWSS1IfWjnFzLOF3wfFS_g4kIC4J9tC5CpIK0qfUqbONgToT1ETCN0fHyFRLO3BHfbmGcBM/s1600/DSCN0099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsf560vHgf7c4mJZ3uiw3m9PFxAezl7hPJyWr5fG27YI_Tn9wdWV3icdDoUJz0iN_xcIByWSS1IfWjnFzLOF3wfFS_g4kIC4J9tC5CpIK0qfUqbONgToT1ETCN0fHyFRLO3BHfbmGcBM/s1600/DSCN0099.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting Jellybean for the first time.</td></tr>
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I am so in love with my little girl. But it still hurts when I think that her delivery was not what I had planned. I have done a lot of healing in the past year; I no longer cry when I think of her delivery, I no longer have daily pain in my abdomen or at my incision site. Even my scar is almost invisible. But I am still coming to terms with how an awesome labor can turn into an unplanned cesarean. Eventually I may write Jellybean's full birth story, but for now I will just leave you these photos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVPX0l8FsjDllavo1Rkxp2HVt_cSXhXIeIyhyphenhyphenAlfM2q1tcHvLYyrnLZm1JqaNHgRW6xVUascPLTFjCbS3AP6PMNEAcApZCn3Z2cuvAlEMvXdeyhSpRdCwRGQkJPZoYZtLMAXyo9VNN1I/s1600/DSCN0100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVPX0l8FsjDllavo1Rkxp2HVt_cSXhXIeIyhyphenhyphenAlfM2q1tcHvLYyrnLZm1JqaNHgRW6xVUascPLTFjCbS3AP6PMNEAcApZCn3Z2cuvAlEMvXdeyhSpRdCwRGQkJPZoYZtLMAXyo9VNN1I/s1600/DSCN0100.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How can you not love that face?</td></tr>
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<br />Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-78399960129107139892015-03-14T19:52:00.000-07:002015-03-14T19:52:18.905-07:00Hats off.<div style="text-align: center;">
I have a confession to make,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJVOg-MLZ_BIuJ8sc-0SUH6lY_0_PEjw7WoMTGNpeNEnI860ygTL_7bB4eCt-3v1A4tBSnlS0b8dBlxeMXs57GEEERDNnRNz9DwcNZm41wjSWu-2mk-n97ffnHatrm4tTAK18PIZnO3RA/s1600/DSCN0148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJVOg-MLZ_BIuJ8sc-0SUH6lY_0_PEjw7WoMTGNpeNEnI860ygTL_7bB4eCt-3v1A4tBSnlS0b8dBlxeMXs57GEEERDNnRNz9DwcNZm41wjSWu-2mk-n97ffnHatrm4tTAK18PIZnO3RA/s1600/DSCN0148.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love baby hat.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOkodRh6366qkp8jcHwrvcgvcvqO2ohsPpSwcHRbnnavjm6n-O-NUMKExjStkdu56kiEIwRXCRYSXe_qs3tDMBPArxK60mrAZBiIarftto9ilqaIIMeVA02a9pT2_l90pu2JEAOuCSZg/s1600/10365548_586114990033_8709804556622858691_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOkodRh6366qkp8jcHwrvcgvcvqO2ohsPpSwcHRbnnavjm6n-O-NUMKExjStkdu56kiEIwRXCRYSXe_qs3tDMBPArxK60mrAZBiIarftto9ilqaIIMeVA02a9pT2_l90pu2JEAOuCSZg/s1600/10365548_586114990033_8709804556622858691_o.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I mean seriously I'm obsessed with them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKY7-pfhol1MUjNpwBkptc1Lzyg9dHjuJi3S3Iy_mcuf4JPm7QNfs9KLugsyo2HKRf44wwPGoe89Zhwg6AUIhxIFoX7gfMPg9KXkpfXoTASqb4-n1S7XvNcRlJd68k_9ZTuHiI-9r11o/s1600/10384299_593644001833_7845229248270868486_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKY7-pfhol1MUjNpwBkptc1Lzyg9dHjuJi3S3Iy_mcuf4JPm7QNfs9KLugsyo2HKRf44wwPGoe89Zhwg6AUIhxIFoX7gfMPg9KXkpfXoTASqb4-n1S7XvNcRlJd68k_9ZTuHiI-9r11o/s1600/10384299_593644001833_7845229248270868486_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Especially with ears,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZa1AWQGHdRPgzfjuW4wxc-GI3saiwV7XkG1iHZuwfljqWuwbCrt4rfBjcmtdwZq0NccltSjwak_Sx54grTasDMpCh6UJAgrQbrYxSy9RLuFR_MV7fOmGrojVpr8lAIUC3LFEhEoKSPo/s1600/10540854_594625589723_5258646003291362083_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZa1AWQGHdRPgzfjuW4wxc-GI3saiwV7XkG1iHZuwfljqWuwbCrt4rfBjcmtdwZq0NccltSjwak_Sx54grTasDMpCh6UJAgrQbrYxSy9RLuFR_MV7fOmGrojVpr8lAIUC3LFEhEoKSPo/s1600/10540854_594625589723_5258646003291362083_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Or hand made,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-akCx-e6-PyZyiE0a_R4tXFcbtYJhr59c8c8krLb0Ks1wHaxLPg4oEv44XFXU3xIz3MuQQQhQHmHlHVf9YVTgr2wltyVvxfrVviGukMOBYzaYiJtLd-wn-aWeukPA0O5D8alPQOdJxqE/s1600/1503851_612433048433_2582064472310544649_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-akCx-e6-PyZyiE0a_R4tXFcbtYJhr59c8c8krLb0Ks1wHaxLPg4oEv44XFXU3xIz3MuQQQhQHmHlHVf9YVTgr2wltyVvxfrVviGukMOBYzaYiJtLd-wn-aWeukPA0O5D8alPQOdJxqE/s1600/1503851_612433048433_2582064472310544649_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Or hand made and with ears.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJrOABGFlbGBDI-UbKnXfynvmXChQNUtYlz26Gzfwg_-7Y85bNT4-wgD45YDeOH1UM-0hcHHhpLLwhFOHhkqt526RmDk3yOUTXVSpgq2g9q_R6QR-d7_6-gF1GMBsd-miXyaZ73UB-Xw/s1600/10402760_607068499033_4909572187668721733_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJrOABGFlbGBDI-UbKnXfynvmXChQNUtYlz26Gzfwg_-7Y85bNT4-wgD45YDeOH1UM-0hcHHhpLLwhFOHhkqt526RmDk3yOUTXVSpgq2g9q_R6QR-d7_6-gF1GMBsd-miXyaZ73UB-Xw/s1600/10402760_607068499033_4909572187668721733_n.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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Better yet, baby gnome hats.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zWfbcczWTqYqgJb-zCl2mJwjNGqPMyQrWR8ePF_m1zjysX3nWulIDj_N7zOjGeuz5gN1qD44agmHoNNFFozD4adIFOS2tJu0fa7iIr_hrA23uqrWirXMgcMxNOZ8Xh5jv6Z0SHKGF2U/s1600/10710542_609159508633_7606349935028915246_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zWfbcczWTqYqgJb-zCl2mJwjNGqPMyQrWR8ePF_m1zjysX3nWulIDj_N7zOjGeuz5gN1qD44agmHoNNFFozD4adIFOS2tJu0fa7iIr_hrA23uqrWirXMgcMxNOZ8Xh5jv6Z0SHKGF2U/s1600/10710542_609159508633_7606349935028915246_n.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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Even little bed time pilot caps.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qkEHpajvnp_OhjsRHQs-ZTGiqXLxRatKASODXPyTMDITevBBhftfjcD4yD1SDtd2yiWfXHU_zsq4z9fF0Aew6UNqW99OHrnsdtAoMUPAw5CtiXICVIidLcUbabU4R8hec6pfIPDK_is/s1600/2014-04-29+17.58.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qkEHpajvnp_OhjsRHQs-ZTGiqXLxRatKASODXPyTMDITevBBhftfjcD4yD1SDtd2yiWfXHU_zsq4z9fF0Aew6UNqW99OHrnsdtAoMUPAw5CtiXICVIidLcUbabU4R8hec6pfIPDK_is/s1600/2014-04-29+17.58.47.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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And to double the love and baby obsessions, baby hats while babywearing.</div>
Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-76052300204431257512015-03-09T19:43:00.002-07:002015-03-09T19:43:14.371-07:00A Rythm Method<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAWBWpJ0HCilzN0EmKd-qcYoKirkRbrmd5XrYGX7g6j2ythMX7I54Vtq8RYiUCKGwJ7tQYMvhiK879kaezTrfwuQGtK0qR7Fx__y_45dFu5lFR7kSvz75E62bSTi0Ql_G9F73K-4Aha50/s1600/olddesk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAWBWpJ0HCilzN0EmKd-qcYoKirkRbrmd5XrYGX7g6j2ythMX7I54Vtq8RYiUCKGwJ7tQYMvhiK879kaezTrfwuQGtK0qR7Fx__y_45dFu5lFR7kSvz75E62bSTi0Ql_G9F73K-4Aha50/s1600/olddesk.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My desk at my Grandparents' farm</td></tr>
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Writing hasn't been happening lately. Truthfully there are a lot of things that haven't been happening lately. And it isn't because of crying babies, dirty diapers or lack of sleep, or any other trapping of Motherhood. I couldn't figure it out. My writing had been declining for months, I mean <i>month and months, </i>in fact everything I do had been tapering off or had not been happening. Since I had moved from Connecticut all of my creative endeavors had just been lagging. And I couldn't figure it out. Turi and I had a lengthy discussion about it today, with no real resolution. But I kept thinking, and muddling, and finally laying in bed it came to me.<br />
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When I was living a single life my time was my own, my world was my own I had my own rhythm. It may have been an unconventional one, but it was my rhythm. It included time for thoughts and creation, quiet personal refection, and all the other things people have to do. It even included time to just sit outside everyday. When I moved in with my husband, gone where the nights of sitting outside thinking at midnight. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaJbH8ldbv98X20zai7XcOEwSzX5bmG-TlN9UkPEMN2q1jfHLaxcEUvD4ytKkOla8LTaX2mDTEHB5SqZDMYuApRuQiOjYZXL1phS3MgRhYZ6XfjLv_a1LabrZ_JQUfLh4yOggdkhQw-s/s1600/pennsicembridery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaJbH8ldbv98X20zai7XcOEwSzX5bmG-TlN9UkPEMN2q1jfHLaxcEUvD4ytKkOla8LTaX2mDTEHB5SqZDMYuApRuQiOjYZXL1phS3MgRhYZ6XfjLv_a1LabrZ_JQUfLh4yOggdkhQw-s/s1600/pennsicembridery.jpg" height="320" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start of an embroidery project</td></tr>
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<div>
He never asked me to change my ways, I just did. But instead of creating a new rhythm for myself I just floundered about; doing what ever, when ever. </div>
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The Waldorf Movement focuses heavily on a child's daily rhythm; wake, dress, eat, playtime, story time, nap... and on goes the day, one thing flowing into another. There is a day for baking and for washing, each day has a colour and even a grain associated with it. It may seem like a rigid structuring, but it is not. It is like breath; you breath in and concentrate on something with in, you breath out and move within the world around you. In and out all day, your breath exchanges and your rhythm continues.</div>
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This is what I need, this is what my baby needs, and this is what my art needs. Over the next few weeks I am going to try to establish a rhythm for my family. I'm going to be using a traditional Waldorf rhythm and adapt it and integrate it into my world. Hopefully this will improve things here. And you all can see it's implementation in action.</div>
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Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-54894414688994926232014-12-14T18:18:00.000-08:002015-03-08T21:16:03.259-07:00Where Have I Been?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We need a nap</td></tr>
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I am incredibly bad at self care. I manage to feed and water myself. I remember to go to the bathroom and usually leave the house in shoes and not slippers. But things like taking a little time for myself... I'm just bad at it. I have wanted to take a bath for weeks, but all I can manage is a mostly regular shower. I have had a myriad of posts on my mind and haven't written a one. I desperately want a foot message and yet somehow I forget to ask for one. I am just bad at doing things for myself. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKG_NyHgBAixOhyphenhyphend0xly4Jz1ngiLIUfze1MC_zZXx0QtZvGz96KrHdajQFq9k5CrPnq1wENMqJ0J2bto3Ua0geRbNUYsyNKuC_J9kZ1lRfho1dosvkCVwXsOR4qWbN45OhiknciPdn2Ng/s1600/IMG_20141202_073255443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKG_NyHgBAixOhyphenhyphend0xly4Jz1ngiLIUfze1MC_zZXx0QtZvGz96KrHdajQFq9k5CrPnq1wENMqJ0J2bto3Ua0geRbNUYsyNKuC_J9kZ1lRfho1dosvkCVwXsOR4qWbN45OhiknciPdn2Ng/s1600/IMG_20141202_073255443.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jellybean's new 'cosleeper'</td></tr>
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I am also incredibly sleep deprived. My little adventurer has decided that I am her pacifier and that she needs her passi in her mouth. All. Night. Long. So I nurse her all night long. This is a new thing that started shortly after she started crawling. Hopefully self soothing will come soon and she can happily go back to sleeping in her cosleeper (which is actually now her full sized crib next to the bed with the side rail dropped). She is getting so big.<br />
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In other news I have an Instagram account and can be found there regularly: <a href="http://instagram.com/growing_mama/">Growing_Mama</a><br />
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<br />Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-85862961550551490652014-10-23T18:40:00.001-07:002014-10-25T13:29:10.066-07:00Sleepy Six Months<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGYqkX_lrvFfFtKT57fMwpOKZDEfTZxat8B71djOqbWNpLl-Jc0MSSvCVdqUKAinkmTxzJ1SFZXd5WjP4NZOLA2M3J_hZHW9bSEuTtVWtoMKLC7cdgHJzto1qiZ4XZaK9fXBYTte7cHw/s1600/DSCN0124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGYqkX_lrvFfFtKT57fMwpOKZDEfTZxat8B71djOqbWNpLl-Jc0MSSvCVdqUKAinkmTxzJ1SFZXd5WjP4NZOLA2M3J_hZHW9bSEuTtVWtoMKLC7cdgHJzto1qiZ4XZaK9fXBYTte7cHw/s1600/DSCN0124.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>I look at Jellybean and am amazed that in six short months she has become such a little person. She is fully awake to the world around her; she laughs, she reaches and grabs, moving around she enjoys and explores her surroundings.<br />
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But when she is a sleep and her face becomes soft and quiet, I put her cheek up to mine and smell her sweet milky breath, and for a moment she is that newborn baby.<br />
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Who in the dark of the hospital room at<br />
midnight I clung to as if she was a little dolly. Scared and excited, healing from the wounds of her birth. It's the peaceful little face that I stared at as the sun came up the next morning.<br />
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Jellybean, ready to join the world, was that tiny little newborn for only a handful of hours. But when she sleeps I am reminded of that long, precious, quite first night.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-9443272822356013892014-10-13T16:41:00.001-07:002014-10-13T16:41:46.973-07:00Double Cross Carry Tutorial <i>This was supposed to happen last week as part of International Babywearing Week, for Teach Me Tuesday. But I couldn't get a hand for the video until tonight. So I present to you my first attempt at a video and using YouTube.</i><br />
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This is my favorite Carry right now. I keeps baby secure and close, allows her to look around, nurse or sleep. And it put the least amount of stress on my lower half while I was still sore and healing from a cesarean birth. I do a variant on the Double Cross Carry.<br />
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<br />Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-81055493321935348152014-10-11T20:01:00.002-07:002014-10-11T20:01:31.833-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWen_i2oCuswhB4TiqfnReI8PdTEZWBJsUMNFfkPAlpJ9jK5sY3g8hGDFsBtxkNJYgqIik1vymHtErFG5W7lMPsAF5-jhDOevmyEdv1-KGja3VKkyeUhqeIqvRHvkwrGge3nOGm4DNmQA/s1600/IMG_20141007_090851455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWen_i2oCuswhB4TiqfnReI8PdTEZWBJsUMNFfkPAlpJ9jK5sY3g8hGDFsBtxkNJYgqIik1vymHtErFG5W7lMPsAF5-jhDOevmyEdv1-KGja3VKkyeUhqeIqvRHvkwrGge3nOGm4DNmQA/s1600/IMG_20141007_090851455.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a>Well I had a number of babywearing posts lined up for this week. But a you can see they didn't happen. Sometimes you just have to roll with it, and this week we rolled with a bad head cold for me and a runny nose and diaper rash for Jellybean. There was a lot of cuddling in bed. Then Turi brought home soup and changed diapers and entertained the baby while I got a nap.<br />
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But really how could you be sick and miserable for too long with that happy face looking back at you?<br />
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I'm thinking of making it Babywearing Month around here.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-51282927957524758012014-10-08T07:22:00.000-07:002014-10-08T07:22:04.568-07:00MommyCon and a Giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well everything is running a little bit behind this week because I spent Monday recovering from Sunday. But it was more than worth it.<br />
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<a href="http://mommy-con.com/">MommyCon</a> was AMAZING. It was wonderful to be in the same place as all of those other wonderful breastfeeding, babywearing, crunchy mamas. And we helped set a new babywearing world record. I was inspired by many of the people who I spoke too and at one point was even in tears listening to Jessica Martin-Webber from <a href="http://theleakyboob.com/">theleakyboob.com</a> (but that's another post). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlYvwjEaArEbim2Z54qPj1UOWNEtCCMx9ecvWgdCfQYIgtimxfrZuVfS-WJk98ZQcmU3i3nAnczkXBrwr3ih_FjZCFxi0okiV2uwcpyh9iUCnHpRHAOHOe0vP4AXw_y1KdVsMaIqt5bqU/s1600/mommycon'14_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlYvwjEaArEbim2Z54qPj1UOWNEtCCMx9ecvWgdCfQYIgtimxfrZuVfS-WJk98ZQcmU3i3nAnczkXBrwr3ih_FjZCFxi0okiV2uwcpyh9iUCnHpRHAOHOe0vP4AXw_y1KdVsMaIqt5bqU/s1600/mommycon'14_2.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a>Besides the great speakers, wonderful other attendees, and the generous gift bags and giveaways; the team behind MommyCon really went that extra mile. They had water in every lector space and the vender room, they had a nursing and a napping lounge, places to change diapers, a training potty in every bathroom, and even a place to charge my phone. The staff was wonderful too. My only suggestion would be to offer a snack concession or put a granola bar in the gift bags. I didn't have an issue because I packed a lunch but I heard a few people having trouble trying to figure out where to go to eat or not wanting to walk the long way to the nearest restaurant.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw44tAydWYFk-SJITXjYvBbCT6zBKF0Zmk6FQxJYZvUGr5sAyA4ZVZrmbdd4kkcYxuiwM8dcbAuf0aGZbhoR1rjWFcXiISbW4GE5OiaK2DltqHKnU5BBXSZldmLb5wj9HYXv1xOXtHmI/s1600/DSCN0302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw44tAydWYFk-SJITXjYvBbCT6zBKF0Zmk6FQxJYZvUGr5sAyA4ZVZrmbdd4kkcYxuiwM8dcbAuf0aGZbhoR1rjWFcXiISbW4GE5OiaK2DltqHKnU5BBXSZldmLb5wj9HYXv1xOXtHmI/s1600/DSCN0302.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>I will defiantly be going back to MommyCon. And hopefully with a VIP ticket, a friend and an extra bag for all the stuff.<br />
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So the giveaway: I was fortunate enough to get my hands on a second gift bag at MommyCon, and I'm going to share it with you. To enter you need to leave a comment with what you would like to read about on my blog and share my blog on either Facebook or Twitter (leave your handle or a link to it in the comments). One entry per person please.<br />
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Entry will close on Tuesday October 14, 2014 at 11:59pm and I will draw the winner Wednesday.<br />
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<br />Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-69400676380441964752014-10-05T17:41:00.001-07:002014-10-05T17:41:23.727-07:00Hello from MommyConJust saying "hi" from MommyCon (well the original post the mobil blogger ate did). We are socializing, learning and baby wearing today. Happy first day of International Babywearing Week. Much more to come later.<br />
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Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-17640302416123376522014-10-01T10:47:00.004-07:002014-10-01T10:47:55.387-07:00Taking It Easy <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3IBDelKUEUg0SPu-zr1dNW3bUVQH6f6HUwKRiHRuw0JXj7MEyrqNhtXSSNariWjEzPXI_1Wqwt251luYsRuS2RWY0wTK7TmF3pshKYsJVZ8VP8e_bsVIzmx5O8humg91wLzeEllgukc/s1600/10155334_10152770854163625_1550415722417935967_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3IBDelKUEUg0SPu-zr1dNW3bUVQH6f6HUwKRiHRuw0JXj7MEyrqNhtXSSNariWjEzPXI_1Wqwt251luYsRuS2RWY0wTK7TmF3pshKYsJVZ8VP8e_bsVIzmx5O8humg91wLzeEllgukc/s1600/10155334_10152770854163625_1550415722417935967_n.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a>In the US you basically get six weeks of Maternity leave for a normal birth and eight weeks for a Cesarean birth. And the world expects you to be bouncing around, back to work and exactly the way you were before becoming pregnant on that very day.<br />
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It's wholly unrealistic.<br />
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It's okay to need more time. It's okay to need help, or for the transition back to work to take longer. Even if you don't work out side the home it's okay for you to need more time before you can run up and down stairs with a full laundry basket.<br />
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I right this for myself as much as I do anyone reading it. Everyone is different, every labor and delivery is different, and every body heals differently.<br />
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Be kind to yourself.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-25881173478832584072014-09-22T15:59:00.000-07:002014-09-22T16:18:26.331-07:00Simple Beginings <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-hY__fZ3AyXAdJ0JZnhZttrEAy-O9DSSwgmK0LEeG154yHGj2QThhR1an-F1s81RgpmTgjHM7SJTUyQV35BO_TNW2XYjyqD84WtMNoAOY3yjG-TvHnSqvlI91KPQj9YnqUqAmVzuRYE/s1600/crock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-hY__fZ3AyXAdJ0JZnhZttrEAy-O9DSSwgmK0LEeG154yHGj2QThhR1an-F1s81RgpmTgjHM7SJTUyQV35BO_TNW2XYjyqD84WtMNoAOY3yjG-TvHnSqvlI91KPQj9YnqUqAmVzuRYE/s1600/crock.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a>At many times my life could have gone many different ways, and most of
those times it was my own choice that shaped things. But in my early
years my parents made a series of choices, and though I can't say
whether one was better than the other, I do know that my life could
have been very different.<br />
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I was born my parents lived in a small pre-war house settled on a
long narrow strip of land. It had a lawn to play on, flower beds to
hide in, berry patches, vegetable beds and a few fruit trees. My
mother made most of my baby clothes, including bibs and bedding, and
cooked most of our meals from scratch. She worked part-time and I was
cared for by my grandparents or in someone's home with a hand full of
other young children. It was the start of the 80's and my parents had
a budget to live by and a whole lot of energy for a good life.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYBxRp685UU4jU4RUvzGy6XGzkEDQsJF1QbTuaityzOs55cUn_vc9j2TUzp4LeLRgoHVQt_ifi4DdBDSOpJTifd3NHXBsPVtp6V0JnB2qp0wnYgwY58JIZGGd_LhPp9vmz2w-CMHjnD4/s1600/2013-02-10+16.15.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYBxRp685UU4jU4RUvzGy6XGzkEDQsJF1QbTuaityzOs55cUn_vc9j2TUzp4LeLRgoHVQt_ifi4DdBDSOpJTifd3NHXBsPVtp6V0JnB2qp0wnYgwY58JIZGGd_LhPp9vmz2w-CMHjnD4/s1600/2013-02-10+16.15.41.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
I remember playing outside, or in the lower cupboard where the pots and
pans were stored, and going to the library. We didn't watch a lot of
television and what I do remember watching was on PBS. And my baby
sister was my favorite playmate. We never wanted for things, and most
of the things we owned were of quality, not quantity. Bedroom
furniture was bought from a good store, in a classic style and piece
by piece. We still have the high chair, cradle, head boards, dressers
and desk that my sister and I shared. What was gifts and what was
saved for, I don't know, but it was all saved.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaidNEF1qiYRRGL6VlrGVGX3xLpnKs8x6Fb-63rg1zACRGWp_U7FCyaUEy6BwU9eLd4StHYGgYrpCt8fxMjjmYjY_CfAg0qEaiqTVBKbOw5G7nhFU9kx83gHFsmnJEI1_nhK_l2egciQ0/s1600/2013-07-04+16.17.05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaidNEF1qiYRRGL6VlrGVGX3xLpnKs8x6Fb-63rg1zACRGWp_U7FCyaUEy6BwU9eLd4StHYGgYrpCt8fxMjjmYjY_CfAg0qEaiqTVBKbOw5G7nhFU9kx83gHFsmnJEI1_nhK_l2egciQ0/s1600/2013-07-04+16.17.05.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>This life, though seen through nostalgic, blurred eyes, is the kind of
life that I aim for, for today. Though I loved the later years of
living on a child filled cul-du-sac, in a new house, with cable and
pretty much anything I wanted. Part of me wonders how my life right
now would be different if working at the simpler things had ingrained
on me as habit and not just memories.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8894304129266360753.post-68265709164211894472014-09-20T21:49:00.001-07:002014-10-08T07:57:41.977-07:00Our Little Cabbage PatchThere are amazing things happening in my life and I have a ton to say and share. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6MtwYnXjnPNTB2W8lUmbh9ps5QrXf1gYFQBHPok0er9d1-defRlZrLN0jTKHeukt8dVDRqo8cz29hcBWMntM4MBRVB1W3eTEcC5SrjoRM3nPYPuZMN0lFg4chbIEIXM3eo3lFg8yFdY/s1600/Wed010617-XL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6MtwYnXjnPNTB2W8lUmbh9ps5QrXf1gYFQBHPok0er9d1-defRlZrLN0jTKHeukt8dVDRqo8cz29hcBWMntM4MBRVB1W3eTEcC5SrjoRM3nPYPuZMN0lFg4chbIEIXM3eo3lFg8yFdY/s1600/Wed010617-XL.jpg" height="200" width="141" /></a><br />
Me: I am a failed blogger, used to be poet, and new mother. I am trying to have a simple conscious being, filled with life. I love loud music, cool weather and skirts. And of course, I love my family.<br />
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Turi: My loving, tolerant, big bear of a husband. He's the muscle, builder, and repurposer of our team. He is also my reality check and constant encourager. His nickname mean 'bear' in Gaelic.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1gDctKjHigyADutU9VrMP1QCKPU-pgWHdYGJ849ZaHRxgxUu8R6RUSX8U4MV1sFK-JJCLZCVHQhvPt5xZFWSOi3lzBo0m7iXQQeyYhAJUoWjz853-6Vs2fy80-MRDv_6c0_XBXUf7Z0/s1600/10272537_10152355062616329_1937898862207507039_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB1gDctKjHigyADutU9VrMP1QCKPU-pgWHdYGJ849ZaHRxgxUu8R6RUSX8U4MV1sFK-JJCLZCVHQhvPt5xZFWSOi3lzBo0m7iXQQeyYhAJUoWjz853-6Vs2fy80-MRDv_6c0_XBXUf7Z0/s1600/10272537_10152355062616329_1937898862207507039_o.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><br />
Jellybean: Our sweet little baby girl, she is an even tempered sweet baby. Who at four months was a nine month cloths wearing, rolling around, sitting up two baby teeth bearing amazement. She is named for the sugary treat associated with the day she was due.<br />
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Fozzy Bear: Our fuzzy little mascot. He thinks he's a biped and the center of the family. I adopted him before all of this started, he earned his name the moment I met him, with the best Fozzie the Bear impression I ever saw.<br />
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This blog is a little bit of everything; recipes, mama musings, reviews, information and advice. I am not perfect and I'm learning as I go, but I want to share what I've learned with all of you.<br />
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Please join me as I grow as a Mama and hopefully manage to grow something in my garden too.Kathleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11150177970006893023noreply@blogger.com0