tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-210262660929407842024-03-07T03:05:10.039-05:00Cacklin' from CackalackieDaniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-38662669915502402922009-04-08T18:30:00.002-05:002009-04-08T18:36:28.590-05:00Madeline Alice SpohrI haven't been around much lately, I know. The computer crashed sometime back, and we only just recently replaced it. Besides, I'd kind of lost my momentum here, and really just needed a break from it.<br /><br />So much has happened since my last post. There seemed to be so much to catch up on. But suddenly it all seems so trivial, so insignificant.<br /><br />I logged on today to find out that a dear, sweet baby girl whose story I'd followed for over a year now has passed away. Madeline Alice Spohr. "Maddie" as her parents Mike and Heather have called her. She was magic. Absolutely the embodiment of magic which poured from her luscious blue eyes and toothy grin. Reading her story brought light to my world every time I visited her blog. She was a remarkable little girl who because of the devotion of her mother touched the lives of so many people. I will miss reading her story. I will miss that beautiful face. But most of all, I'll miss her magic.<br /><br />Thank you sweet Maddie. Breathe easy my love. You are an angel to us all.<br /><br />***please visit the March of Dimes and donate in Maddie's name if you can***Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-49646157195631152062009-01-05T22:24:00.009-05:002009-01-05T22:51:55.370-05:00"What Happens When Two Preschoolers are Asked to Sit for a Picture" OR "Insanity"<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHuvW8e5sgyEY-N4-_ONgEoCX628jOPfa2JcKKf-g3EzVu70kc1ErEsieDvXZAVtKVXHA3lPn2McdIShs1GLeTmw3CVCSloPdfA9CC-ybG60Nvuttu2CQcQ8MmArYx4u34Ug-xpikQxA/s1600-h/IMG_0007.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHuvW8e5sgyEY-N4-_ONgEoCX628jOPfa2JcKKf-g3EzVu70kc1ErEsieDvXZAVtKVXHA3lPn2McdIShs1GLeTmw3CVCSloPdfA9CC-ybG60Nvuttu2CQcQ8MmArYx4u34Ug-xpikQxA/s200/IMG_0007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288017518439141714" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDdf5oAbqKP7awOoTKUT3F761_19oK-YudKPRxCWrc6X84V99VbSUbM-iTI90SrAzBme3gFHQ88dXy-XO6nDhyoHbv1oXoEUKHj9jqJCXzDLBnoALkvVT-TXF0GICrNtGktyIwy2-mqg/s1600-h/IMG_0006.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; 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width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvvLMmv6nTERQLSpOXgjVPS9wAu2D08dVxh7HyIk6sJ_HwsWLJmYuNWDoEFSH3lB9VtfBeSAbFgDZy39p2C97MJlgLpBj2Gbtizx2p2YGPuR-dPpabcRCMxqf1mcj_Tyb9W999YhXPw/s200/IMG_0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288016884416035714" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaRMsBJlHAl1UYytC5FWcMr-S9l9Hr9jkS8Xkwzjco_G_ZbOE-bZKvLmWNtjQOPLNIGhfX6S45mMtl0VcXYMiblSpyL8wrAJr5abr9sbtCaqc6q-D7bmCE7BbCZSswzFkdDoJuo3ngg/s1600-h/IMG_0008.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaRMsBJlHAl1UYytC5FWcMr-S9l9Hr9jkS8Xkwzjco_G_ZbOE-bZKvLmWNtjQOPLNIGhfX6S45mMtl0VcXYMiblSpyL8wrAJr5abr9sbtCaqc6q-D7bmCE7BbCZSswzFkdDoJuo3ngg/s200/IMG_0008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288017525425474354" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSTayMz5pHogpHkFpW6xHmyAz1h9Fp3Fvvi0muNBZj6pmGdWNMtxcMJUopf2nFQ7jW2YgUWK1MwJBN40jImJnlqOYNZUP4YYY0zWJR1LAsf-PlDfX0eh4WxjOEIvKVQZ-ApFpOsWk0Q/s1600-h/IMG_0009.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSTayMz5pHogpHkFpW6xHmyAz1h9Fp3Fvvi0muNBZj6pmGdWNMtxcMJUopf2nFQ7jW2YgUWK1MwJBN40jImJnlqOYNZUP4YYY0zWJR1LAsf-PlDfX0eh4WxjOEIvKVQZ-ApFpOsWk0Q/s200/IMG_0009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288017535909015858" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnRAJtJxGWO0bqhppkdbObcnftwUNxmmfjS7l7A1jivW4YG0RTaWU8uqSpwp8PIaeIJCEPMYunfRHpj5jATNpE1FuAoowXK01bbJY-xxDEZ9_SR4IgYl8ZGnLDHJqCvZv0fjnP0wvZA/s1600-h/IMG_0010.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnRAJtJxGWO0bqhppkdbObcnftwUNxmmfjS7l7A1jivW4YG0RTaWU8uqSpwp8PIaeIJCEPMYunfRHpj5jATNpE1FuAoowXK01bbJY-xxDEZ9_SR4IgYl8ZGnLDHJqCvZv0fjnP0wvZA/s200/IMG_0010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288017564681246658" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-42946373987975350252009-01-05T21:20:00.008-05:002009-01-05T22:15:37.168-05:00Year in Review<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6Z6_sFUpYjvZo80bc8upJUOPcShIKRB1lS-N0bP6ZEHjRA4QM4Z7rXvaSE8jfKNP-z1g0oGDpDec0XLqwxcWhyk3HozhRFCcRVtQ5bYnPTkeB57jFYLOS69p2dqTixc2LQbG_e8g_A/s1600-h/IMG_0065.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6Z6_sFUpYjvZo80bc8upJUOPcShIKRB1lS-N0bP6ZEHjRA4QM4Z7rXvaSE8jfKNP-z1g0oGDpDec0XLqwxcWhyk3HozhRFCcRVtQ5bYnPTkeB57jFYLOS69p2dqTixc2LQbG_e8g_A/s200/IMG_0065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288014089738121042" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4E-LfXpZoE-ESDH1g5tJMiipIeBVWtSacdUzqbCcdaCxmLnc4zhcaImY9rAMBDfoIOG7ukdBbVu1hmr5qYgjy8oM3Ga_cy9yH6gVz8xHZ1fZMjLocGmH2cr_VQb2-5JemXDYX_XhY9g/s1600-h/IMG_0068.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4E-LfXpZoE-ESDH1g5tJMiipIeBVWtSacdUzqbCcdaCxmLnc4zhcaImY9rAMBDfoIOG7ukdBbVu1hmr5qYgjy8oM3Ga_cy9yH6gVz8xHZ1fZMjLocGmH2cr_VQb2-5JemXDYX_XhY9g/s200/IMG_0068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288003486586061106" border="0" /></a>There were lots of days spent dancing and laughing...<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9Lp-p9uCVh4WlX4sDL3bqfGWtmWXICw9SwVYiORIu1N3mNC7fiUcUOOL4pQMbhegbklYX_HkSXJLYHFRD2NadfF35-AuwW3eWddLZHp4GVFvaWMAzb8gvr3323rl-6T93xlA54xDyw/s1600-h/IMG_0079.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ9Lp-p9uCVh4WlX4sDL3bqfGWtmWXICw9SwVYiORIu1N3mNC7fiUcUOOL4pQMbhegbklYX_HkSXJLYHFRD2NadfF35-AuwW3eWddLZHp4GVFvaWMAzb8gvr3323rl-6T93xlA54xDyw/s200/IMG_0079.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288003483816279618" border="0" /></a>with a few homemade super powers thrown in....<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwv3QRr7BVOw_6eQzwYYOU9ah2yAZoDpUhtevnX17bHtzTcYOsCfKoepuBa60JB0U6E57MYD7aAp9B0vtZbeeXBYM_p0TL0Vf0ciVlp-9XnDMxc1I7ZHCdh6ax3MS3-m_geTGLs1uROQ/s1600-h/IMG_0043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwv3QRr7BVOw_6eQzwYYOU9ah2yAZoDpUhtevnX17bHtzTcYOsCfKoepuBa60JB0U6E57MYD7aAp9B0vtZbeeXBYM_p0TL0Vf0ciVlp-9XnDMxc1I7ZHCdh6ax3MS3-m_geTGLs1uROQ/s200/IMG_0043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288003477711940610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwb_YOZmdJ4xZauZxxavheyfJifOVAfz994rzMbUb8FNEzCU3vm7_t4n77WE48-MN2ShUCfqG1Zn082ehsTFDVxV9HaBOibzmmRjJnQJdSulNPMwJGJBq0gjStIEp5NrbFIsIlLkvhsg/s1600-h/IMG_0022_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwb_YOZmdJ4xZauZxxavheyfJifOVAfz994rzMbUb8FNEzCU3vm7_t4n77WE48-MN2ShUCfqG1Zn082ehsTFDVxV9HaBOibzmmRjJnQJdSulNPMwJGJBq0gjStIEp5NrbFIsIlLkvhsg/s200/IMG_0022_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288011596512044738" border="0" /></a>to another year of discovery....<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfhUomAbhkctiHxE8QMH_1BOfMAq-cqMKwzHu-bKh0OigpNGkh0ZGHblxjD1xtyasAwOttrgZcYJtFszXGz3qnpPuSzNkAzSbzcBgc3o2nvYtnr5TjeSq7udLDbWPY0y7VhIwx8WvKA/s1600-h/IMG_0094.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfhUomAbhkctiHxE8QMH_1BOfMAq-cqMKwzHu-bKh0OigpNGkh0ZGHblxjD1xtyasAwOttrgZcYJtFszXGz3qnpPuSzNkAzSbzcBgc3o2nvYtnr5TjeSq7udLDbWPY0y7VhIwx8WvKA/s200/IMG_0094.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288003467840517922" border="0" /></a>and mischief.<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPZ4IRH2oAk-uQ1G77ylKljKU7sk7hqHWpmrREmVTJcMB9QTfnP6aSMWc-lcOJNGOCCCSJOq_HlrS6rIsK0gE9cT6WeXefY31OKN7z3gUx6NqJ2LnuJcPcCG3GtekcVSpp9tOib7RUw/s1600-h/IMG_0034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPZ4IRH2oAk-uQ1G77ylKljKU7sk7hqHWpmrREmVTJcMB9QTfnP6aSMWc-lcOJNGOCCCSJOq_HlrS6rIsK0gE9cT6WeXefY31OKN7z3gUx6NqJ2LnuJcPcCG3GtekcVSpp9tOib7RUw/s200/IMG_0034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288003466865467410" border="0" /></a>Some of us moved on to 'bigger' things...<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNu2JLwD79CxiRWVP4c35vmUPxvYuQGvlWQgJ4MCaizsGmkjIQc5_0Fxms02vyIRs2CPnEx-1U3NEIc_h-NsWGPWT8mktfZtkQsT9RVIoVvJ3RtG_qpXGUpO9vapg7Wq9F6MVYvgMKg/s1600-h/IMG_0116.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNu2JLwD79CxiRWVP4c35vmUPxvYuQGvlWQgJ4MCaizsGmkjIQc5_0Fxms02vyIRs2CPnEx-1U3NEIc_h-NsWGPWT8mktfZtkQsT9RVIoVvJ3RtG_qpXGUpO9vapg7Wq9F6MVYvgMKg/s200/IMG_0116.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288001472251430162" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2g0uBgfmwgDAruJHFYHSwrg0Bs90P6Wx2cyZbjZ_BRrrq31uYMYFAw-q666KgIu_9Qbu0jNkJResu1dAkfFdHeGRtBuY3r1ZXZjDO7eHf0cgwffHUBZ1coUgLzwAEQfUYbSU-_pUC-g/s1600-h/emma+with+pumpkin.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2g0uBgfmwgDAruJHFYHSwrg0Bs90P6Wx2cyZbjZ_BRrrq31uYMYFAw-q666KgIu_9Qbu0jNkJResu1dAkfFdHeGRtBuY3r1ZXZjDO7eHf0cgwffHUBZ1coUgLzwAEQfUYbSU-_pUC-g/s200/emma+with+pumpkin.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288001465737978242" border="0" /></a>and carried others.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuScT3sjfVjkfHKQYUm17yvB4jbg3L2oE7jWIBt3I2BzrEUAyhWmoDahIWT9xcE2JFIpTPFV3fW_pgfMahKAmm8Fj2qn9NbIzd8bJVLskjZ8fGINuXicPfPBacwXfRXk0kWuTWYd14KA/s1600-h/IMG_0017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuScT3sjfVjkfHKQYUm17yvB4jbg3L2oE7jWIBt3I2BzrEUAyhWmoDahIWT9xcE2JFIpTPFV3fW_pgfMahKAmm8Fj2qn9NbIzd8bJVLskjZ8fGINuXicPfPBacwXfRXk0kWuTWYd14KA/s200/IMG_0017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288001456301099586" border="0" /></a>We told lots of stories....<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDRYDSiN7DItARHqJRan3FUr8mTy5G75Fw6-dVrKqKC6hV8haNS7ORwUZ1X-sOw1xlx1O5RStlCp3nDyD2HXCAKULG5aVDpSQ-3h0ef4UyClRRgkOJit-w2xByqSJwsX0tJg_mPK7Gg/s1600-h/IMG_0056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDRYDSiN7DItARHqJRan3FUr8mTy5G75Fw6-dVrKqKC6hV8haNS7ORwUZ1X-sOw1xlx1O5RStlCp3nDyD2HXCAKULG5aVDpSQ-3h0ef4UyClRRgkOJit-w2xByqSJwsX0tJg_mPK7Gg/s200/IMG_0056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288012502913515666" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNCT8c6MeTBpYnbLwAnkBevqdVkEHrglfx-9uqH9HHSE7zcfFlhkC6iM09zXvOL79WsmRxTRf0VQpeQeU3h_az2ajj79mg_b5Xhz6Sc10cyZnnJgt68v09vl3HKrUqOAAKgwW3-bHOQ/s1600-h/IMG_0051.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNCT8c6MeTBpYnbLwAnkBevqdVkEHrglfx-9uqH9HHSE7zcfFlhkC6iM09zXvOL79WsmRxTRf0VQpeQeU3h_az2ajj79mg_b5Xhz6Sc10cyZnnJgt68v09vl3HKrUqOAAKgwW3-bHOQ/s200/IMG_0051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288012092717828738" border="0" /></a>and did some hard work.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HlNRQwg3xaea9-riHLhy9refMRx7-DHmzphWPaNq6s0YpfuWFfXBeWgL_YMuVvcz4Ov0VNac2xVV40TwvOp4eVJiB04ehUF5_amkT1UWeezLiFZ8xYOxIVQLEiw9fgFgZXMe9CE_5A/s1600-h/IMG_0142.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HlNRQwg3xaea9-riHLhy9refMRx7-DHmzphWPaNq6s0YpfuWFfXBeWgL_YMuVvcz4Ov0VNac2xVV40TwvOp4eVJiB04ehUF5_amkT1UWeezLiFZ8xYOxIVQLEiw9fgFgZXMe9CE_5A/s200/IMG_0142.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288012102969241890" border="0" /></a>We played pretend...<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwXb2wKS4h4LZ0J5t3TxWp3NylE38YVAqY1-mM2sm1KZqyeIiTkI9IJL_UYhyArR_llo_NVVZ5YkIXv8upP5FqVXUzJLD5fGGCN1cd0vRWTalShCgUhF4yYB3PilJmj9R4RO7oFz5EQ/s1600-h/IMG_0042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwXb2wKS4h4LZ0J5t3TxWp3NylE38YVAqY1-mM2sm1KZqyeIiTkI9IJL_UYhyArR_llo_NVVZ5YkIXv8upP5FqVXUzJLD5fGGCN1cd0vRWTalShCgUhF4yYB3PilJmj9R4RO7oFz5EQ/s200/IMG_0042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288001439493746914" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcz88sO_pcgCVWkS6BG7cvTwajq-w2S2JV-JjqKJYpo13QlxoGySRVZVMNJwc5h2vt34yX-niZ-Vvcepq_EanzpbEsCFVdeXpvlvV4jnz9rU7q0PdRPkJqmSipMN7WGSSbny-Ul9fNPg/s1600-h/IMG_0100.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcz88sO_pcgCVWkS6BG7cvTwajq-w2S2JV-JjqKJYpo13QlxoGySRVZVMNJwc5h2vt34yX-niZ-Vvcepq_EanzpbEsCFVdeXpvlvV4jnz9rU7q0PdRPkJqmSipMN7WGSSbny-Ul9fNPg/s200/IMG_0100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288010827247011394" border="0" /></a>and shared lots of cuddles...<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraN3sxBmafpRVjH_sThYqSBOZ0rAK2F3ne5XJLKu6goKh9DKl_JO5nyEoHZizvyR01Mc4HZFu2I8_E7D2JkyyQud-J71mbNplfMBaiRLJOsR_rM5-BKtQeic0j_9GXu-Eg0AQzqiZ0A/s1600-h/IMG_0139.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraN3sxBmafpRVjH_sThYqSBOZ0rAK2F3ne5XJLKu6goKh9DKl_JO5nyEoHZizvyR01Mc4HZFu2I8_E7D2JkyyQud-J71mbNplfMBaiRLJOsR_rM5-BKtQeic0j_9GXu-Eg0AQzqiZ0A/s200/IMG_0139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288001435740827122" border="0" /></a>which made for a beautiful year for our family.<br /></div>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-2520388234961005662009-01-05T15:49:00.003-05:002009-01-05T16:13:45.681-05:00Tasmanian DevilHoly crap! Does that last post say September 3?!? Ok. So it's been awhile. I'd apologize for my absence, but to be quite honest (and those of you that know me know that I can be nothing less, sometimes to a fault), I just didn't feel like writing. I've gotten to this place where writing about the daily banalities of life just doesn't seem worth it. And while I've had some very beautiful as well as heart-wrenching moments that were noteworthy, I just didn't feel like sharing them.<br /><br />Today, I do.<br /><br />My youngest child starts his "big boy" preschool tomorrow. He was "promoted" (and I use the term loosely here) from his toddler program and will begin a new academic adventure with the 3-6 year old crowd tomorrow.<br /><br />He's excited.<br />He's oblivious.<br />He's ready.<br /><br />I am not.<br /><br />I am nervous.<br />And anxious.<br />And vulnerable.<br /><br />"Vulnerable?!?" you ask. Yes, feeling vulnerable.<br /><br />You see, my youngest is....hmmm...how to put this....he's.....hell. on. wheels. Yes, he's a handful...or two....and the birds in the bush, but in your closed hands, trying to peck their way out. If that doesn't paint an accurate picture for you, imagine the Tasmanian Devil from the old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Now give him caffeine, sugar, and a snort of cocaine. That's Nicky.<br /><br />Ok. I exaggerate just a litte. But he is a VERY rambunctious little boy.....who is going into a very orderly, quiet, concentrated Montessori classroom. You see what I'm getting at here?<br /><br />I'm worried for him. I'm worried that he won't adjust. I'm worried about what his teachers will say about his behavior. And I'm worried that this somehow reflects upon me as.....a bad mom. Don't get me wrong. When he gets amped up, I redirect him. I use time-out. I model appropriate behavior. I provide him with new, more challenging activities. And all of this works to focus his attention. But in those moments, it is he and I, one on one. Not he and 18 other kids with 2 adults. I worry that he won't be able to rein himself in, and that the sheer volume of activity around him will only wind him up further, and that he won't be able to enjoy his time in school.<br /><br />And so I feel very vulnerable......as if my (and this is going to sound very vain, but bear with me) work is on display....my work in progress. And while I may find it positively captivating in all its whirlwind glory, I worry that they won't see what I see. That all of my faults in raising this spirited little spirit will be exposed.<br /><br />Raising kids is about truly wearing your heart on your sleeve.....for the world to see. And there are moments in their upbringing when you feel like it's beating there, in the great-wide open, exposed like a fair-skinned baby on a sunny day at the beach with no sunscreen. It's out there. Raw. Ready to blister at a moment's notice.<br /><br />And I wonder,<br />have I done right by him?<br />Is he ready?<br />What mistakes have I made?<br />Have I given him all the tools he needs to succeed in this new adventure?<br />Or is there something that I have missed?<br />Have I held him too close?<br />Or not close enough?<br /><br />And how will I ever let go of my baby's last vestiges of babyhood?<br /><br />My boy is growing up. And while I'm thrilled to see him thrive and watch his world expand exponentially, I want so desperately to hold him close to me, to tuck my heart away in a safe place next to his, and hold on tight to what remains of my last baby.<br /><br />I love you Nicky. Tomorrow's going to be a great day. And I'm so proud of the "big boy" you've become, even if it hurts just a little to let you go a little more.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-16718199218236301912008-09-03T12:44:00.004-05:002008-09-03T12:56:19.096-05:00There's a First Time for Everything<div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">And this marks my first Perfect Post Award!<br /></div><p align="left"><a href="http://www.petroville.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="The Original Perfect Post Awards 08.08" src="http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y242/MommaK/aug08.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Thank you to Magpie over at <a href="http://www.magpiemusing.com/">Magpie Musing</a> for her readership and pat on the back. Apparently she liked what I had to say about the <a href="http://cackalackie.blogspot.com/2008/08/life-from-both-sides-now.html">SAHM vs. WOHM debate</a>. Of course, I didn't write it looking to win any awards. I just felt pretty strongly about sharing my insight from both sides of the debate and letting all the moms out there know that no matter how you do it, motherhood is hard work. And what you do matters. Woman's work is valuable, vital, and unfortunately underappreciated financially and otherwise. I worked just as hard as a SAHM as I do as a WOHM, the day just runs a little differently now. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">In either case, we all deserve a pat on the back. So, for all the moms out there, I said it before and I'll say it again, your work is vital. And the perfect post award is for all of us making our way through the labyrinth that is motherhood.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">By the way, Magpie is someone I came across some time ago and have been addicted to her intelligent, witty, and insightful writing since. She's politically savvy, creative, a hell of a cook, and just finished installing some incredibly cool built-in bookshelves of which I'm insanely envious. Overall, she's awesome. Go check her out.</div>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-27216060206399519902008-09-02T12:49:00.004-05:002008-09-04T16:36:43.307-05:00Hurricane, check!So Hurricane Hanna is bearing down on our coast. Obviously we don't know yet when and where exactly it'll hit. But according to NOAA, it's sure to hit us somewhere, and so we're gearing up.<br /><br />Batteries are bought, non-perishable food stashed, flashlights were dug out of closets, documents sealed in plastic bags, family photos contained in plastic, water was stored, hand-crank radio purchased, etc., etc., etc. I think we're ready.<br /><br />But the truth is, when are you ever really ready in these situations?<br /><br />I was musing with Doug just this morning about how I've lived through several of Mother Nature's most heinous attempts at upheaval:<br /><br />blizzards, check<br />major earthquakes, check<br />fires, check<br />typhoons, check<br />tornados, check<br /><br />and for all my preparation, you're never really ready. The best you can do is alleviate the inconvenience a bit and hope for the best.<br /><br />As far as experiencing natural disasters, aside from volcanic eruption, hurricane was really the only one I hadn't experienced. And since I don't see active lava flow ocurring in the nearby trailer parks (although sometimes I'd like to), the odds for hurricane being next on the list were pretty high.<br /><br />So, we're getting ready. Funny thing is, I'm not worried or anxious at all. You regular readers out there know that <a href="http://cackalackie.blogspot.com/2008/08/worry-wart.html">I'm a worrier</a>. Yet oddly enough, when faced with natural disaster.....totally calm, cool, and collected. When faced with overly anxious pre-schooler, a total wreck.<br /><br />I suppose the difference is investment. I'm invested in Emma. Not so much in Hanna. There's also a control issue at hand. Hanna preparation, totally controllable. Emma preparation, totally out of my hands.<br /><br />And in the end, Hanna will come and go. Sure, there might be damage to fix and debris to clean-up. There may even be some unexpected home repairs. But Emma, she's with me forever. And any damage done to her little psyche may not be something I can "fix". And that......is just too much to bear.<br /><br />I love you my little monkey. And if I could take away all your worry and pack it away in plastic bags for storage at the back of the closet never to be seen again, I would. But I can't. So I'm hoping that my love, hugs, and encouragement will be enough to shield you from the storm that rages on in your little head.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-69505544094836704852008-09-02T12:39:00.005-05:002008-09-02T13:10:22.791-05:00E-GAD!Or as we like to call it, "<a href="http://www.childrenshospital.org/az/Site948/mainpageS948P0.html">Generalized Anxiety Disorder</a>."<br /><br />Emma's teen years are going to be a hoot!<br /><br />We've consulted, been assessed, and begin therapy this week, barring Hanna's arrival. The modality will be <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_behavioral_therapy">cognitive behavioral therapy </a>which I suspected in the first place.<br /><br />The one reassuring aspect of all of this was having the counselor say to us, "Everything you guys have tried and done so far has been exactly what you should be doing. Keep it up!" So apparently Doug and I have common sense, if not a little bit of an above-average understanding in the area of behavior modification. Or, more likely, we were just lucky.<br /><br />Nevertheless, when your kid shrieks in fear for just over a year everytime she's faced with new and unplanned situations, or planned ones for that matter, at some point you throw up your hands and say, "We can't do this alone, we need help."<br /><br />We're there. And we're lucky to have found ourselves what appears to be a fabulous therapist.<br /><br />Let the counseling begin!Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-64556098635360623852008-08-28T19:07:00.002-05:002008-08-28T19:14:01.130-05:00One Down.......so many more to go....weeks that is.<br /><br />So we made it through our first full week of school (well, we will tomorrow anyway - I hope I didn't jinx that by typing this the night before).<br /><br />Here's the recap:<br /><br /><strong>Nicky</strong><br />Crying fits: 1<br />Trips to time out chair (he likes to push kids out of the way when he wants something): 2<br />Giggles: too numerous to count<br />Dirty knees (I always say, "A dirty kid is a kid who's having fun!"): 10<br />Bug bites: 6<br />"Mommy I drew sumfing."s: 4<br />Lunches eaten: 5<br />General exuberance: infinite<br /><br />and now...<br /><br /><strong>Emma</strong><br />Vomit: twice<br />Screaming: 80 decibles<br />Shrieking for mommy: 56 times<br />Lunches eaten: 0<br />Tear stained cheeks: 10<br />Hyper-ventilating: daily from 7:30 - 8:00am<br />Calls to counselor for assessment: 2<br />General anxiety: infinite<br /><br />Are ya' seeing a pattern here?<br />Uh yeah. Me too. Got any advice? 'Cause at this point, advice....priceless!Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-49707919344182330262008-08-19T19:29:00.005-05:002008-08-21T20:08:58.137-05:00Life from Both Sides Now...Joni Mitchell would be proud. I've seen life from <a href="http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcrEqIpi6sg">both sides now</a>. There were no bows and flows of angel's hair (except for a few bows perched atop ringleted curls), and unfortunately no ice cream castles in the air. But there was a milkshake reward for a successful first day, and a lot of deep sighs on my part. And in the end, I must admit, I really don't know this life...at all.<br /><br />Translation, the kids and I have transitioned from a 'stay at home mom' family to a 'working mom' family. Granted, we're still adjusting (5:45am wake ups, rushed breakfasts, tears at separation on both parts, and general exhaustion), but we're making it work.<br /><br />That is not to say that there weren't snags along the way.....like last week when I got in my car for my first day back at work in 4 years and the battery was dead. It was one of those moments where you throw your hands up and say, "Yeah, ok universe, I get it, but I'm going anyway." That of course was followed up by the car needing to be in the shop the morning of the kids' first day of school. You know that guy Murphy.....I hope he's getting royalties on those laws of his.<br /><br />In any case, we all had our first 'official' day of school this morning, and we managed. I knew we would. But I now have a greater appreciation for both sides of the great 'Mommy Debate'. As a stay at home mom, I struggled with the tedium of life with two kids under 3. You know, the wiping and the babbling and the cleaning and the isolation. I was lonely, starved for stimulation, and desperately seeking outlets for both myself and the kids. I thought I'd found it in that greener patch of grass, just over there, on the other side of that shiny new white picket fence. You know, the one just outside the playground and inside the office park.<br /><br />Well, I've been there. I had lunch there. I sat awhile. I even left my kids in a different patch of grass while I went and explored the supposedly greener one. And it was hard. The emotional pull that I felt for my children was more overwhelming than the adjustment to a new job and life back in the work force.<br /><br />All day, my children were not far from my heart or my head. And since I work as a teacher in the same building where they are schooled, I am in a constant state of anxiety, wearing my 'mommy ears', listening for their cries, struggling with the desire to check on them vs. my obligations to my own students. I spend my day poised to respond to my own students' prepubescent issues, and the separation anxiety of my young children as well.<br /><br />And the exhaustion.....not from the work. The work is wonderful, inspiring, stimulating, everything I'd hoped it'd be. No, not the work. The emotional pull is exhausting. The emotional prep work that must be done to acclimate two young babes to the culture of the working mom is, dare I say, debilitating at times. And my desire to be back in my living room, rolling around with them, pretending to cook eggs in the plastic kitchen is nothing short of surprising to me.<br /><br />And so, you stay at home moms out there, the ones who are desperately seeking the outlet of the working world, and thinking that that patch of grass will be so much greener than your own.....I have news for you. I have news for all of you, working and stay at home moms alike, <em>neither side is greener. Neither is easier. Neither is better</em>. In the end, they're just different patches of grass, equally difficult to navigate, equally demanding, but entirely different.<br /><br />And accomplishments in both, however big or small, are equally worthy of praise.<br /><br />Kudos to all you moms out there. All of you who are wiping, or typing, or teaching, or playing, or cleaning, or writing, or computing, or driving, or carpooling, or consoling, or crying, or hugging, or whatever. Your work is important. Your work is vital......no matter which patch of grass you may find yourself in.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-52986922543477904732008-08-05T23:13:00.004-05:002008-08-08T18:40:28.581-05:00Cast Away ConundrumC'mon, you know the movie.<br /><br />The one where Tom Hanks had to lose 50 pounds in the course of shooting just to make his character's, "Lost," experience look believable. You know...the coconut-eating, tooth-extracting, raft-building, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cast_Away">"Wilson"-loving survival story </a>of 3 years on a deserted island. Yeah....that one.<br /><br />So it's on cable down here about every three minutes on every third channel. I don't know....something about southerners and deserted island themes. They love, "Lost," too. Maybe it's because they recognize how miserable it can be here sometimes and figure if they're gonna' suffer through this kind of living, they might as well make it adventurous. Who knows.<br /><br />Anyway, you know how at the end of the movie he goes to see Kelly at her house and realizes that she's married with a kid? But at the same, he and she both realize that they still love each other; that they are each other's loves of their lives. Here's what I don't get....<br /><br />...how do you go on living your life knowing that the love of your life is out there, loving you back, and you just can't be with them? Or more aptly, how do you go on to live a happy, fulfilling life...at least as far as realtionships are concerned?<br /><br />It's a conundrum to me.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-3743042027748194902008-08-05T23:07:00.005-05:002008-08-08T18:40:46.950-05:00Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-jig<a href="http://www.amherst.edu/~rjyanco94/literature/mothergoose/rhymes/tomarkettomarkettobuyafatpig.html">Fat pig aside</a>, unless you include the spread of my booty after 2 kids back to back, the house is coming along.<br /><br />We finished the floors a while back. The walls were painted a rich buttery color that just about makes you want to lick them, care of the guilt-ridden builder who admits to its total crap of a standard in workmanship. And furniture arrived today. New, colorful, cozy furniture.<br /><br />Almost feels like "home" again. Almost.<br /><br />Except that now....I think we just outgrew it. Oops.<br />(I'll post before and after pic's soon.)Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-69530803833053803852008-08-05T08:59:00.002-05:002008-08-08T18:41:37.131-05:00In Case You Were Wondering...Emma did NOT cry at all when I dropped her off at school today!<br /><br />And there are no words to express how happy that makes me.<br /><br />Two months ago, the hysterics were so bad that she would make herself vomit, and I was told by a 20 year-veteran kindergarten teacher that she'd never seen anything like it.<br /><br />Today. Nothing. Sure, she was still anxious, but maybe, just maybe that little head of hers is wrapping itself around the fact that she can be safe and secure around other people.<br /><br />Here's to small.....no....very big accomplishments.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-51999438292582599862008-08-01T13:17:00.003-05:002008-08-08T18:43:39.605-05:00Hi Rock, Meet Hard PlaceI'm there. In the middle of the proverbial rock and hard place.<br /><br />On the one side is my childrens' education....or rather, the opportunity to improve said education via pricey, uber-liberal, exceptionally stimulating, private montessori school.<br /><br />On the other is my own education...or rather, the absolute necessity for me to return to school in order to pursue my desired career change.<br /><br />"Uh ok," you say. "What's the big deal here? I don't see the rock and hard place? Just send the kids and go to school yourself, duh."<br /><br />Yes, and if it were that simple, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this would I?<br /><br />See, the school is ridiculously expensive. And the only way we can afford to send them there is for me to go to work as a teacher at the school and thereby procure the 50% discout. FIFTY percent people.....for my children to have quality, private school, montessori education in a state where public education is no more effective than a fart in the wind.<br /><br />Of course, going to work there means putting my own ambitions on hold....once again....until the hubby is making a little more cash, and my own salary increases enough to justify paying for both their school and mine, as well as the babysitter to watch them on the off hours that I would squeak in an education.<br /><br />That's the rock.<br /><br />Here's the hard place.<br /><br />The other alternative is to skip the pricey, uber-liberal, montessori school for now, and let the kids suffer through public school while I go finish up some education of my own. After about 3 or 4 years, I'd be in a new career making more than enough money to pay for said school outright w/o the help of a 50% discount.<br /><br />But my kids have to <em>suffer</em> through SC public schools. And let me tell you, suffering it will be. The schools here are deplorable. I already know of deficiencies in the education of kids I've met relative to my friends' children in other states. It's frightening. And I DO NOT want my kids to suffer through the incompentencies of bad teachers in a bad system.<br /><br />But I also don't want to put my life on hold any longer than I already have. When the hubby and I had kids, the deal was that I would stay home for their first couple of years, then head back to school or the workforce to continue fulfilling my own goals and ambitions. We both felt that by the time they were 3 they would be old enough to handle and benefit from a nurturing school/care-taking situation.<br /><br />And I've found one. And it's perfect. But like I said, the only way to make it happen is to sacrifice more of myself.<br /><br />Hello rock, this is the hard place, and I'm Danielle. Right in between.<br /><br />And what was I saying in that last post about moms struggling with anxiety, depression, and the loss of self?!?Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-86322011716491285802008-08-01T10:56:00.010-05:002008-08-08T18:42:37.938-05:00Worry-wartI worry.<br /><br />I worry about my kids, especially Emma's incurable anxiety and insecurity at being separated from me.<br /><br />I worry about our finances, especially in light of some newly acquired medical bills.<br /><br />I worry about every little creak and crack in our house that I'm sure is the next item to reveal it's faulty design.<br /><br />I worry about my marriage.<br /><br />I worry about the clicking noise our car makes.<br /><br />I worry about the diffuse abdominal pain, bloating, severe acid reflux, and nausea I continue to have even after my recent appendectomy.<br /><br />I worry that my professional life is not where it should, or where I'd like it to be at my age.<br /><br />I worry.<br /><br />And all this worry is like a wart on my psyche. A really annoying, obnoxious, embarrassing-there-for-everyone-to-see wart that showed up right around the time I had children.<br /><br />I never really worried before I had kids.<br /><br />True, I had my share of everyday stresses. But as a single, childless woman, I just didn't worry about things like cars, and finances, and jobs. I just kind of lived. And whatever came my way, I knew I could deal with it.<br /><br />And lately, it's become obvious to me that I'm not alone in feeling this way. So many of you mommybloggers out there are writing about your own struggles with anxiety, or depression, or the difficulty of balancing your desire to do right by your children yet still have a fulfilling life of your own. The numbers are overwhelming. In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to find a mommy blog that doesn't mention these issues at some point in its archives.<br /><br />So what is it about having kids that changes us so?<br /><br />Why is it that the pure, unadulterated love you feel for these remarkable little beings also comes with it's own double-edged dose of anxiety, sadness, and struggle?<br /><br />And how can something as pure, sweet, and wondrous as the relationship between mother and child cause so much angst?<br /><br />The only thing I can come up with is that in having children, we are no longer ourselves. We become more than ourselves. And while we grieve the loss of our previous identity, we begin wearing our hearts on <em><strong>their</strong></em> sleeves, making ourselves that much more sensitive and vulnerable to the world around us.<br /><br />I'm alarmed by my own struggle with depression and anxiety since having children, as well as the apparent glut of moms who share in it. And while I know that some of the worry and fear and sadness are really just indications of the unbreakable love I feel for them...that we all feel, I can't help but wonder....is it possible to be a sensitive mom without being a worry-wart?Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-31206295435682335902008-07-22T23:42:00.008-05:002008-08-08T18:43:13.707-05:00WWJDFPBP? (What WOULD Jesus Do with a Fried Pickle and Boiled Peanut?)It's no secret that I'm not fond of the south. I've been here just over 2 years now, and it's more clear now than ever that I'll never completely like it here or fit in for that matter. And I'm ok with that.<br /><br />First of all, I'm WAY too opinionated for a woman in the south. The plumber who'd never seen a man, let alone, "his wifey," follow him into an attic to check on his work thought so. The toothless mechanic (I'm not exaggerating here, he had one tooth) who I followed into the repair bay to examine the improperly installed brake pads thought so. And every mother at my daughter's community preschool who overheard my complaints about their insistence that Hostess cakes or some deep-fried object qualifies as a healthy and nutritious snack thought so. I'm just too damned loud and opinionated for these people. And I'm ok with that.<br /><br />Second, I have yet to, "find Jesus and accept him as my Lord and Savior." I do not pray and go directly to my Bible without passing go or collecting 200 dollars every time I have to make the smallest decision like what length of skirt to wear. I do not proudly display a, "WWJD?" wrist band and spend hours meditating on the course of action that a man, dead 2,000 + years who wouldn't have the slightest clue how to navigate the modern world anyway, might choose. I can figure out what the, "right thing to do," is for myself. And I'm ok with that.<br /><br />And third, I cannot accept the excuse of regional dialect for poor grammar. "Ya'll" is NOT a word. And it is not cute. And any combination of, "you," and, "all," however abbreviated, when referring to a group of people, is not the optimum choice of words either. I will not be, "gittin' to," somewhere, nor will I be, "fixin'," to do anything. If I fix anything, it will likely be in my home and result in months of inconvenient displacement and thousands of dollars in repairs. And while I'm not ok with the never ending home repair, I am ok with good grammar.<br /><br />And I do not agree that frying a pickle makes it more edible. Furthermore, boiling peanuts does not make them tastier. It just makes them water-logged and frighteningly translucent. Some things were not meant to be fried or boiled. And I'm ok with that.<br /><br />See the thing is, I've spent the last 2 years of my life in revolt. I've been fighting an existence that, at least for the time being, is my reality; an existence that I, as one loud, odd, and opinionated person, am powerless to change. So, rather than resent my current cultural geography in life, I'm learning to celebrate it....in all it's awkward glory. I'm on the outside of their churches and their fish frys and their craft fairs and their scrapbooking clubs. And rather than waste my time and energy voicing my disgust, I'm going to be content to be the girl on the outside for a while. I'm going to find peace in my place. And frankly, I'm ok with that.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-87961937919160003382008-07-21T23:03:00.004-05:002008-07-21T23:46:28.862-05:00Shaky GroundDo you ever feel like you should be asking for help, but you're not sure for what?<br /><br />I'm there. And it's uncomfortable. Those who know me know that it's not like me to be so unsure....so overwhelmed....so lost. And I know that I need help getting out of this funk, I'm just not sure what kind, or how to ask.<br /><br />And so, days progress into weeks and so on....and I continue to wipe and clean and read and teach and whatever else it is I know that I'm supposed to do for all of them. But inside me, this anxiety grows....an anxiety that my life is passing me by. I'm losing my days to groceries and renovations and junk mail and potty training and schedules.<br /><br />And every time I think life is handing me a lifeline, it always turns out to be just another fruitless path riddled with obligation and regret.<br /><br />It's been 5 months since I've been here. In that time, I've watched my foundation literally crumble. The house has been torn apart from the ground up with the discovery of one building disaster after another. And the list continues to grow with today's discovery. Despite our desperate attempts to repair and renovate, it no longer feels like a "home."<br /><br />I've watched my daughter fall apart at the seams time and time again, helpless to do anything for her little crumbling spirit. And while she harnesses the exuberant energy of youth to recover from her anxiety attacks, my own resilience crumbles a little each time with the knowledge that this roller coaster ride we're on is far from over and the damage it has done is yet to be seen.<br /><br />I've watched shadows of past hurts flash across this screen, reminders of the one missed step between me and his faltering vows.<br /><br />My body is rejecting this life. New ailments cropping up. Infectious parts having demanded the attention of surgery and time that I did not have to spare.<br /><br />But the floors are laid. The walls are freshly spackled and painted. The cracks are sealed. The joints are reinforced. And the check is in the mail.<br /><br />Why then do I feel like I'm on such shaky ground?Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-15278206849884947232008-02-16T17:57:00.005-05:002008-02-16T21:35:25.293-05:00I am plagued by viruses. The first of which claimed my body causing me pain and ringing in both ears, a pressure in my neck akin to the sensation of a blood pressure cuff being inflated around it, high blood pressure, and general malaise. The second claimed my computer for over 3 weeks. Together, they claimed my motivation, inspiration, and general good cheer.<br /><br />Armed with new anti-viral software, a reformatted hard drive, and a round of nuclear antibiotics aimed at erradicating the plethora of secondary bacterial infections which ensued, I found myself back in the blogosphere, but wearily so (as the physical symptoms of ringing, pain, and pressure have yet to subside).<br /><br />In my viral-imposed hiatus from the internet, I discoverd something. And one of my fellow bloggers <a href="http://www.slouchingmom.com/2008/02/temporary-hold.html">articulated the same idea </a>quite well. I have been hanging out in the virtual world in a feeble attempt to avoid some things in the real one. And we all know that avoidance and denial can only go on so long before karma, life, or the great schemer kicks you in the ass and shouts, "Wake up!"<br /><br />So, I've got some real living to do for awhile that may keep me from visiting here as regularly as I'd like to. But I'll try to keep every one posted on the comings and goings of the "peanuts." And rest assured, I am still reading fellow bloggers. I find inspiration, motivation, and hope in your posts, and will chime in from time to time to tell you so. But as far as my own blogging goes, I've reached a crossroads where in the face of some fairly important issues needing desperate attention, it seems too trivial to report on the banalities of every day life. <br /><br />But I'll be back. I always am. Until then dear readers....until then.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-48673984304186678652007-12-20T23:27:00.000-05:002007-12-22T17:51:26.848-05:00On the Eighth Day of Christmas........I turned 34.<br /><br />In honor of this momentous day (at least in my mom's and my life), I bring you:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Pros and Cons of a Birthday 5 Days Before Christmas...</span><br /><br />Pro: So many twinkle lights that you almost feel like they've been put there just for you.<br />Con: So many twinkle lights that you ALMOST feel like they've been put there just for you.<br /><br />Pro: The decorations are beautiful.<br />Con: The decorations have absolutely NOTHING to do with you or your birthday.<br /><br />Pro: It's usually pretty easy to find yourself off of work or school because you were taking vacation anyway.<br />Con: All of your friends are also on vacation, usually in another part of the country, and so no one is available to help you celebrate.<br /><br />Pro: All those tasty cookies.<br />Con: So many cookies that no one wants cake.<br /><br />Pro: It's your birthday and aren't all birthdays good no matter when they are.<br />Con: It's also Jesus' birthday.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Picture me here holding out my hands, one on each side, moving them up and down like a scale, saying, "Jesus' birthday," while moving one up, and "Danielle's birthday," while simultaneously moving the other down. It think you get the point here.)</span><br /><br />Pro: Presnts.<br />Con: All of them are combination birthday/Christmas presents and are wrapped in Christmas paper.<br /><br />Pro: Birthday money.<br />Con: All of it spent on other people's Christmas presents.<br /><br />Pro: The sweet cards.<br />Con: They all read, "Hey Christmas baby....."<br /><br />And I wonder why I've always had a love/hate relationship with this holiday.<br /><br />Moral of the story....plan your conception activities so the kid is born sometime between February and November, NOT around Christmas. Or, at least if it is, have the sensitivity of my mother (who's birthday is tomorrow and also suffered the misfortunes of a Christmas birthday growing up) and make sure to go ABOVE and BEYOND in making it feel like a separate, special occasion, even down to stealing and re-wrapping your friends presents in birthday paper. Thanks mom. The mani/pedi/latte/lunch was great!<br /><br />I'm chock full of sugary, buttercreamy goodness. And now I'm off to indulge in a bath with my new smelly bath stuff in my nice clean (thanks Doug) tub, while listening to my new i-thingy.<br /><br />Hello 34, I'm Danielle.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-45172742231420822662007-12-19T22:44:00.000-05:002007-12-19T22:56:16.048-05:00On the Seventh Day of Christmas.......I drove ALL OVER town looking for a doll house.<br /><br />Yes, Emma decided she wanted a doll house for Christmas just two days ago. And I have not had an opportunity to shop for one until tonight.<br /><br />It was ugly people. Ugly. Everything I hate about the Christmas season encapsulated in one crazy 35 mile trip around town to 3 different stores looking for a doll house.<br /><br />And I didn't even get the one I wanted.<br /><br />But in the midst of my Christmas rage at yet another rude shopper who used their cart as a battering ram in order to shove past me in a vain attempt to grab at the last of some plastic, piece of crap that their kid just had to have, I realized that I had truly been initiated as a parent in the midst of the Christmas season.<br /><br />I used to watch news reports about parents like me, swearing that I'd never get so caught up in the crazies that I'd drive all over town, cutting people off, honking my horn, pushing people out of my way, sprinting down store aisles (and yes, I did all of those things tonight)....just....for....a....toy. But it's Emma. My little Emmers. And I want so badly to see her face light up on Christmas morning when she comes downstairs and sees her coveted doll house containing a "Belle" doll lounging comfortably on the chaise lounge. And now she will. And my heart is smiling for her.<br /><br />As for not getting the one I want, well, I'm tempted to pull another crazy parent stunt and set this one up for Christmas, only to return it when the other one becomes available.<br /><br />Have I lost my mind? It's a doll house.<br /><br />Oh...and if you see an Imaginarium Cozy Country Doll House lying around your local Toys R Us, let me know. Apparently I'm willing to drive pretty far.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-35320056910741110742007-12-19T13:24:00.000-05:002007-12-19T13:33:07.409-05:00My neighbor on You Tube......<a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=IuncdzVat5g">check him out</a>. Mullet and all.<br />Seriously, this is just too close to home right now.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-3996399612033527042007-12-18T18:52:00.000-05:002007-12-18T23:44:23.846-05:00On the Sixth Day of Christmas......I got my mother-in-law.<br /><br />For those of you that are cringing, stop. My mother-in-law is actually one of the coolest people I know, and I respect and admire her so much. She's funny, witty, smart, very well put together, classy, down to earth, real, and all with a great sense of style. And she and I have always had a great relationship. We get each other. Same sarcastic sense of humor. Similar tastes. And like her, I am very practical.<br /><br />Anyway, yesterday afternoon, I received a birthday card from her, and after reading the front cover, I put it down and immediately called her up laughing hysterically.<br /><br />It read,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"My son is very lucky to have you as his wife..."</span><br /><br />Now I wasn't laughing because I disagree with this sentiment. Quite the contrary. I think Doug and I are both lucky. After a rocky start to our marriage, we have both grown together in a most unexpected and complimentary way. And I know that we are both lucky to have the other in our lives. But when your mother-in-law sends you a card that says so....well, that's not only atypical, unexpected and phone call-worthy, but blog-worthy.<br /><br />Anyway, I called her up to thank her for the card and let her know what a kick I'd gotten out of it before I'd even opened it. As per usual, we chatted for about 20 or 30 minutes updating one another on the goings-on of our lives, had a few good laughs, and bid farewell until next time.<br /><br />And then, this morning, in the midst of making fruit salad for preschool, constructing teacher presents, dressing two children, dressing myself, and going shopping all before 9am, I stopped to read the inside.<br /><br />I wasn't prepared. At all.<br /><br />The card reads,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"My son is very lucky to have you for his wife....</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">....and I am just as fortunate to have you in my life."</span><br /><br />Yup. I started crying here. You see, my mother-in-law and I share one very important quality in common. We both HATE those sappy, overly emotional, sing-songy cards, yet we're both inclined to send the sentimental variety. Problem is, it's hard to find one that sounds sincere without also sounding trite and schmaltzy. So, I know that, like myself, she took great care in picking out a card that said just what she wanted to say and really meant it.<br /><br />And as far as I'm concerned, she hit the nail on the head. This was one of those, "You had me at hello," Jerry McGuire moments.<br /><br />The card went on to say, (and yes, it went on....as if that first part wasn't enough)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"You're more to me than a daughter-in-law,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">you've also been a friend,<br />and I hope this year will bring you love<br />and happiness without end."<br /><br /></span>And with that, I was reduced to a<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>blubbering mess<span style="font-style: italic;">. </span>Emma asked me,<span style="font-style: italic;"> "Mommy, why are you so sad."<br /><br /></span>To which I responded,<span style="font-style: italic;"> "I'm not crying because I'm sad baby, I'm crying because Nanny sent me a beautiful card and it made me happy."<br /><br /></span>And after listening to so many of my friends regale me with stories about what a pain in the ass their mothers-in-law are, and how they are often riddled with self-doubt and brought to tears by these seemingly tyrannical women, I thought, "how lucky am I."<br /><br />I too have cried over my mother-in-law. But the only tears she brings to my eyes are tears of joy, and disappointment that she's so far away.<br /><br />I miss you Nan. I miss our weekly visits and chats over coffee. Thanks for the beautiful card. It was perfect.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-895952812013645792007-12-17T18:26:00.000-05:002007-12-18T18:43:32.802-05:00On the Fifth Day of Christmas......I got a good laugh...twice!<br /><br />The first comedian in the house is, of course, my daughter Emma who out of nowhere declared,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Mommy, you're just a little bit crazy!"</span><br /><br />To which I stopped dead in my tracks (while putting away laundry), chuckled, looked up and said,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Tell me something I don't know. And guess what....you got my genes little girl!"</span><br /><br />Then I laughed maniacally.<br /><br /><br />The second comedian in the house is my husband, although he had no idea what was so funny about what he said.<br /><br />While watching a Discovery Health program called, "Medical Incredibles," the two of us found ourselves caught up in the story of a little boy who was born with a VERY rare condition. He had a twin that had taken up refuge inside his abdomen. So this little boy literally found himself pregnant in utero with his own twin, complete with its own amniotic sac. Apparently this condition has been seen in various forms only 76 documented times in the last 2 centuries. And some of these cases involve the twin developing into something called a, "parasitic twin," in which the twin partially develops outside the body. The result of such a rare anomaly is a fully formed child sporting the legs, or full torso, or extra arms of another child which extrude from the hosts abdomen. It's quite a sight let me tell you.<br /><br />Now this condition, in and of itself, is of course not funny at all. Luckily for the afflicted, it's benign and easily resolved with the removal of the, "extra parts." And frankly, from a scientist's point of view, I found the whole thing fascinating. Doug on the other hand was not quite as intrigued by the show, but rather shocked. And when the show broke for a commercial and I turned over in bed to inquire as to his thoughts, I caught an open-mouthed, raised brow, wide-eyed grimace staring in horror at the tv screen. And before I could even ask what he thought, he gave me.....<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"We are SO not having anymore kids! Are you kidding me!?! Kids with legs sticking out their stomachs. Get the f**k outta' here!"<br /><br /></span>And I just died laughing. I watch these shows and come away with more scientific questions than I know what to do with. He watches and comes away with that. If nothing else, we are good compliments to one another.<br /><br />Thanks for the laughs honey.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-48797672095252864392007-12-16T18:54:00.000-05:002007-12-17T10:16:57.569-05:00On the Fourth Day of Christmas.......I got to see through my son's eyes. And how clear was the view.<br /><br />My mother works as the director of a large assisted living facility here in Cackalackie. This afternoon, said facility hosted a Christmas party complete with Santa, sugar cookies, candy canes, and crafts. It was really adorable, and the kids enjoyed the extra opportunity to visit with the jolly, fat, bearded guy one more time for last minute requests....because as you can imagine, telling him what you want once just wasn't enough for my daughter. Nope, she thought of MORE things she wanted and had to see him just one more time.<br /><br />Anyway, in attendance at the party were of course, lots of grandkids and their parents, grandparents, and in many cases, great grandparents. Guests ranged in age from 8 month olds just taking their first steps to a few fragile women in their mid-90's who had already taken their last. And <a href="http://cackalackie.blogspot.com/2007/11/circle-of-life.html">once again</a>, I was struck by this circle of life....this return to helplessness and the need for loving care when navigating what seem to be the simplest of tasks.<br /><br />But what struck me even more than the shared experiences of two generations who are seemingly in stark opposition to one another, was the wonder each inspired in the other. In a room full of people normally overlooked by the more capable, and able-bodied of us, it was the dimpled hands that were quick to reach out and caress the wrinkles of gnarled fingers with awe and abandon. It was the cheurbic faces that buried themselves in the warmth of years-worn, hand-knit sweaters without reservation. Wide eyed babes gazed upon fragile forms held firmly to their wheelchairs with strategically placed pillows and blankets without judgment or fear. And clouded eyes looked with awe upon small forms bouncing with ease through a room full of endless wheelchair obstacles.<br /><br />And as I watched my 21 month old son crawl his way onto the lap of yet another sweet old woman resting comfortably in her wheelchair, I saw how much they needed each other. How they fed each other.<br /><br />She lit up at the touch of his pudgy, taut, little fingers. She delighted in his incessant babble, and miniaturized adult gestures, hungry for the touch and attention of someone who was able to look past her frailties and ill-health. She devoured him as he looked with wonder upon her frail form instead of the sorrow that she was used to seeing reflected in the eyes of her children and caregivers.<br /><br />And he....well, he came alive in the midst of his captive and adoring audience. Performing the best of his adorable "toddlerisms", he egged her on, getting the very attention that I sometimes find myself too tired or too bored to provide.<br /><br />They needed each other. They fed each other's spirit. And in lives where they often find themselves regarded as burdensome, they alone were able to look upon one another with wonder, admiration, and awe. And I thought to myself how sad and ironic it is that we middle-aged folks, with our 20/20 vision and intellectual acuity miss so much. How sad that so often we are blinded to the wonder of these people not by naivete or failing eyesight, but by our responsibilities and our fear of death. Perhaps it is the innocence of a child, ignorant of life's imminent demise and its often slow and sometimes cruel progression; and the wisdom of age, appreciative of all of youth's possibilities that allow these two generations to see each other so clearly. With so much love and abandon. With an understanding that only those on the cusp of life's beginning and end can muster.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-41607301449567650702007-12-15T20:40:00.000-05:002007-12-15T21:01:24.698-05:00On the Third Day of Christmas.......I got a son-in-law....or at least the promise of one.<br /><br />At the dinner table:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Emma: Mommy, did you have fun today with Daddy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Me: Yes baby, I always have fun with Daddy. That's why I married him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Emma: Mmm. I'm gonna' marry Nicky 'cause I always have fun with him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Me: That's sweet baby, but you can't marry your brother.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Emma: Who do I marry then?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Me: When you get older, you marry a boy you fall in love with.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Emma: What's his name?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Me: I don't know sweetheart. You'll have to wait and meet him when you get older.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Emma: Oh. Ok. So I'll ask him when I'm four.</span><br /><br />The innocence and naivete of a three-year old pushing the limits of her understanding of all things adult is priceless. So she's going to get married at the ripe old age of four. I just love how her mind works, and I guess this proves that age really is nothing more than a state of mind. A lesson to be taken to heart as my own birthday looms just days away. I forget sometimes that in her brief 3 years, with so much accomplished and so much yet to discover, another year represents opportunity, understanding, and a chance at growth. And I am humbled by her awe and willingness to move forward fearlessly.<br /><br />(Incidentally, it's noteworthy that this moment comes days before my 34th birthday and my daughter is 3 going on 4. Ok. It's a silly twist on numbers, but I couldn't help but notice.)Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21026266092940784.post-43212152117566497672007-12-14T19:31:00.000-05:002007-12-15T21:06:12.613-05:00The Great Migration<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">Or...How I Got to Be in Cackalackie.</span><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" href="http://cackalackie.blogspot.com/2007/12/pick-meme.html">A few posts</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"> ago, blogger-friend </span><a style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" href="http://lifewithbriar.blogspot.com/">Amanda</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"> posted a comment and eloquently asked, "Damn, woman, remind me again why you live there? Other than the fact that you can get diesel, deep-fried religion without leaving the range of your remote control."</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><br /><br />And since she is not the first of my more loyal readers to take note of my otherwise surly opinion of my current state of residence and question why it is I live here, I thought I'd offer a brief explanation.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><br /><br />Picture September of 2005.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"> Doug, Emma (then only 1 year old), and I (2 months pregnant with Nicky) were living happily in a stereotypical Italian neighborhood in the northeast Bronx. Doug worked in Manhattan for a large educational publishing and test prep company, while I was at home with Emma and working as a per-diem consultant for the Bronx Zoo's Education Department. We rented the top floor of a row house from which I could walk to the grocery store, parks, the bank, a fresh produce market, decent coffee, great Italian food, and authentic sushi. It was cramped to say the least (and becoming ever more so with the impending birth of Nicholas), and noisy at times in ways that only a big city can be. But it was home. And we were happy there. Or so I thought.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><br /><br />And then....on a random night in mid-September:</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><br /><br />Doug: I can't do this anymore.<br /><br />Me: (thinking he's referring to the slapped together meal I'd concocted out of leftovers) So don't eat it and make yourself some soup.<br /><br />Doug: No. Not that. This job. This apartment. The noise. The city. The cold. The snow.<br /><br />Me: (dumbfounded) uhh.....ok. What do you mean?<br /><br />Doug: I mean I want to do something different. I want my life to mean something. I'm 40 and I don't feel like I've ever had a job that made a real contribution. And I don't want to live like this anymore. In this apartment. In this city. Riding the train every day. I'm done.<br /><br />(I got up from the table, grabbed myself a forbidden Pepsi, and strapped myself in for a long, head-throbbing conversation about compromise.)<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">I should interject here that at this point, my mother had recently relocated to our current state of residence to be closer to my brother and his children who had been living here for years. My father had also made the decision to do so within the year. And Emma and I had visited my mother her in Cackalackie a few months prior to the aforementioned conversation. When asked by my dear husband upon my return to NY what I thought of it, I believe the words I chose were, "I will NEVER raise my child in that God-forsaken place!" Never say never....</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><br /><br /><br />Fast forward several weeks:</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"> (in the midst of a similar conversation)</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Me: So what do you think you want to do then? You've already considered teaching and ruled that out. So what?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Doug: Well, I'm too old to be a firefighter which I'd love, so I think I want to be a cop.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: uh....what?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Doug: I think I want to be a cop.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: uh....what?</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><br /><br /><br />Fast forward several weeks and mountains of paperwork later:</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Doug: I got an invitation for an interview in the mail today.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: uh....what?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Doug: For the police job. They liked my application. Apparently my age is not an issue with them.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: uh....when?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Doug: January.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me: (with no attempt to hide my selfish motives) That's right around when we'll be down there for the holidays anyway. We can just extend our trip</span>!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">Fast forward several months later and only weeks before the birth of Nicky:</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Doug: I got the job! Holy crap! I got the job!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: uh...what?!?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">(silence)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: I mean, that's great! Good for you! So I guess we're moving. (feeling my bulging belly) OH....I guess we're moving!?!?! Crap! When? When is this happening?!?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Doug: I don't know. They want me to report in April, the beginning of April.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: What?!? (again, hand on belly) He's only due on the 17th of March! You want me to pack a house, take care of Emma, have a baby, nurse said baby, lick my wounds, and move all within a matter of 4 weeks!?!?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Doug: Hmmm...Yeah. That's not gonna' work.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Me: You bet your ass that's not gonna' work! I'm supportive of this whole life-crisis, life-with-more-meaning career change of yours, but not that supportive! Ask them if you can move the start date. TELL THEM you have to move the start date. No....I'll tell them....</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Doug: (interrupting) No, no, no...I'll call tomorrow.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">Fast forward 2 months and we were on a plane to Cackalackie. I had just had my post-partum checkup, Nicky was one day shy of 2 months old, and Emma was 4 days shy of 18 months. And in the wee hours of a cold spring morning, we packed our little family into our little Hyundai and headed for LaGuardia, tears in my eyes as I watched our friends and downstairs neighbors crying in their living room window.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">We've been here ever since. And the transition was all too fast for me. I'm still reeling from it. For Doug it was just right. A change that invigorated his spirit and mind, presenting him with new and meaningful challenges that could not come fast enough. For me it was a willing surrender in support of the man I love, but it was also a flight to isolation, unfamiliarity, and the bizarre. And it happened too fast. I would've liked to drive here. To see the miles pass me by. To soak in the experience of moving. But with a toddler and newborn, it just wasn't possible. And so, instead, we hopped on a plane headed 2 hours south. And in a matter of 8 months and a 120 minute flight, I had been transported not just to a new place, but to a new life. Such a short amount of time for such a monumental change.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">But here we are....blindsided or not....livin' life...as a rookie cop, a mom, and two kids....down in Cackalackie.</span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00467969521918613052noreply@blogger.com2