tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39373231567307465782024-03-12T23:14:14.721-07:00Tiny UprisingsTiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-48792973843921815742018-03-21T09:25:00.001-07:002018-03-21T09:31:11.047-07:00HOW TO BE A GOOD MOM<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today when I picked my youngest up from her day care, she was looking out the window as I walked up the steps on the porch. Her enormous smile and utter joy at seeing me nearly undid me.<br />
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I haven't felt like the greatest mom as of late. I've been distracted by some things, been snappy and raising my voice far too often, been having too many take out nights, because I simply cannot get it together to make dinner.<br />
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I don't measure up to the ideal we mamas tend to compare ourselves with. I don't make gourmet snacks. Heck, it's all I can do to get dinner on the table most nights. I don't have the perfect house, and you can bet that on any given day, there are three loads of laundry waiting to be folded and put away. I don't play with my kids enough. I don't know the best way to positively discipline my child or how best to handle the never-ending sibling fighting. I don't want to spend every waking moment with my kids. I don't always make them brush their teeth or care what they wear to school. I don't have any of the answers and I certainly don't have it all together.<br />
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But mama, that smile told me everything I <i>do</i>. I love that girl with my whole heart and to her I am the greatest person in the whole world.<br />
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Even when I got frustrated with her the other day when she refused with a capital R to get into her carseat. Even when we are battling it out over the terrible twos (or forty-ones). Even when she breaks my new chair. Even when I feed her cheerios day after day for breakfast because we are in a rush. Even when she makes me so mad that I see red.<br />
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To her, I am her stability and her safe place. I am her comfort and her joy. I am a good mom, because I love her unconditionally, and she knows that and loves me back.<br />
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Mama, we beat ourselves up so much and feel like a failure way too often. But that's on us, not them.<br />
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<b>The ideal mom doesn't exist.</b><br />
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She is a conglomeration of many, many women we see and no one person can do all that she does and do it well. Why in the world do we measure ourselves against a fictional being? She's not real, and her ideal is completely unattainable.<br />
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Here's what I've started telling myself. That mom that makes homemade organic everything? Maybe her house is a mess. That mom with the gorgeously decorated and immaculate house? Maybe she doesn't spend much face to face time with her kids. That mom that is always taking her kids on adventures? Maybe she goes through the drive-thru on her way home because she's too spent to make dinner.<br />
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I think that everyone just has to choose where they most want to spend their time and what they're most passionate about. One is not more right than the other, but we just can't go around thinking that everyone else is perfect at it all. That is a complete and total lie.<br />
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So mama, that little boy or girl doesn't care one iota where you grocery shop, if their room is Pinterest-worthy, or that you screw up sometimes and have to apologize. They don't care if your body bounced back after having a baby or if you are a size 4 or 24. The dimples on your thighs don't mean anything to them, but they sure do notice the dimples on your cheeks when you smile at them.<br />
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<b>We think we are failing them, and they think we hung the moon. </b><br />
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There's quite a disparity there, don't you think?<br />
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I asked my 8 year old yesterday what makes her feel most loved, and I'm just going to go ahead and say that I think her answer is a pretty fail-proof list for your child to feel like you are a good mom:<br />
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<li>When you spend time with me, especially one-on-one.</li>
<li>When you snuggle me in bed at night.</li>
<li>When you read to me. </li>
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Then I asked her if there was anything she'd want to change about my parenting. She quietly said, "You yell a lot more than you used to." Mic drop. She's so right. You know what makes me yell? Unrealistic expectations of myself that then get transferred on to my kids. I'm yelling because I feel like a failure and a fraud and them fighting or being late for school or making a mess while they build a fort in the living room feels like a confirmation to me and highlights the fact that I can't meet the expectations I place on myself of having perfect kids, perfect image, perfect home.<br />
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They don't want perfection, they just want more of us. They want us to spend time with them and cheer them on in their first steps and comfort them in their first disappointments. They want us to read a book and cuddle them a little longer. They want to see joy on our faces when we see them first thing in the morning.<br />
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My guess is that you are probably doing all these things already, but just don't realize that what feels insignificant and simple impacts their world the most. We are allowing our fear of getting it wrong to overshadow the amazing things we are doing right.<br />
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Mama, you are doing a good job. You are loving with your whole heart and you are lighting up a little one's life. You are doing your very best with what you have to raise them well. You are giving your all.<br />
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Will you give yourself grace in all this? Will you watch their face light up when they see you? Will you notice that you are the one they come to when they've scraped a knee? Will you recognize when they want to be picked up for the umpteenth time today it isn't to annoy you, it's because they feel best when they are close to you? Will you let go of your unrealistic expectations of yourself? Will you discover that you are the meaning of home to them?<br />
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Will you understand that the only viewpoint that matters in your worth and value as a mom is that of your child's?<br />
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<b>What is the true measure of a mom? The look of joy when they see you through the window. </b><br />
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Today I felt like a good mom. A really good mom.Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-8373394592524114592018-03-13T15:27:00.000-07:002019-08-24T09:22:21.782-07:00TINY UPRISINGS RETREAT INFO AND DETAILS 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Friends, the time has come!!!!<br /><br />The Tiny Uprisings Retreat is back for another round. Well, actually two!<br /><br />The response was overwhelming last year, and it is so apparent that there is a clear need here for women to have a weekend like this. So, I've decided to open both a spring and fall retreat this year, 16 spots in each. They will essentially be the same retreat - same program, same place - just basically an opportunity for more women to get to come. 32 women instead of just 16? Heck yeah! <br /><br />Women are constantly taking care of everyone in their lives and putting themselves in last place. That's just not good enough. You know how on an airplane, the flight attendant says to secure your oxygen mask first before helping someone else with theirs? Here's your oxygen mask, sister.<br /><br />I'm carving out space for you that is so desperately needed, and taking all the legwork out of this for you. All you have to do is show up.<br /><br />This retreat is created simply to be<span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px; padding-top: 0px;"> a restful place for the weary mom just needing a break and a full night's sleep, the busy woman who hasn't had any time to reflect and process, the girl who desperately needs some love, a glass of wine, and Jesus all meshed into one weekend. It is created to be a place where you are served and lifted up, where you don't have to lift a finger, where beauty surrounds you, where you are celebrated and encouraged, and where you are given some time to learn and reflect and figure out how to apply those insights to your life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px; padding-top: 0px;">I asked the women last year (in an anonymous survey) to describe the retreat in one word. These were their responses: </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px; padding-top: 0px;"><i>VALUABLE : AMAZING : CENTERING : REFRESHING : LIFE-GIVING</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.5px;">And here are some comments (also from the anonymous survey) from two of last years participants:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px; padding-top: 0px;"><i>This was exactly what I wanted...a retreat with Christian women that was more intimate, more vulnerable, easier to make solid new relationships and build on the old ones, more fun and less scheduled, but still left me with my bucket and my toolbox filled.</i></span></span> </blockquote>
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<i style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.5px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I loved the workshop + time to reflect. It really really really helped me understand myself in a way that gave me strength and courage I so desperately needed right now. And I feel like the quiet time and strength has lasted...</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In case you are wondering what this actually looks like in real life, you can see pictures and read my post about last year's retreat <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2017/07/weekendrefresh-retreat-in-photos.html">HERE</a> and a few more words from last year's participants <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2017/07/weekendrefresh-words.html">HERE</a>. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">If you need some of that in your life, sign up!! </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>Registration for both sets of dates opens Wednesday, March 14th, 2018 at 9 pm Pacific.</b> </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Just choose the dates that work best for you and click on that through the registration button at the bottom of this post starting at 9 pm on the 14th. Things went down fast and furious last year (the event was totally booked in a matter of hours), so don't wait. Get those kids in bed and get after it! </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.5px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I hope to see you there!</span></span><br />
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<span style="padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">xoxo,</span></span></div>
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<span style="padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Amy</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><strong><span style="font-size: large;">TINY UPRISINGS RETREAT</span><br />May 4-6, 2018 or September 28-30, 2018</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><strong>Orondo, WA<br />$220.00</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">DATES and TIMES</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The retreat will officially kick off on Friday at 7pm and come to a close on Sunday at 11am. </span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">LOCATION</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><img align="none" height="374" src="https://gallery.mailchimp.com/bf1af70a5806bf737dfb0291d/images/c0d5a651-b640-4050-937c-2b58956f6746.png" style="border: 0px; height: 374px; margin: 0px; outline: none; width: 500px;" width="500" /></span></div>
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<tr><td class="mcnTextContent" style="line-height: 24px; padding: 0px 18px 9px; text-size-adjust: 100%; word-break: break-word;" valign="top"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Y'all. THIS is where we will be staying.<br /><br />We will be retreating to Orondo, WA, roughly 3 hours from Seattle but so worth the drive! Sunken Acres is absolutely beautiful. The house has 4 bedrooms (one of which has an additional loft with a queen bed), as well as a bunk room with 6 twin bunkbeds, and 3 and a half bathrooms. It boasts a warm swimming pool and is lakefront with amenities such as stand-up paddle boarding and kayaking. There simply isn't a better place to be!<br /><br />You can check out more photos of the house <a href="https://www.vrbo.com/804331" style="text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">COST</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The total cost for the retreat is $220. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That includes a two night stay at this gorgeous house, as well as food for the weekend - appetizer/snacks, drinks, 2 breakfasts, 1 lunch, and 1 big glorious dinner party, all prepared for us by the amazing Kelsie Crozier. You won't lift a finger here, I promise. It also includes two morning sessions, a workshop, retreat take-home materials, and all the amazing stuff we are going to do!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cancellations (with a full refund) must be made at least 30 days prior to the retreat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="padding-top: 0px;">And if cost feels prohibitive to you, but you would really like to come, please email me at tinyuprisings@gmail.com BEFORE registration opens. I may be able to provide you with a discount code for a subsidized cost or scholarship.</span></span></div>
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<span style="padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><em style="padding-top: 0px;"><u>FRIDAY EVENING</u></em></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">You will be welcomed with open arms, handed a yummy beverage, served heavy appetizers and dessert, and basically given the space to just exhale after arriving and leaving behind the craziness that probably ensued as you left your house. Once everyone arrives, we will have a group introduction session and opening encouragements for the weekend.</span></div>
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<span style="padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><em style="padding-top: 0px;"><u><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">SATURDAY</span></u></em></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We serve breakfast on a rolling basis, so whether you are an early bird or a late riser, breakfast is waiting for you. We start the day with a morning devotion/speaker, linking into a workshop. We value both social and solitary time at the retreat and provide space for quiet reflection time after the workshop, as well as encourage you to take it as needed. Lunch is served, and then after lunch, everyone has free time to do whatever they want - relax by the pool, continue reflection time, play on the lake, sleep in the sun, go for a run, read a book, etc. At 7 pm, we will come back together to a big, glorious dinner party with amazing food, drink, laughs, and conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><em style="padding-top: 0px;"><u><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">SUNDAY</span></u></em></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sunday morning again starts with a yummy breakfast and a short lesson followed by group discussion time based on yesterdays workshop and reflection time. We will finish up around 11 am and send you on your way hopefully feeling rested and empowered to dive back into life.</span></div>
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<span style="padding-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Here is last year's schedule for reference. We may have a few tweaks this year, but the general flow of things will remain the same, and as always, I encourage each woman to make this retreat exactly what they need. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">So, who's with me???? I have spots for 16 people for spring and 16 for fall. It's first come, first served, so set an alarm or reminder for yourself and sign up as soon as registration goes live! The link will not work prior to that time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>Wednesday, March 14, 2018 at 9 pm Pacific </b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The direct link to register is </span><a href="https://tinyuprisings.eventbrite.com/">https://tinyuprisings.eventbrite.com</a>. I'll also post the link on Instagram (@amysteingard) and the Tiny Uprisings Facebook page (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/tinyuprisings/">https://www.facebook.com/tinyuprisings/</a>). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hope you can come!! </span></div>
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-72377039109060527432017-12-14T14:06:00.001-08:002019-08-24T09:22:37.166-07:00HONORED TO HAVE MY WORDS SHARED...<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hello? Is this thing still on?? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I popped on hear today to share some news with you and then realized my last post was way back in September! Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere...life has just been full of other projects, sick kids, and prepping (way too intensely) for some speaking gigs. Hi, my name is Amy and I'm an over-preparer! 🙋 </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm so honored to tell you that I have a post published today over on <a href="http://ambersalhus.com/the-truth-about-whats-holding-you-back/">www.ambersalhus.com</a> about authenticity, fear, and what keeps us from following our dreams. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://ambersalhus.com/the-truth-about-whats-holding-you-back/"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s4GYXr93lew/WjL0XinF6_I/AAAAAAAAAf0/FlAqNes4ffMsyV6aP0fwax6IcrMbpxJ0QCK4BGAYYCw/s400/temp.jpeg" width="285" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This post was a labor of love for me, wrestling through the truth and preaching to myself as I wrote it. Here's a little snippet...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Those things that we claim hold us back, that’s just life, and, frankly, life has wisdom of it’s own. Life and, most specifically, our imperfections are what makes us endlessly fascinating. Kathryn Craft explains this better than I ever can, “[Life] dumps s— on you and stirs you up until your soil is fertile. Accept the challenge and plant some seeds. This is how artists grow.”</i></span> </div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I let my circumstances erroneously justify my lack of action, the common denominator here is me.</i></div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><i>What really what holds me back is my own fear. It’s that question of who am I to…? It’s feeling like a fraud and afraid of being exposed. It’s feeling like I don’t know enough, have enough, or am enough.</i></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Click <a href="http://ambersalhus.com/the-truth-about-whats-holding-you-back/" target="_blank">HERE</a> to read more...</span><br />
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<br />Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-36633168311804175712017-09-11T11:33:00.002-07:002017-09-16T19:48:18.143-07:00GUILT, FREEDOM, SPACE, DREAMS, AND LIFELINES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RSEIWFCQbug/WbbQkIBBjiI/AAAAAAAAAfI/D676kom9x6YtYoHrbl92dKIXjj6CQukTgCLcBGAs/s1600/hot-air-balloon-401545_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RSEIWFCQbug/WbbQkIBBjiI/AAAAAAAAAfI/D676kom9x6YtYoHrbl92dKIXjj6CQukTgCLcBGAs/s640/hot-air-balloon-401545_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This morning, my two bigs went to school (first day of kindergarten, woo hoo!). I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to feel right now. I saw moms get teary as they waved goodbye to their little kindergarteners getting swallowed up by that great big school building. I think maybe that's how I'll feel when the last one goes to school. Maybe not. I feel celebratory today. I raised three kiddos capable of doing part of life without me by their side. I feel thankful that we have such an amazing elementary school. I feel relief at having some breathing room. I feel hope at resurfacing pieces of myself that haven't had space for a long time. <br />
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And today also marked the first day I dropped Pippa at an at home day care for a few hours. As a stay-at-home mom, I would have never done this with my older two kids. I think I felt like I needed to be with them constantly and that I didn't have the right (self permission?) (confidence?) to leave them in someone else's care when I could be home with them. </div>
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But here's what I want you to know. Today feels a little weird, but today feels good. I'm nervous about all my tiny humans out there in the big world, but I'm also celebrating in my heart. This motherhood thing, it's hard work. It's beautiful and powerful and fulfilling in a lot of ways, but it's the most challenging thing I've ever done in my whole life. After 8 years of being a full time, stay-at home mom, I'm ready for a little break. I know I've done my job, and though there have definitely been days that I would never want to re-live and moments I wish I could re-do, I know I've done my job well. </div>
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I have carried around a lot of guilt as a mother. Not the "you should potty train this way" or "let them cry it out" or "only feed them organic, paleo, from scratch foods". Those things are definitely guilt inducing as well, but that's not what I'm talking about. I feel a lot of guilt because, while I am very certain I am supposed to be at home and the primary caregiver for my children, I am not totally fulfilled by that. The world tells me I should be and that, if I'm not, then the message I hear is, "Something is wrong with you."</div>
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About 4 years ago, I realized that I lived motherhood with a one foot in and one foot out mentality. I had always been so afraid that I would be consumed by motherhood and that I would lose my own identity outside of that. I wasn't necessarily doing anything to create an identity outside of my kids, but I stuck one foot on the other side of the line out of fear and planted myself firmly in this middle ground.</div>
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As I wrestled with my own insecurities and restlessness, I decided to try jumping in with both feet and really committing to this motherhood gig. All in. A year later, instead of feeling better about everything, I felt more restless than ever before. And more guilty.</div>
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I deeply love my kids. I don't regret having them. They are the loves of my life. I don't regret staying home with them. I have felt passionately that I want and need to be here and have never felt like my calling was to go back to work full time. </div>
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<b>I do, however, regret not listening to my heart. </b></div>
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I regret that I knew that I wasn't thriving and I wasn't at my best and that something was missing for me and not doing anything about it. I definitely wanted to. There were lots of tears and lots of exhaustion and even bits of rage, but I think the hardest part for me was that I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I didn't have a "career" to go back to part time or a skill set to really work from home. <br />
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I didn't want to just have a job, I wanted to do meaningful work. I wanted to be creative and have an outlet of some sort that would be fulfilling to me, but it's really hard to give yourself permission to do that when you know it's not paying anything and in fact, you are actually paying to do it because child care isn't cheap, am I right?</div>
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But I know I'm supposed to do more. I'm created to do more, and even though I'm not exactly sure what that is, I feel it deep in my bones. Being a mom is one of my favorite things in the world, but it is not all for me. </div>
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I had a really clear image in my head a few years ago. It was a hot air balloon with the burner blazing full force. The balloon was so full of hot air it was ready to burst, and it was trying so hard to fly. But it's ropes were still tethered to the ground. It strained against these ropes and could not break free. It could only go as far as the ropes would allow. </div>
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I understood that the hot air balloon is me. Trying to fly. Trying to move beyond the life I'm in. The ropes are my kids, my husband, my home. I felt so bound by them. So limited in a lot of ways. I felt angry and bitter and resentful. </div>
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Friends, I have no idea what I'm doing right now, but I do know that I'm going to spend some hours filling my tank every week. I'm letting go of any guilt of my two year old spending some time at day care while I'm at home. I'm going to allow myself time and space to create some things, write some things, paint some things, move some things and see what happens. I'm going to figure out what meaningful work looks and feels like to me. I'm going to deem it a success if not one person gets anything out of it other than me. Because if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. </div>
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If you are feeling stuck, I understand. If you are feeling tied down, I understand. If you feel held back, I understand. If you are feeling guilty for your feelings, I understand. If you feel like you don't fit the mold and something is off, I understand.</div>
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May you give yourself freedom and space and permission to do some things you love if for no other reason than it makes you happy. </div>
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<b>We are not martyrs here. We are women with dreams and loves and ideas AND kids. I used to think those things were mutually exclusive. They are not. </b></div>
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The more that I'm doing this, the more my perspective shifts. I'm still that hot air balloon, and I still want to fly. But those ropes, maybe they aren't working against me. Maybe they are anchors, securing me to a safe place while allowing me to fly high and see things from different viewpoint. Maybe they fill me up and show me more and more the truth and the good and surprising things about myself. </div>
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<b>Maybe they are actually lifelines. </b></div>
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*I sent this song to my husband the weekend of the <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2017/07/weekendrefresh-retreat-in-photos.html" target="_blank">retreat</a>. He was my biggest encourager and support when I totally stepped out of my comfort zone to do this thing. I'm reminded of it as I type these words today. Maybe it'll resonate with you too...</div>
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Click here to listen → <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/2bYFNdJJNdyPoKMzLXLCuj" target="_blank"><i><b>Anchor</b></i> by Mindy Gledhill</a></div>
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-83724882517144296982017-07-20T16:33:00.001-07:002017-07-20T16:33:52.674-07:00THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEARLESS WARRIOR<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A man just sat down next to me in the coffee shop. I didn't notice him at first, not until his body odor reached my nostrils. I sat up straighter and eventually stole a sideways glance at him. His hair, matted; his clothes, dirty. In front of him sits a steaming shot of espresso. At $2.15, it's the cheapest thing Starbucks sells. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am in this moment acutely aware of the privileged life I lead. That I'm paying $80 for a babysitter right now, plus another $5 for the overpriced coffee in front of me, so that I can type words on a screen that may or may not be important to anyone besides myself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>It seems he's come here to charge his phone. </i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have come here to charge my heart, but instead have wallowed here at my circular table and down internet trails. I have questioned my value, ability, and direction in the span of a few hours and written zero words on a page because when you question your value, ability, and direction there's not much to write. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He's leaving now. He shuffle/limped to the trash/recycle/compost area and took a moment to decide where to deposit his cup. I'm surprised by this for some reason. </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A beige trench coat is draped over one arm as he exits the building on this summer day. I wonder how he got here in life. I have no idea where he will go next. I wonder if he knows.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The truth is, though, that I have no idea where I'm going either. I have every single thing I could ever need, a beautiful family, a lovely home, and yet my heart feels homeless sometimes. I don't really know what I'm doing in life. Does anyone? Do you? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm inspired by people who seem to know who they are. They are confident in what makes them unique and live fully into that. They build businesses and lives out of the sheer fabric of themselves, and it's motivating and paralyzing at the same time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>What if my fabric is not worth sewing? </b> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm learning, however, that this war with myself is bigger than me. It's something that every person faces in time. But it often feels like a pretty lonely and misunderstood place. It's a place that not many of us are brave enough to talk about, but we all experience. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Most of us have two lives. The life we live and the life we want to live. What stands between the two is fear, doubt, resistance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Stephen Pressfield writes in <i>The War of Art</i>, "Resistance will tell you anything to keep you from doing your work...Resistance is always lying and always full of shit." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Amen to that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The other thing he said that has been pushing me forward right now is this, "Resistance will unfailingly point to true North - meaning that call or action it most wants us to stop doing. We can use this. We can use it as a compass. We can navigate by resistance, letting it guide us to that calling or action that we must follow before all others." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When we question and doubt, the misunderstanding people in our lives might think, "We are here again?" with an internal eye roll. But this resistance is an unrelenting force. It is a battle that must be fought every single day in order to win the war. Each morning brings new resistance and new fear that must be slain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you feel this resistance and want to give up, I beg of you to press on. If you are asking yourself, "Who am I? Am I really a writer or artist or good mother or strong businesswoman?" chances are you already are. Those with total confidence are the counterfeits among us. The real ones are scared to death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You have no idea how much peace that gives me. I've been scared to death my whole life of the things I'm trying to do. I always thought there was something wrong with me; I think other people did too. The truth is though, that I'm fighting a unrelenting battle on this earth to live into the life that I'm supposed to, and I always will be. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I feel compelled to say today that if you are afraid, unsure, unravelling, or paralyzed, I get it. I get you. I am unfortunately a master of self-sabotage, and have committed treason on myself more times than I can count. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>There is no such thing as a fearless warrior. What matters most, though, is not living without fear; it's facing the fear with trembling hands and punching it in the face. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This place of fear. This place where you are stuck is not the end. It is the middle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">There is no way out, only through. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The middle is hard, y'all. The middle is where we give up. The middle feels like treading water, and we can't see the distant shore. But the middle is the place of transformation...it's the whole point. It's where we decide to sink or swim, to make life a daring adventure or numb ourselves right out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Please don't stop in the middle. We are meant to experience the middle like a butterfly is meant to experience the struggle of emerging from it's chrysalis. Without the struggle, it can't fly. Neither can you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you've been waiting, comparing, and making excuses, stop. Stop waiting. Stop comparing. Stop making excuses. Just go and do that thing. Even if it's hard. Even if you're scared. Everything you want lies on the other side of your fear. And believe me, I'm preaching to the choir here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It takes intense heat to refine precious metal, intense pressure to make a diamond, intense irritation to create a pearl. Our transformation is no different. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'd rather be the diamond than the lump of coal. You?</span><br />
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-54958904847616116492017-07-11T15:55:00.000-07:002019-08-24T09:23:03.687-07:00WEEKEND|REFRESH WORDS<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9GrEvD1_Iow/WV8DVqfVJyI/AAAAAAAAAcE/LGfR-JddQHMf0-jl_aef9sLbwbX61dkAACHMYCw/s640/blogger-image-359110914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9GrEvD1_Iow/WV8DVqfVJyI/AAAAAAAAAcE/LGfR-JddQHMf0-jl_aef9sLbwbX61dkAACHMYCw/s1600/blogger-image-359110914.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's now been a month and a half since our glorious Weekend Refresh Retreat. I've wanted to write about it so many times, but I haven't quite known what to say. I think I needed some time and the perspective that comes with that, but still am just having a hard to even put into words the experience of the weekend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We laughed, we cried, we ate, we drank, we learned, we reflected, we stand-up paddle boarded, we shared beds and bathrooms and space and life. It felt kind of sacred.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I think as I started planning the retreat, I realized how much of a need there is for women in this season of life to have some space carved out for them. We are weary and usually taking care of everyone except ourselves. A traditional conference, though away from kids and life, doesn't really allow the space for decompression and reflection and rest. I wanted to create that space for these women, and allow them to simply show up and receive. I wanted them to be surrounded by beauty, support, and encouragement. </span><br />
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I could literally feel people exhale over the weekend. Looking back over the photos, eyes got brighter, smiles got bigger, people sat closer together. A sense of aliveness and clarity just swept through everyone.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While I still struggle with putting my own words to the retreat, I thought maybe the women's words would be a truer description. These are from an anonymous survey I sent out post-retreat, and quite frankly blew me away.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">I loved connecting with so many different women. I loved the smaller size of it, how we were able to meld together so wonderfully and deepen relationships. I loved how honest and open all the women were - what an amazing group of strong women that gathered!</span></i> </blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I loved the workshop + time to reflect. It really really really helped me understand myself in a way that gave me strength and courage I so desperately needed right now. And I feel like the quiet time and strength has lasted...I'm still able to come to a place of knowing that I can and will succeed through my daily challenges.</span></i> </blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This was exactly what I wanted...a retreat with Christian women that was more intimate, more vulnerable, easier to make solid new relationships and build on the old ones, more fun and less scheduled, but still left me with my bucket and my toolbox filled. </span></i> </blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just an overwhelming feeling of gratitude! You wouldn't believe me if I told you how many people I have raved about this to or how many conversations have continued about core values, taking time to rest, etc. It was truly life-giving and felt like a true gift.</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I asked the women to describe the retreat in one word, here's what they said:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Valuable</i></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Amazing</i></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Centering</i></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Refreshing</i></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i></i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Life-Giving</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If, at the beginning of all the planning, I had written out my hopes for the retreat, these would have been my words. Verbatim. What started as a tiny little thought, grew into this amazing thing that impacted these women for the better. I am so humbled and thankful every time I think about it. It was so worth it. </span><br />
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-84822335129881432662017-07-07T08:43:00.000-07:002019-08-24T09:23:13.356-07:00WEEKEND|REFRESH RETREAT IN PHOTOS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uZyCxyKmqVw/WV8KdyP0IeI/AAAAAAAAAdA/vuzxo4Hpn3sE04EpvFqcesZF8_W2njvuwCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uZyCxyKmqVw/WV8KdyP0IeI/AAAAAAAAAdA/vuzxo4Hpn3sE04EpvFqcesZF8_W2njvuwCEwYBhgL/s640/DSC_0178.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I don't think I could ever adequately describe to you the beauty in this weekend. The location, the house, the women inside and out. </div>
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So, let's do a photo walk through of the retreat. These photos have all been culled from women on the retreat. Thanks so much for sharing these, ladies! </div>
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<i><b>FRIDAY</b></i></div>
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The women started arriving around 7pm on Friday night. Upon arrival they were handed a blackberry fizz cocktail and sent to the patio to decompress from whatever they left behind...a million logistics of childcare and work and husbands and crazy lives. </div>
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I had the most fun creating some special touches for the women's rooms. It was such a joy to put together. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NN1yd2OhQzo/WV8Kknb2_QI/AAAAAAAAAdE/19mLZBtLj6o9_3V-U9wdHA5TDwaNVQO_QCEwYBhgL/s1600/Photo%2BMay%2B19%252C%2B6%2B29%2B05%2BPM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NN1yd2OhQzo/WV8Kknb2_QI/AAAAAAAAAdE/19mLZBtLj6o9_3V-U9wdHA5TDwaNVQO_QCEwYBhgL/s640/Photo%2BMay%2B19%252C%2B6%2B29%2B05%2BPM.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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My dear friend, Kelsie, planned, prepped, and cooked ALL the food for the retreat, and it was nothing short of AMAZING. I could not have done it without her! </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_7jB22O_Pbc/WV8Jn58qSzI/AAAAAAAAAck/MvimFOYJzR4CBqdcTL_nkELjaH6uu-FgwCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_7jB22O_Pbc/WV8Jn58qSzI/AAAAAAAAAck/MvimFOYJzR4CBqdcTL_nkELjaH6uu-FgwCEwYBhgL/s640/DSC_0112.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We had 16 women (included myself) on the retreat. Some women only knew one other person, some knew a bunch, but all of them rolled in gracefully ready to embrace each other and the weekend. </div>
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Taking this photo was probably the most surreal thing for me. This vision was actually reality.</div>
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<i><b>SATURDAY</b></i></div>
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We started Saturday morning off with a devotional about identity through transition. (A post on that is coming soon.) Prior to the retreat, I had asked the women what they were struggling with, and this idea of "Who am I now...?" came up from so many people. </div>
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My sister-in-law, Jaclyn, led an incredible workshop about our Core Values. Again, something I plan to post on soon with some materials from the retreat. And afterwards, everyone had an hour of silence/self-reflection time that afterwards. <br />
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Sometimes in our whirlwind of daily life, we get out of the habit of taking time to really reflect inwards with ourselves. We are so busy and moving from place to place and thing to thing all the time and that becomes the norm. Having an hour to sit and journal and think is a rarity, and I heard from many people that this was their favorite part of the retreat. <br />
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We might have had carnitas tacos with margaritas for lunch. I told you we ate well! And then everyone had free time until dinner that night. </div>
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I loved how everyone felt comfortable to do their own thing. Some women kayaked and stand-up paddle boarded, some hung out by the pool, some took a nap in the sun, some went for a run, some put their headphones in and read a book, some spent more time journaling in quiet. It was a pretty sweet sight. </div>
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Saturday night, we had a big dinner party which was so much fun!! Kelsie treated us with prosciutto wrapped asparagus, roasted grape and olive crostini, a delicious salad, and sweet potato gnocchi in a brown butter sage sauce. Yum-O! We also got to celebrate a birthday that day with a scrumptious chocolate cake. Here's Kelsie working her magic in the kitchen. </div>
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There were apparently some shenanigans on the porch over appetizers the involved red lipstick. I love how happy and relaxed everyone looks, and I love that <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2017/01/2017-word-for-year-change.html" target="_blank">red lipstick</a> makes women feel bold and a bit daring. </div>
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Yep. We fit 16 women around one table! Can I say again how amazing this house is??</div>
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<i><b>SUNDAY</b></i></div>
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Sunday morning arrived, and a few brave souls got up early and hiked Saddleback Trail. </div>
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We wrapped up our time together that morning with women sharing some things that came out of our core values workshop and reflection time the day before. It was so cool to hear their ideas and their aha moments and their hearts in it all. Each one of these women is a beautiful soul through and through. </div>
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Sadly, our time did have to come to a close. I'm just honestly so very thankful for this time. It was such a privilege to share time and space with each one of these women. They were willing, brave, vulnerable, thoughtful, honest, fun, loving, and utterly breathtaking. <br />
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Hopefully, Weekend Refresh 2018 will be on the books soon!! </div>
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-13400600882111068852017-04-19T12:46:00.000-07:002019-08-24T09:23:24.818-07:00WEEKEND|REFRESH RETREAT - MAY 19-21, 2017<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="mcnTextBlock" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: black; min-width: 100%; text-size-adjust: 100%; width: 100%px;"><tbody class="mcnTextBlockOuter">
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<tr><td class="mcnTextContent" style="color: #202020; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px 18px 9px; text-size-adjust: 100%; word-break: break-word;" valign="top"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You know that <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2016/08/anyone-want-to-retreat-with-me.html" target="_blank">retreat we talked about</a> a forever ago?? Well, it's exactly one month away! <br /><br />I had such an overwhelming response of women expressing interest in the retreat, that I decided to give dibs on registration to those people. And well, the whole she-bang booked up in a matter of hours. It was fast and furious, and a sign to me that there is a desperate need for this type of thing.<br /><br />I so wish I could include every single person who wants to go, but the house is only so big. If you would like to add yourself to the waitlist in case anyone drops last minute, please fill out the form below. And if you're not necessarily interest in this one, but this is something you'd like to do in the future if (when?) I do another one of these, go ahead and sign up on the waitlist and write that in the notes section. That'll help me gauge interest in planning for another one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My hope is that this is a weekend that balances the need to be filled up, but also poured out. A restful place for the weary mom just needing a break, the busy woman who hasn't had any time to reflect and process, the girl who desperately needs some love, a glass of wine, and Jesus all meshed into one weekend. I can't wait to report back how it all went!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />The waitlist registration form and more details for the retreat can be found below if you are interested. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />xoxo,<br />Amy</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif;"><strong>May 19-21, 2017<br />Entiat, WA<br />$160.00</strong></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;"><strong>DATES and TIMES</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;">The retreat will officially kick off on Friday, May 19th at 7pm and come to a close on Sunday, May 21 at 11am.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;"><strong>LOCATION</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;">Y'all. THIS is where we will be staying...</span></div>
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<tr><td class="mcnTextContent" style="color: #202020; line-height: 24px; padding: 0px 18px 9px; text-size-adjust: 100%; word-break: break-word;" valign="top"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">I'm not kidding. And this is the reason why we HAD to move the retreat from March to May! Average temperatures in Entiat in May are mid-seventies, so we can definitely take advantage of the pool and lakefront amenities! <br /><br />The house has 4 bedrooms (one of which with an additional loft with a queen bed), as well as a bunk room with 6 twin bunkbeds, and 3 and a half bathrooms. Depending on numbers, we will figure out sleeping arrangements. <br /><br />It's absolutely beautiful! You can check out more photos of the house <a href="https://www.vrbo.com/804331" style="color: #2baadf; text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br /><br />The owner has been extremely generous with us so that we can keep costs as low as possible.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif;"><strong>COST</strong></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">The total cost for the retreat is $160. That includes a two night stay at this gorgeous house, as well as food for the weekend - 2 breakfasts, 1 lunch, 1 big, glorious dinner party - and all the amazing stuff we are going to do! <br /><br />Cancellations (with a full refund) must be made at least 2 weeks prior to the retreat (by May 5 at the latest). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif;">And if cost feels prohibitive to you, but you really want to come, please email me at tinyuprisings@gmail.com. We may be able to provide a subsidized cost or scholarship for you.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">The retreat is now full! Please fill out the form above to be added to the waitlist. Waitlisted people will be added in the order that they were received if spots become available. </span></span></div>
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-56808743683476508322017-04-13T22:01:00.001-07:002017-04-13T22:12:22.496-07:00THIS EXTRAORDINARY ORDINARY LIFE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here I am. I'm 40. And yep, I'm struggling a little to swallow that number. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There have been some funny moments. Desperate shopping in the juniors department for a dress to wear to my birthday party, my mind awash with images of sirens going off and security guards with megaphones yelling, "Ma'am, step away from the clothes or we may have to arrest you! You are too old to shop here!" Is there an age limit in the juniors department? I didn't have these thoughts when I was 39, but there's something about 40 that screams middle age in a different way. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have read many articles entitled things like <i>What I Would Tell My 30 Year Old Self </i> or <i>What I Wish I had Known at 20. </i>I will not be writing one of those articles. Every multi-facet of me at every age has made me who I am today. I wouldn't be able to offer encouragement to a women struggling with body image or new motherhood if I hadn't struggled with my own. I would not have learned to make smarter choices if I hadn't made bad ones early on. I wouldn't want to change any of it and I don't take any of it back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Life has a learning curve that no advice, no words of wisdom, could ever straighten. Whether we like it or not, that learning curve looks more like a roller-coaster than a steady, upward slope. Ups, downs, twists, turns, the unexpected loop the loop. We all start at the same point and we all end at the same point, but some of our middles are a little more twisty than others. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lord knows I'm twisty. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My learning curve just decided to kick into high gear with this milestone birthday and all the introspection that it brings. Currently, the roller coaster ride is bringing me back to this one thought: </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">THIS IS IT.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This. This right here. This year. This day. This moment. This is my life. This is all I get and I better start living it.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've spent my whole life anxiously waiting to get to the next thing. I thought life would start when I got there, but then it was on to the next thing after that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a child I couldn't wait to be thirteen with braces (Where I got that hair-brained idea, I'll never know. I would even cover my teeth with those silver Juicy Fruit wrappers to pretend I had them.) In high school, I couldn't wait to be in college. In college, I couldn't wait to pursue dancing again. After college, I couldn't wait to get married. When I was dancing professionally, I couldn't wait to make it through some of those rehearsals or the next set of performances. I couldn't wait to get pregnant, to have a baby. And when baby arrived, I couldn't wait to be out of the newborn phase, the terrible twos, the toddler years. I couldn't wait for the long days of early motherhood to be over and kids in bed. I couldn't wait for school-aged littles and a break in my day. I couldn't wait to start this blog. What did I forego with all this waiting to start and to live? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I push my friends, my husband, my kids away because I'm busy waiting and being impatient. <i>Get out of my way, everyone, can't you see that I'm trying to get to what's next?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And here I am. <i>Did I miss it? Am I missing it? Am I missing my own life because I was waiting for something else. Something shinier or bigger or more extraordinary.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Extraordinary. Extra Ordinary. EXTRA. ORDINARY. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let that sink in for a minute. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Open your eyes. Life is extra ordinary. It is both remarkable and unremarkable in one breath. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The ordinariness of life, I have tried to sweep away like cheerios from the kitchen floor. I want to brush it away and get on with it. I wanted to do something... be somebody. I didn't intend to end up here. Small girl. Small life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But THIS IS IT.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I mean that not in a despairing or melancholy way. I mean that in a <i>WAKE UP AND LOOK AROUND </i>way. Beauty is all around me. To these kids, I am their world. To my husband, I am his one and only. To my life, I am the leading lady. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I want to carve, "Amy was here," all over my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>See, feel, taste, smell, hear this. This is it. This is your extraordinary life. </b> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">May we be present in it. May we savor the coffee instead of gulping it. May we look into little eyes and mirror their wonder instead of rushing them along. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">May we be content in our smallness instead of coveting bigness. And in our smallness, feel the vastness of God and understand that He created us for such a time as this. For this exact day, hour, moment, child, joy, disappointment. May we not underestimate or discount the work we are here to do, the love we are here to give. It is BIG and essential. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">May we give of ourselves freely instead of saving our time, energy, money, ideas, and love for later, because later we'll still want to save our time, energy, money, ideas, and love. Later is not finite. It can never be reached, for there will always be later, more, better. Time is sand sifting through our fingers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">May we say <i>yes </i>more because right now is all we've got. May we say <i>no </i>more because right now is all we've got. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">May the circle of the ones we love most deeply know that they are shiny, big, and significant in our lives, that they are extra ordinary and extraordinary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">May we come to understand that it is most often the little things etched in our mind forever, the things we thought were inconsequential or felt totally random or normal that make a life well lived. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My pinnacle moments include a sunset hour stolen at a park last minute, sun glinting off water and little feet swinging high, squeals and smiles all around, bedtime kisses with my son, watching my two bigs ski down a mountain while remembering when they were still cocooned inside me, that I got to take part in an extraordinary, ordinary miracle growing them and making life and now they are little people sailing away on skis like it's nothing, a $2 creative ice cream date with my husband so many years ago, a long dinner with friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, and I'm pretty sure these are some of the things I will see. I doubt I will see the things I strived for, the manufactured mountaintops that only last for a second. I doubt I will see the promotion or the time I fit into size 4 jeans. I doubt I will see how many readers or likes or comments I got. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I will see faces. Faces. Faces. Faces. Ordinary faces that were extraordinary because our lives intersected, and we chose to live it boldly, fully, richly. We chose to be present and bump into each other and sift our sand together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is it. Now is the time. This is the opportunity, your happily ever after, your for better or for worse. This is your life, your love, your people. And these are your faces right before you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't miss it. </span><br />
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-58065812141288055522017-03-06T08:00:00.000-08:002017-03-06T08:00:23.708-08:007 WAYS TO QUIET TECHNOLOGY<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I recently posted on why I feel the need to quiet technology in my life right now. If you missed that post, you can read it <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2017/03/quieting-technology-why.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today I'm sharing the steps I'm taking in limiting phone use and social media in my life and simple actions that are making a big difference. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1. <i>WEAR A WATCH</i></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few years ago, I asked for a watch for my birthday, because I realized that I was often pulling out my phone to check the time. When you innocently pull out your phone to simply check the time, you also see any notifications you have (a text, voicemail, push notifications from social media, etc.). Too often, the temptation to then read that text, listen to that voicemail, or find out exactly what so-in-so commented on your Facebook post causes that quick time check to spiral into a time suck. Instead of quickly knowing what time it is and going back to playing with my kids or doing whatever it is I'm doing, I am suddenly replying to something that doesn't need my immediate attention or scrolling mindlessly through my Instagram feed, and subsequently shooing my kids away or burning dinner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, I now wear a watch, and if I need to check the time, I glance at my wrist. No push notifications included. No rabbit trail to go down.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2. <i>HANG A CLOCK</i></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Along the same lines as wearing a watch, I recently hung a clock in our home that I can see from pretty much anywhere on our main floor. I didn't know how much I would appreciate that in addition to the watch. The kids and I both now know what time it is at a moment's glance...which means that they too also aren't tempted to ask for my phone when they see me pull it out to check the time. No arguments with them over refusing to let them look at pictures on it or play a game. Out of sight, out of mind, folks! I swear. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3.<i> GET AN IPHONE CASE WITH A COVER</i></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I requested an new iPhone case for my birthday this year. It's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B017I652BK/ref=ox_sc_act_title_4?ie=UTF8&psc=1&smid=A2MHE493TFOWQ4" target="_blank">this one</a> from Amazon. What I love about this is that I can't see when my screen lights up. I check my phone when I want to check it and when I have time to check it. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">4. <i>PUT IT AWAY</i></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The other "quieting technology" benefit of my new iPhone case is that it's just a little bit too bulky too feel comfortable in my back pocket, which is where I would normally carry my phone. I purposefully chose this case for this reason. I do not need to have my phone on my person at all times, so when I'm out and about I put it in my diaper bag or purse or sometimes my jacket pocket if I'm not carrying one of those things. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also have been trying to put my phone away at home. I put it in one spot (usually the kitchen counter) and not move it if we go to the basement or upstairs for something. And if I'm feeling really brave and feisty, I'll plug it in upstairs in my bedroom and leave it there. So not a big deal, but due the expectations of our culture, it feels like a big deal. I will say though, the more and I do it, the easier it gets. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is something mental about having your phone so close to you all the time...pressure that you don't even know you're feeling about meeting expectations to be available to everyone at all times. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And what does that teach my children about what I value? I lead by example. If I don't want my kids to be those kids that are constantly on their phones without ever looking up, socially awkward because they don't know how to look someone in the eye and have an actual conversation, distracted all the time, addicted to their phones and the dopamine hit that happens when they get a text or check social media, and having an unrealistic view of real life and impossible expectations, then I can't be that person either. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My children will emulate what I do, not what I say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>5.<i> TURN OFF PUSH NOTIFICATIONS</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This one has been huge. I have turned off all notifications from Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and basically all apps on my phone. If you have a iPhone, open the <i>Settings</i> App and look for the <i>Notifications</i> Tab (mine is 5 from the top with a red icon). Once you go into this, you can choose toggle off <i>Allow Notifications </i>for each app. I do still receive text notifications, phone notifications and notifications from our bank if our account is getting low, but have opted out of push notifications for just about everything else. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>6. BLOCK TIME ON SOCIAL MEDIA</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As you can see, a lot of these things bleed into other things. Turning off push notifications put social media and my phone in general back on my terms and in my own time. If I post something, I'm way less distracted by it because I'm not seeing every time someone likes it or comments. I can choose to open things when I want and when I have time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My system is definitely not perfect and I am not super stringent at this point, but instead of looking at social media 10 times a day in tiny spurts here and there, I'm choosing to wait until I have a block of time that I want to devote to it. Sometimes that means during nap time and sometimes that means at night after kids go to bed and sometimes that means that I don't look at it at all in a day and I'm refreshingly ok with that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My FOMO is not longer getting the best of me, because I'm realizing that I'm not really missing out on anything on social media. However, if I am distracted by it all the time, I <i>am</i> missing out on my real life. And that, my friends, is something to think about. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>7. GIVE YOURSELF PERMISSION TO SAY NO</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Out of all the things on this list, this one is by far the most impactful, but also the hardest (at least in the beginning for me to do). I want people to think I'm responsible and responsive when they are texting or emailing about something, but I'm not sure over the years when, "I'll get back to you in a day or so," became, "I'll get back to you immediately or in a few minutes or else you'll think I'm a schmuck." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm giving myself permission to not respond to things immediately if it's not a good time, and to stop feeling guilty if I don't. I'm giving myself permission to not care what people think if I'm not available to them any time of day. I'm giving myself permission to not have to keep up with my Facebook and Instagram feeds and release myself from feeling the need to "like" people's posts in order to feel like I'm invested in their lives or for them to feel like I "like" them. I'm giving myself permission to say no to all of it if I want to, and permission to enjoy a few minutes texting with a friend or scrolling through a feed if I want to. Mostly, I'm giving myself permission to do what feels right for me and my family, because in the end I'll be a better person, mother, wife, and friend for it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So there you have it. 7 ways I'm quieting technology in my life right now. This may not be for you. I get that. But as an overwhelmed mom, this has helped so much in my ability to start living a life that serves me and our family well. I am way less distracted, less annoyed by our kids, more mindful of how I'm spending my time, more able to make choices that are life-giving, and less likely to get stuck in comparisons and unrealistic expectations. That's worth it to me. </span><br />
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-45795282968477234662017-03-04T14:55:00.000-08:002017-03-05T21:30:31.806-08:00QUIETING TECHNOLOGY: THE WHY<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?" </span></i></b></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~ Mary Oliver, "West Wind"</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm still on the <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2017/01/2017-word-for-year-change.html" target="_blank">change train</a> these days. There's so much that I'm sort of peeling it off in layers. And sometimes, when you peel away layers, what you find underneath is surprising. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm asking myself, "What is making me crazy?" "What is secretly stealing my joy and my time?" "What causes me to look at my kids as a nuisance instead of a treasure?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These two words bubbled to the surface: Distraction. Expectation. </span></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">DISTRACTION</span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, my phone might have accidentally fallen into the toilet. I know, I know. What is my phone even doing near the toilet? Don't judge. You know you do it too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a Sunday, and I was home from church with a feverish kid. I quickly popped said phone in a bag of rice (Arborio. It was the only kind I could find, but I figured it would still work.) and said a quick prayer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For a brief moment, I felt a bit panicky. What if someone needs to get in touch with me? What if I need something? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But seriously, how often is a text urgent or cause for immediate response? <i>Almost never. </i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And how often is the perusal of social media necessary to life? <i>Definitely never.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On this accidental phone-less day, I noticed that </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was way less distracted. Before that, I wouldn't have said that I was even a distracted type of person or someone that was on my phone that much. But not having my phone available made me aware of how often I reach for it in little moments, how often I check for a text or a like or a notification, how often I use it as an escape from my very unglamorous life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the first time in a long time, I had a day uninterrupted by a ping, alarm, text, or vibration. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt productive (granted I had only one sick child home with me, so let's be clear). I managed to tackle a few projects around the house and even some gardening outside. I read for a forever long time to my daughter, without feeling that vibration in my pocket that even momentarily mentally distracted me from time with her, even if I didn't check it right then. "Mom, you just got a text," she would say. "I know, honey, I know, but I will check it later." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even my 1 year old will pick up my phone and hand it to me if she sees it lying around, like she knows it's an extension of me. Personally, I think that's a little messed up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've been reading the <i>Little House on the Prairie </i>series to my oldest. One thing that has been so striking to me about the life of the Ingalls family is just how amazingly productive they are. They build their own houses, catch their own food, grow their own gardens, farm the land, make their own maple syrup, care for their animals, cook everything from scratch, make their own clothes, knit their own mittens, play their own music. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Do you know how they do this? THEY DO ONE THING AT A TIME. I'm so serious. One thing at a time. If it's harvesting time, they harvest. If it's planting time, they plant, If the maple trees are giving sap, they tap the trees, gather sap, and then boil to make maple syrup right then. If they need a house, they build a house. They aren't trying to plant and harvest and make syrup and build a house all in the same day. Doing little bits at a time. They do until it's done. Their eyes are focused on their work at hand. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While I understand this is a very different than the world we live in, let's not overlook this very important lesson:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Distraction is defeating and is the killjoy to our productivity and our focus.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The day my phone was on rice, I was able to focus without wanting to stop in between every little thing to check on something...anything. And let's be honest, those things I were checking on were insignificant. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Do you know what <i>is</i> significant? Looking into my kids eyes and them knowing I value them so much more than this hand-held rectangular window to other things. I didn't have the feeling that my kids were annoying all day long because I was trying to look at something or post something or text something, constantly shooing away the "Mom, Mom, Moms!" I saw, and I mean really saw my daughter and gave her my full attention. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I felt lighter, less tethered to an unrealistic fantasy world, less stressed. I did one thing at a time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I felt less crazy. Less pulled in a million directions. Less like I had to please everyone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>EXPECTATION</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The weekend after Thanksgiving, we gathered our tiny humans and took a family trip to the great white north. We needed some time away from our intense lives to just focus on one another and have some fun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Also on that weekend, my Instagram and Facebook feeds exploded with Christmas trees, fully holiday decorated homes, and already bought and wrapped Christmas gifts. <i>All finished decorating! Wrapped gifts while watching Elf and sipping Bailey's hot cocoa!! All ready for Christmas! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Watching all this made me hyperventilate and instantly feel behind in a season that honestly hadn't even gotten started yet. We've never been a family that got our tree and decorated the day after Thanksgiving, and it never bothered me before..until this year, for some reason. Until I was watching everyone's best bits in little lit up squares scroll through my screen. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can't compete with everyone's best bits, especially without seeing the whole. It's not the best bits that make a life. It's the best and the worst and everything in between. It's the realness and the rainy day you pick you tree out from the hardware store down the street and carry it home. It's the tears that were shed when one child didn't want to walk the one block home behind that tree. It's the hot chocolate drunk around that tree while our electricity was out during the decorating. It's the hoping all those strands of light actually work because we can't plug them in to check. It's the candles that soothed our family and lit our way as we decorated. It's the kids who really didn't care to be decorating and bailed about 3 ornaments in. It's the accidentally broken ornaments and the dinner that no one liked. It's the joy on their faces to see the tree all lit up and decorated for the first time. Or the first presents wrapped underneath. It's the arguments you get into over waiting to unwrapped those gifts until Christmas. Its the growth and the stubble. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so, I decided to take a break from social media over the holidays. I didn't want to feel the imaginary pressure that it would cause during an already high pressure season. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>I didn't want to measure my experience with anyone else's ruler. And isn't that what social media slaps in our hand all too often? Someone else's ruler? I've got enough of my own, thank you very much. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here's what I noticed on my social media break.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I could take things at a realistic pace for our family and not feel like I had to keep up with everyone else. We didn't even get a tree until December 10th, and that was just fine for us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I cared more about the actual moments than how that moment would look in that little lit up square. I wasn't taking a photo in order to post it to social media, already running witty captions through my head. I was taking a photo because I honestly wanted to remember this moment. Just us, for what that moment was, not for what I wanted people's reactions to be. I stopped thinking in those terms.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I spent a lot less time scrolling through a feed, and I really didn't miss it much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I found I was more curious about what was going on in people's lives because I didn't already know. This made me reach out more on a person to person level, which should always be my aim. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don't need anyone's feedback to validate my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let me add a caveat here, too. I love social media. Instagram is my jam. Give me all the fun, real, beautiful, and inspirational photos. As a stay-at-home mom, it serves as a connection point in to the outside world in an often lonely season of life. A great, quick way to keep up with friends that I don't have much time to keep up with. And I often need that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Social media and technology are not evil and are actually really great things. We just need to make sure that they keep their rightful place in our priority lists...preferably near the bottom. When they lead to distraction and expectation that sucks the joy out of life, when they make our kids wanting our attention seem like a nuisance, when they cause too much unhealthy comparison, we need to reign them in and shut them up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It seems counter-cultural, but culture doesn't get to dictate what's best for me. I do. I told you...I'm not gonna play by <i>their</i> rules anymore. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'll be back on Monday with exactly how I'm quieting technology in my life... </span></div>
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-68673879650186100122017-01-31T13:52:00.000-08:002017-10-23T14:21:08.001-07:00APPROACHING 40<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This picture right here. This is my best. Today I arrived at 40, and these people, they are the best of me. This man and these kids, they are what I'm most proud of in my 40 years of life. In light of today, I'm reposting <i>Approaching 40 </i>here. No matter where you are today, may you know that your life matters.<br />
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<i>APPROACHING 40</i></div>
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I looked down and caught a glimpse of my hands and thought, "Who's old lady hands are these?" When did my hands start to look like this? I shake my head in disbelief. <b>But these hands, these hands have held my babies, scooped up the hurt child, bandaged a scraped knee. </b> These hands have changed thousands of diapers, washed the never ending stream of dishes from the food that nourishes our family. These hands have hugged my friends, written notes of encouragement, painted walls, worn a ring of commitment for the past 14 years. I am thankful for these hands.<br />
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My belly also looks different than it used to. <b>But this belly, this belly has stretched to enormous proportions to grow tiny humans and take part in three miracles.</b> It's skin has gone out and in and out and in and out and in again. This belly is a soft landing place for my nursing baby, my 4 year old still wanting to sit on my lap to read, and my 6 year old now tall enough to hug me there when we stand together. These changes, they are war wounds of the best kind. Road maps for my children of their origin. I am thankful for this belly.</div>
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I glanced up quickly as I washed my hands and saw tired eyes, etched with lines that seemed to appear there overnight. <b>But these eyes, these eyes have seen places all over the world. </b> These eyes have seen beauty and they have seen pain and they have seen a whole lifetime of things that I wouldn't trade for anything. These eyes saw my wedding day and my handsome groom overcome with emotion for glory of that day. These eyes have seen 8 cities that I've made my home, looked upon a new friend for the first time, looked enough times upon that friend that a mere glance tells me what they are thinking. These eyes have seen my babies from the moment they were born, seen their newness and their vulnerability, seen them grow strong in health and personality. And these lines, they are from smiling. They are from dancing overcome with joy. They are from cheering on my daughter as she rides her bike for the first time. They are from sitting with friends over a glass of wine and laughing until our sides hurt. These eyes and these lines, they tell the story of my life if you look close enough. I am thankful for these eyes. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The gray streaks in my hair keep me honest. I can fool a lot of people about my age, but the gray that is taking over outs me now. <b>But this hair, this gray hair shows people that I have lived life, with its worries and its joys and its love. </b> It makes me seem more credible, wiser. I am not mistaken for a college student anymore, but I'm ok with that. I have spent nights up with colicky babies and sick children. I am not afraid to call out areas that need work in my marriage and work on them. I have given time I didn't have to serve others, and I'd do it all over again. These things take a toll, but the wisdom I've gained fair surpasses the gray hair that now grows in response. I am thankful for this hair.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
My legs are shaped differently than they used to be. <b>But these legs, these legs have run a race of life of which I am proud. </b> These legs have danced for years and years on stages all over this country. These legs have run 2 half marathons. These legs have carried 3 babies inside me and 3 babies still wanting to be carried even now even though they are too big. These legs walk my daughter to school, run with my son, and sway with my baby in spite of weariness. These legs are strong and mighty. I am thankful for these legs.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
This is my last year in my 30's. This decade has been the most changing and stretching and challenging of them all. But it has also been the best and most rewarding. I have experienced change and growth beyond belief. I have made lifelong friends. I have created my family with my own body. I know more of who I am and who I want to be. </div>
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<b>And despite all these physical changes, I am more comfortable in my skin than ever before. </b> </div>
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-60315187557552780412017-01-27T20:00:00.000-08:002017-01-27T20:21:24.650-08:00when quiet takes action<br />
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<br />
I'm 27 days into to making some changes, and I have to say that thus far, it's been amazing!! I feel better than I've felt in years. I have hope and life and momentum and joy. And I have flossed 27 days in a row. Woo HOO!!!<br />
<br />
I keep seeing things about people not making resolutions or goals or trying to come up with a word this year. They are simply resting, listening to their bodies and what life has for them. And I wish that could be me right now, but this is a year of action. <br />
<br />
<b>This is not my year to rest and listen. This is my year to create space SO THAT I can rest and listen, and actually hear what's being said.</b><br />
<br />
I'm a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Highly-Sensitive-Person-Thrive-Overwhelms/dp/0553062182/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484371125&sr=8-1&keywords=highly+sensitive+person" target="_blank">Highly Sensitive Person (HSP)</a>, and as such, deeply affected by my surroundings and environment. Clutter and too much has a paralyzing and depressing effect on me. My threshold for what is overwhelming is probably lower than the average joe. <br />
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Sometimes I think that I'm living in the wrong era - this era of more, bigger, better, louder, faster, busier. "Keeping up with the Joneses" in all this would literally send me to the looney bin. But "they" say this is the right way to do things. This is what's normal today and what I need to do in order to fit in and keep up.<br />
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<b>Cacophony. Yeah, that's what all this sounds like to me. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The more I self-reflect, I more I realize that I insulate myself from the cacophony around me so that I can function.<b> </b>Often, life feels too loud, too harsh, too much. <br />
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When I shut out the world, when I insulate myself, when I proverbially stick my fingers in my ears, the chaos is muted and sounds a little more like white noise...static. It's manageable. But when I do that, I shut out His voice too. I can no longer hear Him. And I shut out the good things, the joy.<br />
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With my fingers in my ears and everything else blocked out, sadly the only things I can hear loud and clear are the voices in my own head. And let me tell you, when I'm singing, "La, la, la" to the world, the voices in my head are not very kind. <br />
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As I <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2017/01/2017-word-for-year-change.html" target="_blank">wrote about before</a>, my word for the year is CHANGE. This action word ironically chosen mostly to quiet my life so that it no longer sounds like white noise.<br />
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<b>Quieting my home.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Quieting my mind and body.</b></div>
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<b>Quieting my time.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Quieting my family.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Quieting technology.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
It seems ironic to have to actively quiet your life...to put forth much effort and work, so that the loudness in your home, mind, family, time, and technology will hush. But sometimes, life is full of irony and I'm coming to the realization that trying to be still amidst the noise isn't working for me.<br />
<br />
<b>There is nothing quiet about being still amidst the noise. Then it's just loud, still noise. So, I'm pulling my fingers out of my ears, looking up, and making some changes. </b><br />
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No one said I had to play by "their" rules, and I'm not gonna.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Hopefully with all this quieting, I will actually be able to hear.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>What areas of your life can use some quieting these days? </i><br />
<br />
<br />
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-65162678852511807242017-01-01T18:27:00.000-08:002017-01-01T18:38:53.370-08:002017 word for the year: CHANGE<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
Hello 2017. You are a welcome face, and I've long anticipated your arrival. <br />
<br />
2016 kicked my butt. Well, I think it kicked my butt, except I can't remember much about it. It all feels like a fog, which is why I'm pretty sure it kicked my butt. 2016 felt like survival mode times 10. Do all the things, get all the places, keep all the kids alive. <br />
<br />
So, here we are... at the beginning again. Praise God that beginnings come around again. I would hate to live in a world that seems like one never-ending big loop around the sun. Aren't we all longing for a fresh start and a clean slate and the opportunity for growth and newness at some point? Sometimes in the midst of daily life, when we are bogged down in the grind, newness is hard to muster. <br />
<br />
Today is no different than any other, except for the fact that it marks the completion of one circle around the sun and the beginning of a new one. I'm so thankful for this life and that with this circling of the sun, we have a reminder to stop and reflect, to appreciate what has passed, dig into the present, and hope for the future. Zora Neale Hurston once wrote,<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>"There are years that ask the questions and years that answer them."</i></b></blockquote>
<br />
2016 asked a lot of questions, and I'm hopeful that 2017 will begin to answer them.<br />
<br />
And with that, my word for 2016 is <b><span style="font-size: large;">CHANGE!</span></b><br />
<br />
Every year for the past 5 years, I've chosen a word to guide me, inspire me, and focus my thoughts and actions. I love it so much more than doing New Years resolutions. The thing with a word is that it's simply a motivator. You can't fail at it. It doesn't feel limiting or like being bound by something. I usually choose my word based on what I feel I'm lacking or needing most in my life. <br />
<br />
<i>Change. </i>I desperately need change. I need to change. I need to be change. <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." </i></b> </blockquote>
<br />
By this definition, I live in insanity. I want my tomorrow to look different, but my today looks the same. My tomorrow cannot possibly look differently if I don't do anything differently today. Thus...<i>change</i>.<br />
<br />
My husband and I feel like we've been living by default for a long time. Default is auto-pilot in survival mode. But we long to live <i>intentionally</i>...to be more than victims or passive participants in our lives. I want to be a catalyst for change in our lives that will have positive impact on ourselves, our kids, our family, and the world around us. That feels like it takes effort that I don't have in my reserves, but what I do today determines my tomorrow, so I'm going to have to find it. <br />
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I've done some brainstorming and have several areas in which I'm hoping to drive change:<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Self-Care</b><br />
For too long, I've put myself last on my own priority list, and I'm reaping the repercussions of that. It's time to care for myself, my health, my body, my skin, my teeth, my mind.<br />
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<b>Growth (Personal, Spiritual, Professional)</b><br />
Along with caring for myself, comes with creating space and opportunity for growth. I'm working on writing and professional goals and making the pursuit of those possible, letting go of what people think and being hindered by that, and doing something creative every day that fills me up.<br />
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<b>Family</b><br />
I love our family and our kids, but we could use way more routine and structure. I'm focusing on more follow-through, more intentional quality time with kids, more fun, and slowing down.<br />
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<b>Marriage</b><br />
We've been married 15 years now! With 3 kids and work and life, it's easy to give each other what's left over at the end of the day (which most of the time is almost nothing - a grumpy, tired wife who just wants to watch TV and go to bed). I'm pushing for more active support of each other's daily lives and intentional connection with each other. <br />
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<b>Home</b><br />
Deep sigh. I have a love/hate relationship with this little place we call home. We are beginning what Ryan calls, "purge-atory." Striving to purge, clear the clutter, and make our space manageable and a haven for our family. <br />
<br />
<br />
Man, that's a long list, and because I'm a list maker, I actually have bullet action points under each category that I will spare you today. :) There's no way that I can tackle all of this at once, but I'm going to start to make small changes that will hopefully snowball.<br />
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And if you are looking at my list, thinking I'm crazy or feeling like I have something together, let me break this down into reality for you. <br />
<br />
Today, my big change was to wear red lipstick. Yep, you heard me correctly. Red lipstick is bold and noticeable and sort of wild. I felt scared to wear red lipstick. Over-exposed. Not able to blend in. I like to blend in. I was a bit worried what people would think or say. You know what happened? Nothing. Absolutely nothing...except the fact that I gained a little confidence in change and doing and being a little different. No one batted an eyelash or said a word, and if they were thinking anything, I tried to not let my mind imagine it. I <i>can </i>wear red lipstick and be more bold. I can make a change that takes nearly no effort, but infuses a tiny bit of personal growth in building confidence.<br />
<br />
As I try to shock myself into change, the little things that don't take much effort are going to be important in motivating me to the big things. So, January 1, I start with red lipstick. There is nothing too small or insignificant for a tiny uprising. <br />
<br />
2017. I'm kicking your butt this year!<br />
<br />
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<i>Can I encourage you to choose a word this year? Write it down. Tape it to your bathroom mirror or the dashboard of your car. Let it inspire you to live your best life and motivate you to make tiny changes that result in a snowball of positive force. We can do this!</i><br />
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Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-28687656857277892242016-11-14T17:41:00.001-08:002017-10-23T14:21:34.145-07:00TO THE MAMA WHO FEELS INVISIBLE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Hey Mama,<br />
<br />
I see you.<br />
<br />
I see you cooking dinner with a screaming toddler wrapped around your leg, two older kids racing around the house swinging wildly between playing and fighting. I see that your nerves are fraying and it's late, but you have to get something on the table. You worked magic with your grocery budget to be able give healthy foods to your kids, only to have them turn their noses up to this meal cooked with sheer determination.<br />
<br />
I see you in the middle of the night, bone-tired, yet up again, nourishing, comforting, soothing. You are on the battlefield of weariness, mama, and it's a lonely one in the wee hours of the night. No one knows or really even cares that you got up 2, 3, 6, 10 times last night, but you did. Or that you haven't had a full nights sleep for years, but you haven't. There are no cheerleaders here. There is no mercy. But you are fierce, mama. As fierce as they come. Love is a powerful, powerful thing.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
I see you use all your might not to hit back, when a raging toddler pushes you to your limits. I see the strength that takes even though you feel like you're a failure for even wanting to hit back. You are strong and maybe that self-control only lasted as far as your fists, while your mouth lashed out. But you are still strong. <br />
<br />
I see your weary eyes brighten for one more word of encouragement, your tired arms squeeze a little body tight in love. I see you apologize for your wrongs, teaching forgiveness by example.<br />
<br />
I see you, mama, when your husband looks through you like you are glass. He doesn't understand what all these nights awake can do to a person, how the never-ending stream of requests and tantrums and laundry can dull your spirit. He says he misses you. He can't understand that you miss you too. I see you notice that he doesn't see you anymore. That he's checking his email and thinking about work before even rolling over to say <i>good morning</i>. I see how that stings.<br />
<br />
I see that you feel invisible. This is one of the most surprising things about motherhood. Friends, family fawn over your little one, but never see you. Really see you. Rarely ask how you are doing, because they seem to forget that you're still a person too. I see you wishing that someone, anyone would ask about the state of your heart. Or anything ANYTHING about you aside from your kids.<br />
<br />
I see you eating peanut butter on soft bread because it is the only thing to soothe the jagged edges of yourself some days. Salad simply will not do. Sometimes peanut butter on soft bread is actually kindness to yourself.<br />
<br />
I see your dreams. Maybe they are close or maybe far away, but always seeming to take second place to making dinner, changing diapers, loving littles. I see you day after day think, "I'll get to that tonight," and then crash after a hard day unable to do any more. A dream deferred for one more day. I see that day become years and, though you love being a mom, I see bitterness creep in. I see that there are parts of you that are mighty, but squandered. I see you lose sight of yourself. Lose a little bit of hope.<br />
<br />
I see you lock yourself in the bathroom for two minutes to be alone...if you can call alone having a small child screaming 6 inches on the other side of the door. <br />
<br />
I see you hiding. First it's in the bathroom from your kids, then it's from friends, and eventually from yourself. That invisibility thing that so surprised you about motherhood becomes a cloak that you wear with relish. It becomes a safe place, only it's not a safe place because it's not a real place. And the minute a dear soul looks at you and you know that she sees you, like really sees you, you crumble. You've been found out and it feels embarrassing and freeing at the same time. <br />
<br />
I see you triage your days like a master. You are the queen of efficiency at food prep, packing lunches, bathing kids. I see you manage fights and scrapes and schedules like a champ. And though you can mom with the best of them, I see you growing weary of the hamster wheel.<br />
<br />
I see your messy house. It is full of love and growth, but keeping it clean seems to take an army that you don't have. You remember how your house used to be clean, and everything in it's place. This kind of mess takes a new kind of grit and stamina to endure. I see you cleaning the kitchen while the baby unravels the toilet paper, the 4 year old spills his drink, and the 7 year old decides your carpet would look better with glitter. I see you shy away from inviting anyone in, but I also see that their house is just as messy as yours. <br />
<br />
I see you in yesterdays clothes, sacrificing your body, your sleep, your self, because there is a love greater than these. I see your tiny ones gazing at you with utter love because you are their world and their light. You are doing a good job, mama. I see you holding them close and letting them go. <br />
<br />
I see you sneaking in their rooms at night, kissing their sweet faces, smelling their sweet heads, praying that you are raising them well and that they will know how very loved they are. I see you making decisions that seem way above your pay grade. What's best for their bodies, their brains, their souls? It's so scary, but you care so much that there isn't a option for not making a choice.<br />
<br />
I see you working so hard every day, but feeling like you haven't accomplished anything. Productivity in a traditional sense left the building the moment your first child was born. I see you trying to form a new definition of success, and I see the world trying to still fit you in the old one. Neither they, nor you will ever be appeased if you keep looking at each other, without seeing.<br />
<br />
I see you in the shopping center when your child has a melt down. I see the eyes on you...some of pity, some of judgement, some of solidarity. I see you tremble as you try to remain calm in this moment and not have a melt down yourself. You are amazing, mama. Have I told you that?<br />
<br />
I see the pride and joy in your eyes when you see your little one...or even just talk about her. I see you light up because they are beautiful human beings, and you were a co-creator in a miracle. I see you guiding their hearts to be kind and generous and courageous. I see you changing the world in this way.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I see you, mama. I see you doing hard things in the name of love. You are not invisible and you are not alone.<br />
<br />
I see you. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-84336657517356667242016-10-07T23:51:00.000-07:002016-12-02T12:13:23.906-08:00tiny sphere<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CWRjgGNclaA/V_iV2kP6xvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/fxPxPkOPvPwxaAoDFcvjOCYzNxHedZnXACLcB/s1600/three-balls-1417400_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CWRjgGNclaA/V_iV2kP6xvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/fxPxPkOPvPwxaAoDFcvjOCYzNxHedZnXACLcB/s640/three-balls-1417400_1920.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
I've been quiet here. I think we've just been trying to find a new rhythm with school starting back up. Having one in elementary school, one in preschool, and a baby means lots of juggling schedules and a lot of transition in most of our days. We've just been trying to hang on for dear life, and put some systems in place that will keep the peace (if that's even a thing for families with little ones).<br />
<br />
I'm head down over here. Transitioning myself to a world that seemed to shrink over night with the starting of school and a baby needing to nap smack in the middle of that time. We stick close to home most days which is a huge change for me. My sphere of influence feels immediately under our roof.<br />
<br />
<b>I'm learning the art of staying home. </b> Not "staying at home" as in being a stay-at-home mom, but literally staying home. Not going anywhere. Not trying to fill our time and days with playdates and outings simply to keep busy. Focusing on our home and learning how to manage it better and more consistently. Focusing on actually getting on the floor and playing with my kids, and not allowing the to-do list to hijack the entire day. More days end than I'd like to admit with me sneaking in their rooms to tuck them into covers that have been kicked off and staring at their sleeping, squishy faces wishing I'd been more present with them that day. Did I look them in the eye enough when they had a question or wanted to tell me something? Did I give the impression that I was too busy for them? Did they feel loved?<br />
<br />
Tell me you do this too?? I simply cannot wait for them all to be asleep and for the "Mom!, Mom!, Mom!'s" to stop, and then all I want to do is go in and soak up their sleeping angelic faces. Gosh, I love them. And I seem to remember and feel that a lot more when no one's fighting, throwing a tantrum, or whining about what I made for dinner. <br />
<br />
My oldest just started first grade this year, and I'm sitting here watching the <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2016/05/who-told-you-you-were-naked.html" target="_blank">lightbulb of self-awareness flicker on</a>. For the first time, she's realizing that she will be evaluated and judged in school. Tests have started, and a subsequent realization that somehow her score is a reflection of her value and that top scores are highly regarded. Even her pediatrician asked her if she makes good grades. Geez. I'm sitting here wondering, "Can't she just be kid for a little longer?" She seems so young, so not ready to bear the weight of this inevitable pressure. So, I let her make clothes for her dolls out of her socks and underwear, just because designing is her jam...and I order her some more when I realize she has none left and the shoes she's worn sock-less smell like a frog crawled in there and died. But hey, all in the name of artistic expression, right? She spends more time upside down than right side up, honing her gymnastics moves, and I cheer her on, regardless of the fact that she's probably going to be 6 feet tall when she's grown. She will face enough naysayers in her life. I don't have to be one too.<br />
<br />
My middle somehow grew when I wasn't looking. He still feels baby to me, but he's almost 5. I feel like I missed the whole last year with him. It's all a sleep-deprived blur and somewhere in there he started writing his name and throwing a mean spiral. His favorite questions are, "Does this look scary? Is this dangerous?" He's all guts and glory, but with a deep need for belonging and connection. An insatiable need for belonging and connection. I'm busy <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2015/11/i-am-your-beloved-and-you-are-mine.html" target="_blank">loving on him</a> and trying not to flip my lid when he flips his. He is big and bold with his emotions (kind of like his mama), but his heart is golden and generous and often surprising. <br />
<br />
My little demands our attention. She's feisty and fierce and makes her presence known. The root of her name means <i>persistence</i>, and she definitely lives up to that. She may not be walking yet at 15 months, but she gets around faster than a speeding bullet and climbs everything she can. Lately, her communication seems to have exploded, and I see her wheels turning, figuring out everything around her. She lights up when she sees us, calling out the truth and beauty in each one of us. She is the arc in our family...the little bit that encloses the circle and brings us all back around to ourselves.<br />
<br />
<b>These kids. They've wrecked my life for the better.</b><br />
<br />
Sometimes...often...I want more. I want God to call me to do something great. I often need to be reminded that raising these tiny humans<i> is </i>something great. Like the prophet Isaiah, I want to say, "Here I am! Send me!" And as those words leave my lips, God replies, "But will you stay?" Is it that "here I am" for me means not that I will go, but rather that I will stay and be fully present in this moment. Here I am in this most important moment with these most important tiny humans. One day they will grow into big humans. One day, my tiny sphere of influence, my three littles, will reach out into a big, bad world and hopefully be a beacon of light. Hopefully, they will be kind and courageous men and women.<br />
<br />
For now, we will practice the art of staying home, of loving each other even when it's hard, of celebrating our sameness and our differences, and of laughing a lot.<br />
<br />
Mamas, we are called to this beautiful, sticky mess every single day and bravery in that is to simply keep showing up. Keep making the lunches and kissing the owies and juggling the schedule and cheering on silliness and wiping bottoms and breaking up fights and giving encouragement and being present. <b>Keep showing up, and our tiny sphere will become the greatest work of our lives.</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Every day is a little life, and our whole life is but a day repeated. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>~Joseph Hall</i></span></div>
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-16991587784702482922016-08-19T15:30:00.000-07:002016-12-02T12:14:08.652-08:00anyone want to retreat with me?<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
I heard this quote recently,<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"God's truth comes to us a second after we've asked for it and a second before we second-guess His voice."</span> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></blockquote>
<br />
Um, do you second-guess like I do? All I ever do is second guess! He practically has to kick me in the shins to get me to listen. I've been feeling some things lately. Who am I kidding, I feel ALL THE THINGS. Feeling Him tug on my heartstrings a little bit, asking me to give and serve out of the ways I'm created uniquely me. Ways I'm created that I don't give enough credit or importance because sometimes I don't realize that not everyone else thinks or breathes or loves the same way I do. I just assume we are all the same, but we are not. I need you and you need me and we definitely need that quiet gal over in the corner with a rich inner life and much to share. <br />
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One thing that trips me up is that I'm good at a lot of things. I'm a really hard worker, and I can succeed at almost anything I put my mind to. It's a blessing and a curse, because essentially<b> I'm a jack of all trades and a master of none. </b>I always wanted to have that one thing that people identified with me. One thing that I excelled at and that was undeniably a part of my heart. One thing I felt called to do. <br />
<br />
A few years ago, during a meeting, we had an ice breaker questions asking essentially, "If you could do anything as a career, what would you do?" I've always struggled with this question because I don't seem to fit neatly in a box. In college, I poured over the catalog for majors, never finding one that I felt really represented me or anything I wanted to do. I didn't really know what I was looking for, but I knew I didn't want to be a business person or a lawyer or an engineer. I actually had no idea who I was and what makes me tick in college, and here I was trying to figure out my future. <br />
<br />
So, when this question was asked at that meeting 15 years later, I was surprised at what came out of my mouth. Here's what literally fell out of me, "I want to be a place and create a space that women come to for refreshing, for healing, for encouragement, and for edification." What that means, I have no idea, but I'm trying to live out of the truest bits of me and here's what I know for sure...here are my missions in life as an individual (outside of being a wife and a mom). <br />
<br />
First, I am created to be a champion of women. I am created to encourage, to lift up and refresh the women in my life and my sphere. I am created to love on them and show them how they are beautiful and neither too much or not enough. <br />
<br />
Second, coming out of the first one, I also feel a deep responsibility to normalize our experiences as women through vulnerability. I want to share the things that you're afraid to, so that you see that you're not the only one or weird or alone. I want you to say, "Me too," or "I didn't know anyone else felt that way," and because of that walk a little taller, feel a little more supported, and tell a little bit more of your own story so the next woman will do the same. <br />
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This is a long and windy road to tell you that I have something cooking in my brain and heart. I feel inadequate and ill-equipped, and scared of failing, but <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2016/03/three-things-ive-learned.html" target="_blank">I'm saying yes anyways</a>.<br />
<b><br /></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">God's truth for me right now before I second-guess it, </span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>is that I </b><b style="text-align: center;">create a space for refreshing women...figuratively through this blog and literally, through a weekend retreat. </b><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></span></div>
<b><br /></b>
My pits are all sweaty and my heart is beating so fast as I type this. I'm starting small and working from the inside out. Before I have any details figured out, before I have a master plan or anything solid, I'm throwing it out there. I don't pretend to know what I'm doing, but that's the best place to be, isn't it, friends?<br />
<br />
So, drumroll please.....<br />
<br />
<b>I'm hosting a low-key weekend retreat that hopefully balances the need to be filled up, but also poured out. A restful place for the weary mom just needing a break, the busy woman who hasn't had any time to reflect and process, the girl who desperately needs some love, a glass of wine, and Jesus all meshed into one weekend. And I can't wait. </b><br />
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<b>So, who's with me?? </b>I'd love to gauge interest as I begin to piece this all together. Nothing is set in stone, but I'm thinking March 2017 over a Friday and Saturday night. Probably 10-12 women to keep things intimate. <br />
<br />
If this sounds like something you would want to do, would you be so kind as to comment here on the blog, Instagram or Facebook? Or you can email me directly at tinyuprisings@gmail.com. <br />
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I hope you can come! Emoji with smiley face blowing a kiss.<br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-17400983976190633502016-07-20T12:13:00.000-07:002016-12-02T12:14:36.622-08:00broken windows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm a runner. <br />
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Not the lace-my-shoes-up-and-hit-the-pavement kind (though I wish I was), but more the when-the-going-gets-tough-I-want-out kind. In reality, I can only pinpoint a few instances in my life that I actually physically walked (or ran!) away from something. That time I quit track in high school, transferring universities (which in hindsight was one of the best decisions I ever made), and leaving a summer long dance festival under the guise of a hip injury when reality was probably that I felt out of place, homesick, and not quite good enough. <br />
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Most people who know me will probably say that I'm a really strong person, that I don't give up easily and work hard for everything that I have. The adjective that I've heard the most about myself is <i>intentional. </i>I agree whole-heartedly. <b>But sometimes while I am externally intense and somewhat convincing, internally, I'm running. I'm restless and mentally planning, plotting, and arranging my escape from the difficult. </b><br />
<br />
This has been a restless year for me. We added a new baby who had feeding issues, sleeping issues, and massive acid reflux, when simply "we added a new baby" is enough to rock the boat. We've walked through the toughest transition we could have imagined to a family of five with our middle son, which I wrote about <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2015/11/i-am-your-beloved-and-you-are-mine.html" target="_blank">here</a>. I journeyed through the physical difficulties related to pregnancy and <a href="http://www.tinyuprisings.com/2016/06/pippas-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Pippa's birth</a>. Struggled through postpartum depression (which deserves it's own blog post soon). Several close friends moved away. We renovated our kitchen, which I'm so glad we did, but the process and subsequent upheaval of pretty much all of our house as well was pretty brutal. <br />
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Here's the thing, though. These are all things I couldn't quit. I couldn't walk away from any of this. I couldn't physically run, so I mentally run. <br />
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Lately, I've been running to Redfin. Redfin? Yes, Redfin...the real estate app. The turmoil of this year has left our home in shambles. While I'm thankful for our home, it's messy and disorganized and seemingly bursting at the seams holding our whole family and all our junk. As a highly sensitive person deeply affected by my environment, my home currently feels like a place I want to escape. I'm paralyzed by the work that needs to be done, the upkeep, the kid's messes. I long for a quieter, slower pace of life, outside of the city with a big yard for kids to play and some space for my introverted spirit to be alone sometimes. So, while I want to make things better, I put on my blinders, brace myself for another day, and dream of leaving it all behind for a 4 bedroom modern farmhouse with lots of natural light on two acres. <br />
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And maybe I will live there one day, but if we move, I want it to be that I'm running towards something good, not running away from something I can't handle. We have many discussions about where and how we should live, without any real decisions or resolutions at this point. <b>This restlessness...it is not a positive directive or prompting from God. It's fear and it's disorder and it's disruptive. </b><br />
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My poor husband has to process through all of this with me. He's a good man. A level head when I'm often a pogo stick. As we processed through whether or not to purchase a piece of land outside of the city, in a moment of brilliance he basically said, "I don't think we should do this. <b>We take our dysfunction with us.</b> Moving to a new place doesn't solve our problems, doesn't clean the messes, or create the systems that we so desperately need to put into place." I told you, a good man. <br />
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We agreed to adopt the Broken Windows Theory for our home. This theory was first introduced in a 1982 article by social scientists James Q. Wilson and George L. Kelling, and later increased in popularity in the 90's when it was adopted by Mayor Rudy Guiliani and the New York Police Department to combat crime. Basically, the premise is that if a building has a few broken windows, the tendency will be for vandals to break a few more. Broken windows become the norm, a signifier welcoming more vandalism and eventually leading to more neighborhood crime. Or if litter accumulates on the pavement and no one cleans it up, soon, more litter accumulates and it becomes a dumping ground. <br />
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I know it's a stretch to liken our home to a crime ridden neighborhood, but the fact of the matter is that in a lot of ways we've given up. We've allowed one broken window to become three and a broken furnace and unfinished projects and piles of mess in our basement and a garage full of junk. <b>We are the vandals in our own home. The community that no longer takes pride in their surroundings or who feel that it's beyond them to make things better.</b><br />
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So, last week, I scheduled a guy to fix our heat. Novel idea. And when I couldn't get our new thermostat wired properly because our furnace is ancient, I called him again for help. I set up a system for dealing with the piles of artwork and school papers for the kids. I took a day and folded ALL the laundry. We have plans to make a list of things to do to fix all of the figurative broken windows, and then actually do them. To make our home work for us. <br />
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We've lived in this house 4 years, and I've yet to hang pictures on the walls. In a lot of ways, it still feels like a house. We haven't made it home. We haven't made it work for us. That's our goal right now. <br />
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Who knows? Maybe after all that we will still say it's not working. Maybe I will still want to move. But it won't be because I'm running away. <br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-13243509506121201942016-06-25T22:01:00.000-07:002017-04-13T22:34:17.684-07:00pippa's birth story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
**<i>Warning - This post is extremely long and extremely detailed. If you want to know the ins and outs of my experience with Pippa's birth and pre-eclampsia, keep reading. If you'd rather not, just pass on by.</i></div>
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Pippa turns one tomorrow. And I'm just now sitting down to write out her birth story. Oh well, better late than never!</div>
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In order to fully capture her birth, I have to back up a little. A few months before her birth, my feet, ankles, and lower legs began to get extremely swollen. I had swollen feet and ankles at the end of Scout's pregnancy, but nothing like this! Apparently, with Pippa, my hands were swollen too, because the tips of my fingers were tingly and numb all the time. Even my face was swollen! </div>
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And the weight gain. Oh, the weight gain. I didn't have to eat anything to gain weight, and the amount in one month caused comments from one midwife. But there was nothing I could do to stop it. I'm not the type of pregnant woman that eats ice cream every night and indulges in everything. I eat normally and healthily and stay active with my kiddos as much as possible. </div>
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I made a comment to my husband during these weeks, that I KNEW that I was going to have pre-eclampsia with this pregnancy. He laughed it off, but I just knew. </div>
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Three weeks before my due date, I had a midwife appointment, and the nurse commented that my blood pressure was a bit high. 130 over something is all I remember. She had me sit still for a few moments and then took it again. She said they'd keep a watch on it, but didn't seem overly concerned. <br />
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The following week, I had another appointment. The nurse checked my blood pressure, but didn't comment. I asked her what it was, and she said 116/70, which was typically a normal reading for me. I couldn't shake the feeling though that wasn't right. I had watched the blood pressure tick down on the old-school monitor, and thankful for my medical knowledge from college, I swear it was 140 something for the top number. I didn't, however, call it out and ask her to recheck it. </div>
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The next day, I wasn't feeling so great. Just super tired, splitting headache, and not myself. I took the kids to a massive indoor play space so that I could sit and put my feet up while they ran. My intuition kept nudging me and wouldn't leave me alone. I knew something wasn't right. </div>
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When we left the play space, I needed to pick up a prescription for one of the kids, and while I was at the drug store, checked my blood pressure on one of the machines by the pharmacy. The machine started flashing red and gave me a reading of 147/94. I called my midwife upon leaving there, and she urged me to come directly into the hospital to get checked out.</div>
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When you have two other kids in tow, this is no small feat. Thankfully, though, their bags for going to a friend's house during the delivery were already packed, as was my hospital bag. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I swung by home and picked up those bags and called my friend, Kara, who at the time lived close to the hospital, to ask if I could drop off the kids for a few hours. I think I might have shocked her when I also left their overnight bags!!</div>
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I headed to the hospital not sure what was going to happen. I don't remember my blood pressure reading when I got there, but it was cause for alarm. They then did some blood work which showed protein in my urine and decreased platelets in my blood. These three things combined with all the swelling I was having brought about a diagnosis of pre-eclampsia. </div>
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I remember the midwife coming in and saying, "I'm so glad you came in. You very much need to be here. The only cure for pre-eclampsia is delivering the baby and placenta, and we are going to deliver this baby tonight!" </div>
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Tonight?!?! Let's not forget that we were in the throes of a kitchen renovation and had just gotten a working sink two days before after 77 days of no running water in the kitchen. Everything else in our kitchen was still in boxes. Cabinets didn't have doors. Every part of my house was in construction shambles. I hadn't even gotten to washing and putting away baby clothes yet. My other two kids had been 10 and 11 days late, and therefore in my mind, I had 3 weeks longer to get ready.<br />
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This was Wednesday, June 24th. Pippa's due date had originally been July 10th, then changed to July 4th due to an early ultrasound. We aren't really sure which one was correct, but either way, she was early. </div>
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My brain had trouble wrapping around the idea of not leaving the hospital until our baby was born. Reeling. I called my friend, Lindsey, told her the news and asked if she could go pick up my kids from Kara and have them spend the night with her. As I hadn't yet gotten to those baby clothes, I also had to ask Lindsey if she could bring me something for the baby to wear home. Ack! She was so sweet and took the kids shopping for an outfit for their little sister. </div>
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Shortly, after the news that the baby needed to come out, they started me on a pitocin drip to get labor started. I walked the halls to encourage labor as well, but was forced to sit down by the nurse because my BP kept spiking in dangerous levels. </div>
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With pre-eclampia, there are a few major risk factors. Seizure is the biggest one, so normally women are treated with magnesium sulfate. My midwives wanted to hold off on treating me with it if possible because it makes you feel pretty horrible, and labor is hard enough when you feel good. <br />
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That first night, nurses continually upped my pitocin drip each hour. I was up to 16 mU/min and only having mild contractions. To put it in perspective 6 mU/min gives the same oxytocin levels found in spontaneous labor. So, the midwives decided to back off since that didn't seem to be working and try some other methods. I had two doses of misoprostal over the course of several hours, but still not too much progression. By late afternoon, I think I had finally dilated to maybe a 5 and they decided to break my water to see if that would get things going. <br />
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The midwife on call that day was Mary Lou. She told me I could have a few hours for that to work, but we would need to start pitocin again if things didn't get going. I did some walking and labor would progress, but I had to lie down every 30 minutes for a stress test on the baby and to check my BP and labor would once again slow down. <br />
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At 10pm on Thursday, June 25th another pitocin drip was started. Around 11pm, a very kurt and efficient nurse came in and told Ryan and I that we were going to bed. She turned the lights out and tucked us in and told us to get some rest. <br />
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I might have slept a little, but remember waking up a lot. Around 2am, contractions were kicking in to high gear and things were getting serious. My pitocin drip was only at 6 mU/min at this point, far less than the night before but my body was responding this time. <br />
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I asked the nurse to fill the tub, because I knew I wanted to do most of my laboring in the water. Ryan was still asleep and since I had a nurse and Mary Lou there, I decided to let him sleep and not wake him at this point. Hoping that after I had the baby, he would be better rested and I could have a nap! <br />
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I labored in tub for a few hours, with contractions getting stronger and stronger. I remember Mary Lou pouring water on my back during contractions and I remember her saying she could tell I was a good mom. Labor was getting hard, but I was much more relaxed than with my other two births. And then around 5 something, I started transitioning and had a super strong contraction during which I totally felt Pippa's head shift downward in the birth canal a couple of times. Mid-contration I said, "She's moving down!" <br />
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Mary Lou then said to let her know when I felt like I wanted to start pushing because I would need to get out of the tub. I told her that I needed to get out RIGHT NOW! I made it to standing beside the bed and had another strong contraction. That one woke Ryan up. He was stunned that I was already that far along, and he'd slept through most of it, but I really felt like it was better for him sleep during that. I had enough support and seriously, how many people can you fit in a tiny bathroom anyways? <br />
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I got on the bed and the very next contraction, Pippa was crowning. And one more contration, and I was able to push her out. When they handed her to me, the first thing I said was, "She's so small!" My other kids had been 10 and 11 pounds, and she was only 6 pounds 4 ounces. Compared to the other labors and deliveries, she was a piece of cake. So much easier to push out a baby half the size. She was born at 5:42 am on Friday, June 26th and was 19 inches long.<br />
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Since I had hemorrhaged with the other two births, we just assumed I would with this one. We had a doctor on standby and I was given a shot of pitocin immediately to try to get my uterus contracting and closing up blood vessels. As with Leif's birth, my placenta wasn't delivering, so they decided that they would have to remove it manually. The midwife tried, but then passed me over to the OB. They gave me some pain meds to help, but it didn't do much besides make me feel a bit lightheaded. <br />
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I had to pass the baby to Ryan, because I was feeling a little woozy, and as a big proponent of skin to skin, I asked him to remove his shirt to hold the baby. He looked at me like I had three heads, but he did it. I later heard she was totally suckling his chest. Ha!<br />
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Once they finally got my placenta out (apparently, mine grow really strongly into my uterine wall), I, as expected, started hemorrhaging. I don't really know what they were doing or how they were trying to stop the bleeding. I think more pitocin and uterine massage. Ryan said that at one point he looked around and counted and there were 15 medical staff in my room. <br />
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I lost close to 2 liters of blood, but thankfully they were able to get it under control without having to do anything drastic. My hematocrit was down to 21. At 20, we're talking blood transfusion, but I was doing well enough that we decided against it. I don't know what it's like to have a baby and not lose a ton of blood and be totally wiped out by that. It's just what my body does.<br />
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Things are a bit of a blur after that. I think I slept a lot that day since I'd been up for two nights in a row. I know I had a catheter, so I wouldn't have to get up to go to the bathroom. I think they took that out the next morning and I was able to take a shower and get cleaned up. <br />
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We were discharged on Saturday evening. On Sunday evening, I had a terrible headache, and I had noticed that my swelling wasn't really going down. So, at midnight or some ridiculous hour, we headed up to QFC for me to check my blood pressure at their pharmacy machine. It was 173/102. Crap. Called the midwife and headed back to the hospital. My blood pressure was even higher when we got there. <br />
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In the ER, they explained that normally in most cases pre-eclampsia is cured with the delivery, but not in all cases. I was one of the few. They put me on magnesium sulfate for 24 hours. I don't think I've ever felt so bad in my entire life as I did on that drug. My nurse kept my room dark and basically told me to stay lying down. My liquids were rationed. I could only have a certain amount of water each hour...and it wasn't enough. I was so thirsty and my head hurt so badly. And all the while, I'm trying to be mom to a teeny newborn. She was a champ and we learned early how to nurse side lying because it was all I could do right then. <br />
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I was so thankful when I was finished with that 24 hours. I felt like I was really missing my baby's first days of life. We stayed on at the hospital as we watched my blood pressure which remained elevated. As doctors would change shifts, I would get a new recommendation with each one. One was really pushing a blood transfusion, but they decided to try an iron drip instead which made me feel a lot better. They had stopped really monitoring my BP after the magnsium, but as they were trying to discharge me, I told one doctor I still had a massive headache. They checked my BP and found it was still really high, so they decided to put me on BP meds to lower it. Some docs were saying I needed to go and others would say I needed to stay. It was ridiculous and confusing. <br />
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I finally was discharged on Tuesday late afternoon, I believe. So relieved to go home and be in our own space and finally get to relax with that sweet baby. Scout and Leif came home on Wednesday. We were so thankful to have them taken care of for a whole week by various friends and family.<br />
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<br />
I was on blood pressure meds for about two weeks, but have been totally fine since then.<br />
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I'm sorry that I waited so long to write this. I've lost so many of the details over the course of the last twelve months of sleep deprivation and life. I want to remember it all. <br />
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Welcome to the world, Pippa Rose! Welcome to our family. We love you and you were worth it!<br />
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**these beautiful photos taken by the amazing <a href="http://tatianaskye.com/">Tatiana Skye Photography</a><br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-91650177019734364572016-06-23T20:02:00.000-07:002017-01-01T18:40:17.380-08:00make mother's day a big freaking dealWe are a family who says, <b>"I'm sorry. I screwed up. Will you forgive me? Can we try that again?"</b><br />
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We don't pretend that everything is perfect all the time. We admit if someone has hurt us. We find no shame in apologizing to our kids for times that we mess up. In fact, I'm thankful for those moments because the kids get to learn that everyone messes up (even Mom and Dad) and no one is perfect, but that when we do mess up, there's a right way and a wrong way to handle it. Just shoving it under the rug, burying it, and being passive aggressive? That's the wrong way in our family. Bringing it to the light and going through the hard work to express hurt and either asking for or expressing forgiveness? That's the right way. <br />
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Along with this, we have embraced the <i>do-over</i> as a family. <br />
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Mother's Day this year was a total bomb. I won't go into details, but let's just say that it definitely deserved a do-over. <br />
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I'm probably overly sensitive about Mother's Day, but I'm coming into some realizations as to why. Maybe some of you moms are too. <br />
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I'm a stay at home mom, and as such, I'm on the clock 24 hours, 7 days a week. My co-workers (i.e. my kids) are pretty bad at acknowledging the hard work I'm doing, giving personal space or positive feedback, keeping a tidy work area, and allowing bathroom breaks. It's the hardest work I've ever done in my life, and unfortunately, it's peppered with a sizable dose of doubt and guilt for just about everything. There are no performance reviews to sing my praises, no raises, no promotions, no outside credit for this important work I'm doing. Of course there are those sweet times they tell me they love me, give me an unexpected hug, make me laugh, or amaze me with the fantastic little people they are becoming, but I'm talking about the day to day nitty gritty. <br />
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Mother's Day is the one day of the year that I feel my efforts have the ability to be fully noticed...my work appreciated and honored and given the value that it deserves. The day I remember more than any other to remove the word <i>just </i>from my title. I'm not <i>just</i> a mom. I'm a mom, proudly a mom, and there is no nobler work or work that requires more than this. <br />
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I need to know, especially on this day, that someone sees, appreciates, acknowledges, and honors the work that I do every day, because when I'm buried in laundry and nursing the baby and waking up all night and cleaning up spills and/or bodily fluids and breaking up fights and fishing bath toys out of the toilet, I often wonder why I'm doing this and start feeling pretty discouraged. I wonder if anyone cares and what it's all for. <br />
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Husbands, I have a word for you. Please hear me.<br />
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<b>Your wife needs you to make Mother's Day a big deal. </b></div>
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She needs to know that you see her, appreciate her, and acknowledge her work. She needs to know that you feel that her job as a mom is important and of great worth. She needs for you to give her a proverbial raise and promotion and encouragement in this insane job she's doing. She needs you to set an example for your kids to honor her and tell her how much they love her and what they appreciate about her. She needs one day that she gets to pick the radio station and the restaurant without someone giving her a hard time or throwing a temper tantrum. She needs to have time to take a shower and shave her legs and feel like a woman. She needs to go to the bathroom without a child sitting on her lap. I'm so not joking. She needs you to put some time and effort into how you choose to honor her on this day, because that speaks volumes to her about you feel about her worth and how much you value her role. I can pretty much guarantee that she feels undervalued and disappointed if she feels your efforts are half-hearted. And because she may not say all this to you, I'm speaking to you on her behalf. <br />
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So, <b>BRING IT</b> on Mother's Day (and her birthday too!!). Go big or go home! Your wife needs someone cheering loudly in her corner and who better than her partner for life. <br />
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As for our do-over, my husband brought out the big guns. I am now in the midst of Mother's Week, a little something he and the kids cooked up together. He coached them on really making me feel special and serving me, and they devised a whole weeklong celebration that includes one-on-one dates with each of my kids, a family brunch out, a fancy date with my hubby, home-made cards, and the best use of index cards I've ever seen.<br />
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Each person gets an index card for every day of the week. I choose one thing I want them to do for me on that day and write it on the card, and they should complete it that day without grumbling or me having to nag. I'm loving this so much that I'm hoping to keep the whole index service cards going.<br />
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But more than that, I feel valued, loved, honored, and heard. I'm thankful for the willingness of our little team to have a re-do for something that is so very important to me.<br />
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Friends, don't be afraid to say, "I'm sorry. I screwed up. Will you forgive me? Can we try that again?" And if needed, have a do-over. The people and moments in our lives are too important not to.<br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-1512687678305156912016-06-02T21:28:00.001-07:002016-12-02T12:15:30.051-08:005 things I'm lovingI bought a hydrangea last week. And a straw hat. Two things I've wanted for years, but every year, I don't buy them. I look at them. Consider them. Fail to make a decision or pull the trigger. Ridiculous. It's a plant. And a hat. <br />
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I might site frugality. That I really don't <i>need</i> them. But doggonit, they bring me joy, and sometimes that's actually worth something. <br />
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It's been a little heavy on the ol' blog, so, just for fun today, here are 5 things that are bringing me joy. <br />
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<b>1. My new straw hat!</b><br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eRCAWUwvcBI/V1EFc21G2XI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/b6K9RrjHQp0/s640/blogger-image-850132741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eRCAWUwvcBI/V1EFc21G2XI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/b6K9RrjHQp0/s640/blogger-image-850132741.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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I'm loving this thing. It's <a href="http://www.target.com/p/women-s-hat-fedora-chambray-band-merona/-/A-50227980">this one</a> from Target. It's great for giving a little shade to the eyes and face (especially since I'm good at putting sunscreen on my kids, but not on myself), as well as hiding unwashed hair! At first, I felt a little weird wearing it, but I just decided to own it and be confident in it. These sunny spring days are perfect for this little gem.<br />
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<b>2. Trader Joe's Sea Salt and Turbinado Sugar Dark Chocolate Almonds</b><br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ap_BHkg1sUg/V1EFdlren3I/AAAAAAAAAQ8/7Cu9cA04xFk/s640/blogger-image-463238978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ap_BHkg1sUg/V1EFdlren3I/AAAAAAAAAQ8/7Cu9cA04xFk/s640/blogger-image-463238978.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Otherwise knows as crack nuts. I know, I know. Chocolate almonds not your thing? Seriously, just try one. You'll be hooked. Thank me later.<br />
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<b>3. Architectural salvage</b><br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JB72OkZns30/V1EFeCdYwPI/AAAAAAAAARE/gJs5VGu6fMU/s640/blogger-image-749277177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JB72OkZns30/V1EFeCdYwPI/AAAAAAAAARE/gJs5VGu6fMU/s640/blogger-image-749277177.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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During some kid free time today, I decided to leisurely stroll the aisles of my favorite architectural salvage places. (<a href="http://www.seconduse.com/">Second Use</a> and <a href="http://ewsalvage.com/">Earthwise</a> for those of you who are local) At first, I kept feeling like I needed to hurry up and spend my time more wisely. But the truth is, I love looking for beauty among the dust and old and broken. I'm getting better at buying the things I love, even if I don't have a "place" for it. I've learned time and time again that if I love it, it will find a place in our home eventually. Today, I found a light fixture potentially for the kids' bedroom, and some really fun old corbels. I didn't pull the trigger on the corbels yet (they're on hold though), but I know that if I'm still thinking about them tomorrow, I should go back and get them. Perhaps for our fireplace mantel? <br />
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<b>4. Spring flowers</b><br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PipZE8wK6gI/V1EFcZ8t0qI/AAAAAAAAAQs/H5tBJLvubK0/s640/blogger-image--664262482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PipZE8wK6gI/V1EFcZ8t0qI/AAAAAAAAAQs/H5tBJLvubK0/s640/blogger-image--664262482.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
Stop and smell the flowers, y'all. They worked hard to get here. Scout and I made a point to stop and smell every rose we passed on the way to her school. We determined that the light pink ones (She calls them cold pink as opposed to hot pink. Too funny!) were the most fragrant. We live in the city with lots of cars and concrete and noise. Seeing all the flowers bloom makes me slow down and appreciate that this beauty just pushes up and unfurls each and every year. My friend, Kelsie, recently wrote a beautiful <a href="http://www.kelsieskitchen.com/">blog post</a> about needing a time to go underground for a while and work on her roots, because nothing in nature blooms all year. That is true for each one of us and every one of those flowers waiting their turn to burst forth in glory. <br />
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<b>5. Podcasts</b><br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RFUuvXsm6y4/V1EFb4tmtVI/AAAAAAAAAQk/jR1HQ8HYS3U/s640/blogger-image--1341626178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RFUuvXsm6y4/V1EFb4tmtVI/AAAAAAAAAQk/jR1HQ8HYS3U/s640/blogger-image--1341626178.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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Maybe I'm late to this bandwagon, but I'm loving listening to podcasts on longer drives, folding laundry, doing dishes, etc. The task seems more enjoyable when my mind is engaged on something else. I'm inspired listening to other women talk about life, motherhood, travel, business...anything really. My favorite these days is <i><a href="http://jamieivey.com/">The Happy Hour with Jamie Ivey</a>. </i>Though I also enjoy <i><a href="http://theartofsimple.net/thepodcast/">The Simple Show</a></i> and <i><a href="http://jesslively.com/livelyshow/">The Lively Show.</a> </i>How to listen to a podcast? You probably have an app on your phone. ;)<br />
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Hope you find joy in the little things today too!<br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-51211569687104008892016-05-20T10:54:00.001-07:002016-12-02T12:15:46.054-08:00who told you you were naked?<span style="font-family: inherit;">This morning, my six year old crumbled into a mess of tears, admitting to me that a friend had been mean to her. Her normally confident, expressive body that never stops exuding energy curved in on itself, literally concaving as she heaved big crocodile tears. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She was experiencing real world hurt for maybe the first time. Not a "I didn't get my way" or "She didn't want to share with me" kind of childlike hurt, but a hurt that changes her view of herself. A hurt that steals a little bit of her innocence, a little bit of her uninhibitedness, a little bit of her blind faith that she is perfectly made and perfectly loved. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've been dreading this moment. The moment that my bubble bursts and is no longer big enough to protect her from a world that will scratch and dent and mar her into thinking that she is either "too" this or "not enough" that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Did you know that at the age of five, 90 percent of the population measures "high creativity?" And that by the age of seven, that number drops to 10 percent? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What comes between 5 and 7? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">6.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Exactly right where we we are. Oh my God.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-07H7TeCeuHA/Vz64pQgpndI/AAAAAAAAAPU/S3Q8TSaXYnEfIfLowHhshjxGxS_vKxJFwCKgB/s1600/IMG_3611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-07H7TeCeuHA/Vz64pQgpndI/AAAAAAAAAPU/S3Q8TSaXYnEfIfLowHhshjxGxS_vKxJFwCKgB/s640/IMG_3611.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">With her growing body, comes growing maturity that opens her eyes to see that she is unique. However, our culture values the box and more importantly, being inside of it. The thief of comparison will come in the night and whisper to her that fitting in is better than standing out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She will one day stop dancing furiously because she will become aware that someone is watching, and not with the loving gaze of her parents or her Creator, but with the critical gaze of judgement. Her arms will flail a little less wildly and her feet will start to match the beat, because that's what she's "supposed" to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finley Eversole writes in <i>The Politics of Creativity</i>, "Our creativity is destroyed not through the use of outside force, but through criticism, innuendo, by the dirty devices of this world. So we are diminished, and we forget that we are more than we know. The child is aware of unlimited potential and this munificence is one of the joys of creativity."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I think of the word creativity, it encompasses for me the idea of the truest form of ourselves. Me. You. At our very essence, living into the fullness of all that we are. Unafraid. Unashamed. Unmuted. Uncompared. I believe that we are all Created by the Creator, and since the Maker formed us all in His image, we too are creators, full of the richness of His creativity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">According to Eversole, by adulthood, "high creativity" in our population drops to only 2 percent. I have to believe that number is not really indicative of lack of creativity, but more so of it being covered over, pushed down, and buried underneath self-protection and conformity. </span>It is the world that dims our light.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I protect my daughter from the inevitable? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I look to God for answers, as he was in fact, the first Parent to the first children, Adam and Eve. The Bible tells me that he, too, was heart-broken as his children were deceived into believing that eating the fruit of the forbidden tree would make them more, when in fact it made them far less. Knowledge gained included self-consciousness, shame, and fear, which set off an avalanche of hiding, covering, and trembling. Less, less, and less. Not more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">God comes into the Garden and asks, "Where are you?" Even though nothing is outside of God's omnipotent gaze, and he knows exactly where they are, he still asks, "Where are you?" Where are your beautiful, innocent, creative, unself-conscious selves? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">His next question though, is more heart-wrenching. "Who told you you were naked?" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was my question this morning as I watched her tears fall and fought back my own, realizing that all my love isn't big enough to protect her. "Who told you you were naked?" Who told you you weren't smart? Or couldn't dance? Or looked funny? Or were too loud? Or too big? Or not enough? Who told you that?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Memories flooded back of my seventh grade year. Back to the year a girl in my class decided to bully me and then systematically turned every other seventh grade girl against me. I was ridiculed, barked at, laughed at, verbaly harassed, ostracized, handed my school picture in a million tiny pieces, and emotionally abused all that year. I was essentially told I was naked, and they were all laughing at me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That 12 year old girl had never before known that she was anything other than fine, had never looked in the mirror for any reassurance that she fit the mold in size and shape, had never known how cruel people can be. That year, I went from being vibrant and courageous to doing everything that I could to blend in and not stand out in any way that might garner criticism.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While I've come a long way from that seventh grade girl, I have carried the baggage of that year into every road I have travelled, every encounter with every person I've ever spoken to. I carried it into my faith and into my marriage. I carried it into motherhood. It still holds me back in so many ways, and I am still working to combat the insecurities that grew out of that experience.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; white-space: pre-wrap;">At some point, we all realize that we are naked. God, in his heartbreak, caringly stitched clothing from skins for Adam and Eve, but he also banished them from the garden. You and me, we don't live in Eden anymore. We will all experience suffering and loss, and it is in fact necessary for finding our authentic selves. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">My heart might split clean open thinking about this happening to any of my children. And yet, I know that it will. And even yet, I know that their greatest wounds might one day be their greatest accomplishments, greatest stories of redemption, and greatest platform for the empowerment of others. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ephesians 2:10 says, "For we are God's Masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago." I am His Masterpiece. You are His Masterpiece. We are His finest work that this world scratches and dents and shatters, and over and over again, God tenderly pieces our fallen fragments together, creating us into better versions of ourselves.</span></span><br />
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We are left with the question of how we go from being shattered to being a mosaic - beautiful in our brokenness and stunning in our wholeness. The answer I'm convinced lies in revelling in God's love.</div>
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<span style="color: #252525;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">Erika Morrison's words say it best:</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #252525;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #383838; font-family: "gotham" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.99999237060547px; white-space: normal;">.<i>..I'm convinced that our job as parents is not to protect our kids from human experience - the double-edged sword that will cut them wide open - but to give them the tools that will help them make a resurrected return, again and again, to the brilliant allure of the divine gaze, the tools to know that any stare other than the divine gaze is not the true story and that finding themselves in the gaze is the foundation of self-knowledge.</i></span></span></span></blockquote>
So, I will unashamedly ask my children to look for God in their world and in themselves. I will walk with them through hurts and help them face their fears. I will teach them to hold His gaze, because in it lies freedom and wholeness and a 6 year old girl laughing at statistics and dancing furiously for the rest of her days.<br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-89349325515582832332016-05-12T20:14:00.001-07:002016-12-02T12:18:03.111-08:00On Art<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hate the term </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christian artist</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Am I an artist who is Christian or a Christian who is an artist?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Why must we be labeled?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And why, in our society, does that label provoke people to think then that our art is lesser than?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Why have we opened the door to that being true a lot of the time?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am a passionate woman, a follower of Jesus, wife, mother, dancer, writer, lover of people and beautiful things. Being a Christian is who I am. It is inseparable with what I create. Being an artist is what I do. I don’t think about trying to craft Christian art…I simply open myself up to create. What comes out is the manifestation of God in me, communicating through me. I can’t take God out of me, and therefore can’t take God out of my art, whether or not I intend for it to be inherently “Christian.” Most of the time, it’s just a smattering of bits and pieces of my story, mixed with movement and emotion and truth, sprinkled with grace. I offer it (or not) and God does what He will with it. Sometimes, it’s surprising. The things you think aren’t your greatest work often impact people the most - maybe that’s just because I finally got out of the way and let God. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But please don’t label me. I am an artist - for God, with God, by God, through God. I am an artist. I see the world magnified. I feel deeply the in-betweens and the underneaths. I long to interpret and make sense of this world. Dance is simply my medium, my body is my instrument, and being Christian, well, that’s just understood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Twyla Tharp wrote, “– Without passion, all the skill in the world won’t lift you above craft. Without skill, all the passion in the world will leave you eager but floundering. Combining the two is the essence of the creative life.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’d like to replace the word <i>passion</i> with <i>God</i>, if you will, Twyla. It would then read, “– Without [God], all the skill in the world won’t lift you above craft. Without skill, all the [God] in the world will leave you eager but floundering. Combining the two is the essence of the creative life.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We must have both. Artists of God, we must have both…or else we risk being labeled or stigmatized. And then, our art tends to be blocked from reaching the very people who need it most. Be salt and light. Be dancers. Be writers. Be painters. Be free to explore your faith, free to worship, or free to just move. Be impactful. Be inspirational. Be artists.</span></div>
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-45011698603508411682016-05-03T11:14:00.003-07:002016-12-02T12:18:24.980-08:00lastsPippa fell asleep in my arms last night. After a scorcher of a day, her upstairs room felt more sauna than nursery, and we sweated together as she drank her bottle and I rocked her. She rarely is asleep before I put her in the crib, but last night her little eyes grew heavy in the heat and she drifted off. I was hot. She was hot. But I didn't want to let this moment pass. I wanted to savor it. Every day she's a little bit older. <br />
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With my first two kids, I was so aware of their firsts. First time sitting up, first time crawling, first word. With her, I'm more aware of her lasts. Last time nursing, last time sleeping in her bassinet, last time falling asleep in my arms. The tricky thing about a last, though, is you often don't know it happened until after it passed. There's often not a cheering contingent like there is on those first steps. It drifts by silently, unseen by most. Unseen even by me until I look back and think, when was the last time I carried my six-year old on my hip? I have no idea, but I know that she certainly doesn't fit there anymore. When was the last time I carried her that way? When was the last time I spoon fed my son or rocked him to sleep? <br />
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When my oldest was a baby, I felt like it would never end. I was wrapped up in this whole transition to motherhood with a colicky baby, and the days ticked by ever so slowly. That season felt endless and I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. Then one day, I woke up and that season was over. One day, she stopped crying and one day, she started sleeping, and one day, she became a little girl. I think we have to go through that with our firsts, to understand that while it seems like it will never end, it does. It changes. For good, for bad. It changes. And especially, just when you feel like you've got it figured out. It changes. <br />
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Normally, at bedtime, our goal is to get kids into bed as quickly as possible. Sure we read to them and pray with them, and maybe even snuggle them a little if they ask, but in my head I'm usually ticking time down and thinking about those dishes that need to be done or how badly I just want to sit on the couch and veg out after a long day in front of a tv show. So, I keep a running tally, score, if you will, as each one makes his or her way into dreamland. Pippa's down! 1-0. Leif's down! 2-0 Scout's not down! 2-1. One more glass of water. One more tuck in. Finally Scout's down 3-0! And the crowd goes wild!!! <br />
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Last night though, I wasn't keeping score. I felt the enormity of her little soul snuggled in my arms, and I didn't want it to end. Soon enough, my arms won't encircle her entire body and I won't be her everything. So, I must remember to slow down. To stop. To breath in her sweet smell and these sweet moments when I can. Moments where time stops and I can really see and feel and smell and taste how good my life is. Last night was one of those. Beautiful sleeping baby in my arms.<br />
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<!--End mc_embed_signup-->Tiny Uprisingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17804173109257564450noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3937323156730746578.post-21418524605623682902016-04-27T19:28:00.000-07:002016-12-02T12:18:41.370-08:00learning to ski and other thingsA few years ago, we decided that we wanted to really value time together as a family and place high priority on having time for just the 5 of us to connect and have fun together, away from our normal lives. <br />
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As part of that commitment, we recently went skiing for a week over spring break. I have long had this vision of our family all skiing together one day when the kids are older, and cultivating a fun, outdoors, athletic, and bonding thing we can as a family. <br />
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My husband grew up skiing. I did not. You should know that before this week, I'd been skiing exactly 2 times: one day in 2000 and one day in 2010. You should also know that I do not like to do things that I do not do well. I'm a perfectionist in the worst way, and if I know that I'm not going to be the best at something, I don't even want to attempt it. Hence, as an adult, I do not like to try new things. I abhor it. I want to stick with what I know and not go through the pain or (ahem) embarrassment of being a beginner.<br />
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Unfortunately, though, following through on my vision means I have to learn something new. <b>The thought of sharing this experience as a family and with my kids trumps any pride or insecurity I have about learning a new skill. I have to overcome my fear of falling, of failing, of people all around me knowing that I have no freaking clue what I'm doing.</b><br />
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I was able to ski three days that week, and while Ryan was with me the whole time, I spend a lot of time swimming around in my own head as I made my way down the mountain. I literally had a running internal voice saying, "Weight on your upper edges, shift your weight, turn!, edges, shift your weight, don't fall down, I'm out of control, stay up, stay up!, don't run into me, my knees hurt, don't hit that woman, you can go faster, you can do this, ouch, get back up, snow down my shirt!!, keep going, watch that bump, which way?, I made it!" Yes, literally. Audible voice in my head saying all this stuff. Someone ring the crazy gong. <br />
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On day two, I had improved about 300 percent from day one, and there were actually times that I was having fun and not having to work so hard. We stuck mostly to green runs, and I could feel myself relaxing as I mastered more technique and could enjoy what I was doing and take in the beautiful scenery. And then I did what I always do. I mentally pressed myself. "Greens are not good enough. When will you master blues? When will you be an amazing skier and conquer black diamonds?"<br />
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<b>Wait. Stop. When did skiing become something to conquer instead of something to enjoy? </b><br />
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Then the thought came to me that skiing green runs was not failure or something I should be ashamed of. That maybe learning to ski for me was more a lesson of learning to enjoy myself and accepting where that falls. Of being satisfied with fun and easy and not feeling the need to push and push and push and then quit because mastering a black diamond seems so out of reach. Why does a black diamond have to be the ultimate goal here? Why can't skiing a green and loving the heck out of that be the ultimate goal? Why can't just having fun be the ultimate goal?<br />
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<b>I want to find pleasure in something by simply doing it, without comparison or self-sabotage. To be so ok with simply being ok at something. This is new for me and it feels weird and rebellious in a refreshing kind of way. </b><br />
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I learned to ski. But really, I learned so much more than that.<br />
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