tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27509662527948918902024-03-13T08:08:13.473-07:00Denton SanatoriumThere's Room at the Innjenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.comBlogger1932125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-11446173978635909692020-05-30T21:30:00.002-07:002020-05-30T21:30:32.452-07:00Being Black in America<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know what it's like to be black in America.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what it’s like to watch your child thrown into a police car and detained unfairly as spectators duck their heads and refuse to refute the police.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what it’s like to tell the police the truth—and have them not believe you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what it’s like to read police reports and watch body cam footage and hear the police fudge the truth to fit their narrative for arrest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what it’s like to reach out to the press to get the truth of your story to the public, have the public rally for a day or two in support—and then have it all disappear when daily life becomes much more pressing because “it’s really none of my business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what it’s like to have police officers sent to your house to interrogate your child for an alleged comment made by someone with no substantiated evidence and wonder if your child would be arrested again for an unsubstantiated claim—while you were across the ocean and powerless to help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what it feels like to be helpless, not having the law or common sense or power behind you when the law and common sense and those in power should be behind you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>But I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe this is why I feel so outraged by Aubery, Cooper, and Floyd. I, too, have lost my idealized vision of police officers always having the public good and justice as their primary mission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the bottom line is<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br />I don’t know what it’s like to be black in America.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t know what it’s like to face this discrimination and violence and injustice every day because of the color of my skin. In my own home. Walking down my own street. Shopping at my local market. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I certainly don’t know what it’s like to lose your life over a counterfeit $20. Or over taking a jog in your neighborhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I want to lend my voice and my support and my outrage to this cause, but I don’t know how. Tears. Rage. Social media.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is too little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I will not stand silently by.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-4659295060045108872020-05-07T09:31:00.000-07:002020-05-07T09:31:12.744-07:00Quarantine Snapshots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's funny how everything seemed novel and exciting at the beginning of quarantine, and now it's all become routine and less photo- and blog-worthy.</div>
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Social distance swimming</div>
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I know that life will return to normal and I'll forget these moments one day. Now they all seem too real and I'm frankly sick of most of it.<br />
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These little ones love to check the eggs and visit the chickens.<br />
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Caroline isn't even two, and she will pick up that white chicken (Gladys) like she owns the place!<br />
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Annie's favorite part is collecting eggs. Look at that girl! She's growing up fast!<br />
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There is nothing cuter than a little toddler girl with her first pigtails! These lasted approximately 2.5 seconds after the picture was taken.<br />
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-20359199497568641732020-04-23T08:55:00.000-07:002020-04-23T08:55:12.142-07:00My Love/Hate Relationship with Quarantine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Is it possible to both love and hate quarantine?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I miss being alone. I crave alone time as a flower craves sunlight and water. I need time to refuel and think and plan and recuperate. But . . .</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">. . . I love being with my family all the time. I love uninterrupted family dinners and family movie nights and family bike rides and family work projects.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I miss schedule. I miss being accountable to obligations that relieve some of the pressure on me to get things done. But . . . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLLK0UKTDs3Az9emQp3e4NvigFS5vPHG6dJdhm1MMP835ANdRm-14ToqF2u0wkLmnHf5ZOMCuWUv7RQEKjjevOIE2YbXzxMJBX16-gyPiPaNBtsyLVw4H7X6ldnGLyoBFpVWSWeLfo0rM/s1600/IMG_1732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLLK0UKTDs3Az9emQp3e4NvigFS5vPHG6dJdhm1MMP835ANdRm-14ToqF2u0wkLmnHf5ZOMCuWUv7RQEKjjevOIE2YbXzxMJBX16-gyPiPaNBtsyLVw4H7X6ldnGLyoBFpVWSWeLfo0rM/s640/IMG_1732.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">. . . I love having less to do—less kid homework, fewer kid activities, no church obligations, school-year weekdays that can be movie nights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvTLlLg3LpPd4dQwLVBgd06gphKSxYC2gcIwZ2lcH7KIb-SjJwV9OBCFFci38YC7ticwCIvLW2SZhWWyQL2btdFSZ_ozoGt1tVhxoBlosEd-Cc5sfwOQEcwPfGFjYyBbpUppppdSvdLGQ/s1600/IMG_1687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvTLlLg3LpPd4dQwLVBgd06gphKSxYC2gcIwZ2lcH7KIb-SjJwV9OBCFFci38YC7ticwCIvLW2SZhWWyQL2btdFSZ_ozoGt1tVhxoBlosEd-Cc5sfwOQEcwPfGFjYyBbpUppppdSvdLGQ/s640/IMG_1687.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">I miss the kids’ school. I miss teachers that direct their learning and grade their work and know where they should be in each subject. But . . . </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNzV6bUSinpRI4aUATf9WFrP4X1g_63hpjvMqRblKZPLE6oTo7c0X3eRKLUto7gJ9-CKRcRYKnOkhj2Y4yL5EiQSMYQearQF49WLkOLeCc-DQBwZN-P8Eps1eGVBQW-fa6POyuzj7bU_EF/s1600/IMG_1843.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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNzV6bUSinpRI4aUATf9WFrP4X1g_63hpjvMqRblKZPLE6oTo7c0X3eRKLUto7gJ9-CKRcRYKnOkhj2Y4yL5EiQSMYQearQF49WLkOLeCc-DQBwZN-P8Eps1eGVBQW-fa6POyuzj7bU_EF/s640/IMG_1843.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">. . . I <span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">love less accountability. I like watching John Green’s “Crash Course” for history class or Mark Rober for physics or TED talks for English. I like “forcing” my kids to read books I think they should read then talking about them.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNff6U2xBgf8T1pZ1ITI8r_zJm87g716Uik_wckdFIg30J3nYtGF4GKKelDdobMQ56VMCfoAFIkuAG7dqQT_u92rrzGdbdUdG7ZPc7iA6nRApDQ5pObt-sS3rAu31kHqHSY82I2uJvaSum/s1600/IMG_1679.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNff6U2xBgf8T1pZ1ITI8r_zJm87g716Uik_wckdFIg30J3nYtGF4GKKelDdobMQ56VMCfoAFIkuAG7dqQT_u92rrzGdbdUdG7ZPc7iA6nRApDQ5pObt-sS3rAu31kHqHSY82I2uJvaSum/s640/IMG_1679.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I love morning scriptures in pjs and with no stress to "get moving."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone said recently, “Quarantine isn’t hard. Quarantine is inconvenient.” If what they meant was that I don’t have anyone dying or losing their job or suffering too badly from the closed economy, then yes—that’s inconvenient. If what they meant was that I can’t find powdered sugar for the four birthdays I have this month or find the right brand of toilet paper or sit down at a restaurant and movie for date night, then yes—that’s inconvenient.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But if what they meant was that this isn’t hard on families being together 24 hours a day EVERY DAY for weeks on end, then no—that’s hard. If they meant that it isn’t hard for kids to miss milestones, weddings, graduations, summer sports camps, even daily interaction with their friends, then no—that’s hard. If they meant that it isn’t hard to be solely responsible for your kids’ education without any firm direction from the school or curriculum to follow but they still have to log on daily and “learn,” then no—that’s hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If they meant that the government and health officials can say, “Humanity will survive this, but we don’t know how long it will take for us to flatten the curve, so hang on and we’ll let you when you’ve sacrificed enough income and enough social interaction and enough funerals and births and graduations and weddings,” then no—that’s hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Forgive me if I think that this is inconvenient. And that it’s a blessing. And that this is hard. And that it’s good.</span></span></div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-27609874263520698412020-04-22T07:53:00.000-07:002020-04-22T07:54:58.349-07:00Uncle Micah<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Micah always makes time for his nieces and nephews. I wanted to always remember this exchange one Sunday evening during the golden hour between Micah and Eli.</div>
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Micah invited the little guy into the hammock with him so they could swing and talk about the deep things of the world.</div>
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Eli's mind is very unusual for a three-year-old, and that deep thinking leads to many funny conversations. This time, Micah was explaining to him what it's like to live on Venus and that you'd burn up on the surface. Eli didn't quite believe Micah until he'd received corroborating evidence from other adults.</div>
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I love this part of Micah's personality. He's really got a soft spot for the little one, just like his two older brothers, my brother, and my dad.<br />
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It will make him a great dad one day.<br />
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Just like it has his older brothers.<br />
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Eli didn't want to leave the provocative conversation with Micah, so Tucker threw him over his shoulders, teasing that Eli was his prisoner, and forcing the screaming kid into his carseat to go home to bed.<br />
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-7077883708379247092020-04-21T07:58:00.003-07:002020-04-22T07:55:28.760-07:00Quarantine Navel Gazing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I miss who I used to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Quarantine killed her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe “kill” is a strong word. Quarantine forced her into hiding. That’s closer to what I hope is true. I hope she comes back. I miss her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I miss jumping out of bed before 5:30 every day, ready to exercise and set goals and plan the day. My planner that I love has empty days and blank pages. My graphs and charts so painstakingly created in January are not updated . . . and April 2020 Jenny can’t care. I feel more fragile and merely a shadow of what I was before. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Before quarantine.</div>
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I miss wanting to eat the best food for my body and mind. I can’t find that motivation anywhere. When I turned 50, I was in the best shape (mentally and physically) I’ve been in in years. Now quarantine sags over my pants, tightens my bra, and softens my features and self-discipline. All the great habits I created in 2019 dissolved one by one . . . and I did nothing to stop it from happening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I miss direction. I knew exactly where to take my thesis and had a plan prepared for life when I finished writing it in November. Now it all seems unimportant and peripheral.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I miss control. Knowing what was happening and when and where and managing my family’s task list centered me and gave me purpose. Now that I am solely responsible for school, exercise, chores, screen time, and mental health—I’m exhausted, and I want to stop being the manager. I want to quit but know that that is not the right choice for my (or my family’s) sanity and growth during this weird period in our lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Funny enough, I know what I’ve been doing to get through this period of self-isolation (eating all. the. things—and I mean ALL—sleeping late, postponing exercise and journaling until it’s too late in the day) does not make me happy, even temporarily. But there’s something in the quarantined air that fights against my goals and convinces me that none of that other stuff really matters.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I made a decision tonight. I’m going to find 2019 me—the me who plans and wakes up early and takes care of body and mind and revels in making and achieving even small goals. She’s somewhere under the murky sediment dumped from the great pandemic of 2020, a deep layer already solidifying and attempting to make itself permanently comfortable in my psyche. But guess what? I’m in control of where this goes and how. I control how I feel and how I react and how I move and how I fuel my mind and body. I control what I read and what I believe and how I react to the uncontrollable, ever-changing crazy that surrounds me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m a fighter. I haven’t been for the last five weeks, but she’s making a comeback.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know, Mufasa.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-82937186880811553022020-04-20T06:31:00.001-07:002020-04-20T06:31:24.471-07:00Tending the Vineyard<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Are you appreciating one small benefit from the quarantine--and that's the captive labor force?</div>
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Not only have my kids helped with more projects, but they have also done so with less complaining.</div>
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Last year, Brad didn't have time to thin the peach tree, and it split, losing a sizable branch. This year we enlisted all the troops to help.</div>
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It didn't take that long and they had pretty good attitudes most of the time.<br />
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It's been so beautiful around here lately, but 100-degree temperatures are headed our way probably by Monday.<br />
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-34758373953110286432020-04-15T06:29:00.002-07:002020-04-15T06:29:49.185-07:00Whistle While You Work<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We've had a cleaning crew every Tuesday for longer than Hyrum has been alive.</div>
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I know. I'm spoiled.</div>
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Every Monday night we pick up the house, and every Tuesday afternoon when the kids come home from school, the house is magically clean.</div>
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Four weeks ago was our last cleaning service. As they walked to their cars, the boss said this would be their last time until the pandemic/social isolating is over.</div>
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My kids were less than thrilled when I told them they were my new Tuesday morning cleaning crew.</div>
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Don't get me wrong. They know how to clean (as well as most intransigent kids are) and they did all the chores on Saturday. Cecy and her crew mostly did my work for me--beds, blinds, baseboards, etc., plus a middle-of-the-week cleaning that got us through to Saturday each week when the kids half-baked it. In the back of my mind I'd often thought that I was doing their future spouses a disservice by having a cleaning crew, but they inherited their laziness and job avoidance from somewhere, and I never got around to teaching them the fine art of cleaning a house top to bottom in one day.<br />
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I told them they could split the money I pay Cecy and her crew, and they begrudgingly agreed that Tuesday mornings would be a break from school and an introduction to paid jobs.<br />
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The first week was a little rough. It took much longer than they thought and it wasn't as thorough as I thought. But the second week we got into a little better rhythm.<br />
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They did a great job the second time--the key is music they all like, I discovered.</div>
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Yesterday was not the sing-song rosy experience of last week. One anonymous member of my crew lamented, "WE DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! YOU ARE MAKING US DO THIS!" Yep. It was a little bit rough. Blame it on quarantine emotions, right?</div>
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I don't know how many weeks it will take for them to figure out that stuffing wrappers and dirty dishes under the couch just creates MORE work later. Maybe this will be the week. Lucky for them (and for ME--sarcasm font required here) we have at least a few more weeks to figure it all out. </div>
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Thank you, COVID-19 and your quarantine, for giving me the opportunity to further teach/torture my children.</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-88657604182956660342020-04-13T06:56:00.000-07:002020-04-13T06:56:06.636-07:00EVE DENTON<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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With the absence of real school every day, private personal learning has become even more valuable. Eve is still working with our favorite teacher of all-time, now retired and teaching kids at home. Her recent assignment was to create a photo collage to represent every letter in her name. Eve took this assignment very seriously, stressing over each image and whether it could be discerned by the other kids on the Zoom call. See if you can guess . . . </div>
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(This letter has two pictures)</div>
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Just in case you struggled through, here's the key.<br />
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I've always appreciated LMK for her work but never more than now.<br />
Quarantine has created its own rhythm, and sometimes it's relaxing and good, and other times it's a slog. Thanks for giving Eve something to look forward to each week.</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-58619986012388134832020-04-11T09:28:00.002-07:002020-04-11T09:31:01.766-07:00Holy Saturday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yesterday was Good Friday. And it was so good for our family. We participated in the Worldwide Fast to combat COVID-19 and it was a subtle, bonding experience for all of us. We have faith that miracles await us, including miracles inside that change our hearts and draw us closer to God.</div>
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When I woke up this morning, I couldn't shake the feeling that today was the darkest of the dark days for Christ's followers. Until His body was off the cross and in the tomb, I'm sure someone held out hope that He would wield powers from heaven and smite the Romans and the Jewish leaders with lightning and God's wrath.</div>
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But that didn't happen.</div>
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How would that feel? To place all of your trust and faith and freedom in a Man. . . and for it to die, just like any other person who ever lived? Rome beat the King. Judah beat the King.</div>
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He lost. And they lost.</div>
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That must have been the most confusing and painful Sabbath ever for Christ's followers. It was the Sabbath of the Passover--supposed to be their holiest celebration season of the year. And it wasn't. How could it be? </div>
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I pass this prickly pear cactus on my daily walk, and most of the time I see the spines and potential pain. But this time of year, it's almost ready to bloom, loaded with the potential to be something beautiful. No one knows the day that it will change, but when it does, it is beautiful.</div>
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Christ's followers thankfully only had to wait one excruciating day and two nights before the miracle. Christ was King. He defeated not only the Romans and the Sanhedrin but the greatest foe we all face.</div>
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Our current circumstance is much like this tea rose that has intertwined its thorny and blossoming self with the cactus--two spiny plants that in spring share their beauty with the world, but beware the thorns.<br />
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How can I make this time in history not so dark for me personally? How can I focus on hope and the future and the flowers? That's what I'm looking for today on this dark Saturday when the tomb was still sealed, the heavens were silent, and Christ's people were broken in a way I will never understand. The miracle was happening behind the stone, just as it must be today.<br />
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That Holy Saturday must have been the darkest day in all human history for believers. Yet, as <a href="https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2006/10/sunday-will-come?lang=eng">Joseph B. Wirthlin so beautifully said, Sunday came</a>. Not everyone who knew of Jesus's death witnessed or even believed the miracle of His resurrection. But for the believers, it was glorious, faith-affirming, and life-altering.</div>
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This fast will have the same reaction. Some will see God's hand in the results. Others will justify them away or refuse to believe anything even happened. That's ok.</div>
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No one celebrates the Saturday. No one makes special meals or sings special songs. It's just the day in between the worst and the best. And that's where we are right now--almost to the solution, almost to the end, almost to the miracle--waiting for what is bound to be glorious and hard and beautiful.<br />
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I'm going to celebrate the Holy Saturday today. I'm going to remember those people who loved and lost not only their Savior but their friend, their brother, their son, their teacher, and leader. I'm going to mourn with them as they must have mourned, just as I mourn with the world today and those who are sick, have lost loved ones, or are fighting every day to find vaccines, tests, and cures. But the difference between them and me is that I know the end of the story. I know the miracle of Sunday.<br />
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Sunday will come for us, too.<br />
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-47612012640302705202020-04-10T11:49:00.003-07:002020-04-10T11:53:00.398-07:00Sewing Lesson in Quarantine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've always felt like I needed to teach my kids how to sew like my mom taught me. But . . . I never really did. Mom has taught a few my kids to use a machine, but I only remember one sewing project one time I completed with one of my kids . . . until coronavirus.</div>
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On Wednesday, I taught my kids to sew.</div>
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How to sew masks.</div>
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They were crudely cut, not very carefully sewn, and unappreciated for the skills taught.<br />
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Well, unappreciated by one, who will remain nameless.<br />
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And we wore those inexpertly created masks to the store yesterday. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy-xKsA_FhWg-yRfpJnHN8xbhJI8mgUF09bWhKvPxlbemQ_KQS9WAU6awtnNFmsThftHpAZNgMA0Vw4opxE3A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I was surprised (since I haven't been out in a week) that so few people were actually wearing masks--about 25%, I'd guess.<br />
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I don't know how I feel about masks, to be truthful. Wear them to protect yourself, and you're stupid. Wear them to protect others from your germs, and you're community-conscious. I don't know exactly why we wore them or what I think about them. I do know that we are encouraged to limit the number of people who go to the store, but I find it important to occasionally show my kids what is happening around them. How the stores went from crazy zombie apocalypse to returning more to normal this week. They've been to the stores with me a total of twice, and that has been good for them to get out (for us ALL to get out). And I'm glad they learned a new life skill . . .<br />
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I can't explain how I feel about all this. Weird is the only word that keeps coming from my lips and that is woefully inadequate to describe what is going on.<br />
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And on and on and on.</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-33198370532321724562020-04-10T11:15:00.001-07:002020-04-10T11:15:48.876-07:00General Conference During Quarantine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I don't know if I've ever anticipated General Conference like I did this time. I didn't demand the kids take notes, but instead we just sat and listened as they did silent activities alongside my note taking. I will admit that my notes were less feverish this time and more inspired.<br />
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We have a few GroupMe threads in our ward, one of which addresses food issues during the quarantine. When I voiced concern (complained) that I had three birthdays and cinnamon rolls this month and needed powdered sugar, this bag appeared overnight on my doorstep. We live in a good world.<br />
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And here we are today--April 10th--fasting along with many in the world as directed by a prophet. Fasting that the effects of the pandemic will be weakened. That economies will rebound. That caregivers will be safe. And that our lives can normalize.<br />
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I know President Nelson is a prophet. I wonder what the effects of this worldwide fast will be, as the coronavirus pandemic creeps closer and closer to home. I know prayer is powerful, and I hope this joint effort yields an incredible blessing on our world, now and in the next few months, because I anticipate reentry will not be easy.</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-52400824407881933162020-04-07T07:28:00.001-07:002020-04-07T07:28:44.839-07:00And the Walls Came A Tumblin' Down<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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During every General Conference weekend as long as I can remember my kids have built cup towers. They began with the tiny single-swallow cups from preschool then progressed to the 10-oz. size. It keeps them occupied, quiet, and listening through ten hours of talks and music, so I accommodate them by keeping them stocked in supplies.</div>
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Eve created this one, and when the tower grew beyond her reach, she enlisted Hyrum's help. </div>
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Then it fell, as cup towers are wont to do.</div>
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And they began again, with the clear cups this time. It took them about twenty minutes to rebuild it, and then it reached heights that only Micah's monkey arms could reach.<br />
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Don't mind Hyrum standing on the counter . . .<br />
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They did it! They built a tower that touched the ceiling. Hyrum had to create a special cup to squeeze into the last few inches. Pretty cool, right?<br />
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Well, Mom decided that she needed this to be a teaching moment. She should have known better than to try and teach math, right? She asked them to figure out how many cups were in the tower. There's a formula to use, and after Dad taught them the formula, Micah calculated that there were 406 cups in the tower. Hyrum did it a little longer way, and he also came up with 406 cups.<br />
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Mom elected to count the cups and see if indeed there were 406 cups in the tower.<br />
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And Dad happened to capture that devastating moment when . . .<br />
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. . . either my skirt or my notebook caught one of the lower levels . . .<br />
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. . . and the entire thing crashed to the ground.</div>
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I've never felt so bad.<br />
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Guess it was a good thing that Mom knocked it down and not one of the kids, right? They were pretty forgiving of their klutzy mom . . . but no one built another tower for the rest of conference.</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-69280735947977932202020-04-06T06:23:00.001-07:002020-04-06T06:23:35.226-07:00#20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Birthday #2 in quarantine.<br />
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Lily turned 20 on Saturday.<br />
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My girl has grown up. Quarantine has been hard for her--she's on leave from her job and there isn't much to do (and she is a DO-ER!), but she played with the kids and got Claussen pickles. So what more could a gal ask for?<br />
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Love you, Jane.</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-38151442593375567132020-04-04T07:45:00.002-07:002020-04-04T07:45:47.865-07:00Quarantine Snapshots<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There's been joy in this roller coaster journey. Small snapshots into what really matters.<br />
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I've been more aware of the light, watching how it changes my mood and affects my world.<br />
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People have gotten more creative. My neighbor set up a fun scavenger hunt for many of the kids on our street for the morning of St. Patrick's Day. That was when this all seemed new and fun and temporary.<br />
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My kids were pretty creative at the beginning as well. Eve made an Amazon box into a car that parked on our back patio for a week.</div>
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Hyrum used the wax surrounding a Babybel cheese as a seal on a letter requesting game time, and Eve wrote us the sweetest note. She frequently drops notes around the house for me, and I hope she never outgrows it.</div>
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I bought a new plant at the grocery store. Brad noticed water on it one day but didn't think anything of it . . .<br />
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. . . until he saw it again the next day. When I googled the plant, we discovered that this plant "weeps" when it's overwatered, but that it doesn't hurt it since it's native to the rainforest. See the drip on the end of the leaf here? Cool, right? I'd never heard of that.</div>
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Early in our quarantine adventure, I took the kids out to buy a few more pittisporum for our yard. It's funny how just looking at this photo from three weeks ago makes me feel like somehow we were doing something "wrong." </div>
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God blessed us with an incredible rainstorm. AZ kids love the rain and never pass up a chance to run around in it--because it's usually warm. Not this time. But that didn't prevent them from getting soaked and laughing.</div>
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I took my fiddle leaf fig trees out, but the storm quickly blew them over and ripped a few of their leaves, sadly.</div>
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We are lucky that we get to spend quarantine with the Johnsons, the cute family that lives in our guest house. We share the yard and otter pops and and goldfish crackers and card games almost every afternoon. It keeps all of us a little more sane.<br />
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One afternoon they set up an obstacle course in the back yard, and Eve was the photographer.<br />
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Marc is the cool dad, and they even went camping in the backyard one night. Ruby stuck her head out and yelled, "GOODNIGHT JEN!" before they zipped it up for the night.<br />
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Strangely it was one of the coldest nights we had in March, and halfway through the night, Marc had to put on the rain fly so the little people didn't freeze.<br />
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There's been a lot of reading in this house that loves books and stories.<br />
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Tucker's family has been here most days, but that is the extent of our exposure to the outside world--six little people and their four parents. It's strange that the world has shrunk to that now.<br />
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We began our quarantine with lots of bike rides along the canal, but those have slowly lost their allure.<br />
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I was laid up after a minor bike crash a few weeks ago, but I'm back exercising and running along the canal I love. Before long, it will be hot and I won't be able to run any time of the day.</div>
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We watched this pair of ducks for weeks, hoping to see babies following along between them, but it looks like they either didn't lay eggs this spring or that none of them hatched. That idea made Eve very sad for the poor mama duck. And me, too.<br />
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I'm very grateful that Target has been deemed an essential store. I can get groceries and essentials (in theory, but still have yet to see TP on any shelf anywhere since this whole craziness descended) and chocolate-covered Peeps, since Target is the only place I've ever seen them.</div>
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Admittedly, I've purchased way more than my share of these delectable creations.</div>
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I've watched the night sky closer as well, since I lock the feathered ladies in their coop every evening. There's such peace in the transition from flaming color to darkness, and often I stand out there for a moment to remember how good life really is, despite all the crazy inconvenience and fear and everything else.</div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-80572259703443153612020-04-03T09:26:00.003-07:002020-04-03T09:26:35.359-07:00A Dog's Life in Quarantine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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How's Cleo handling this whole quarantine scene? Much like the rest of us.<br />
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She gets so happy when someone walks by or comes in the front door.<br />
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But most of the time, she sits just inside the threshold and watches. (It's been gorgeous weather here, so we've had the door open much of the time--makes me feel not so closed in.)<br />
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She loves the spot of sunshine just inside the doorframe, and she will stay there for hours. Even when Amazon or UPS approach the house with a package, she remains there, still and quiet and unaffected by their presence. With the same delivery people coming all the time, they've learned to trust her and greet her before returning to their trucks.<br />
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She's also mystified by the arrival of our nine new feathered ladies. She knows she can't go in Brad's raised beds, so she watches from the other side, sometimes placing her feet on the bricks to get a better view of the chickens. She will run from gate to gate, peering at them and wondering what they're doing in her yard.<br />
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She waits expectantly for her people to emerge from the enclosure, never attempting to come through the gate, and never barking at the birds. It's strange, almost like she understands her world is separate from theirs and she has to keep her distance (such a quarantine metaphor there, but I'll let it pass).<br />
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She is the best dog ever. Even when I leave the gate slightly ajar while I'm feeding or collecting eggs or shutting the coop for the night, she stays on her side of the fence, patiently waiting for me to come back out to her.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhheNYM7JXJon2KbI872p8fOYYKdjW9E7OmkI1XDYdMv19K1YNnRVxf_8AJy9kUOYxJvV3bf08xrIoyQNQu3QD_gylJ90b4EZiTGxVbPzTf1oO8Af2X_FOsx-1LNyjl3eWghDNGgOlcN8/s1600/73EC96AA-7972-4239-96CF-1E97255D4602.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhheNYM7JXJon2KbI872p8fOYYKdjW9E7OmkI1XDYdMv19K1YNnRVxf_8AJy9kUOYxJvV3bf08xrIoyQNQu3QD_gylJ90b4EZiTGxVbPzTf1oO8Af2X_FOsx-1LNyjl3eWghDNGgOlcN8/s640/73EC96AA-7972-4239-96CF-1E97255D4602.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Lucky for both of us, we can still get in our ritual lap around the block every morning. No kids to greet her or ask to pet her or call her name from behind the school fence. No cars with dogs behind the glass. </div>
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Can she tell the world is different now? </div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-87176241422579264182020-04-02T07:02:00.003-07:002020-04-02T07:02:32.512-07:00Birthday in Quarantine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My baby boy became a teenager on Saturday. This kid is always building something or fiddling with something or improving the design on something--usually weapons or DND related.<br />
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One of the strange facets of quarantine is that it seems to deepen almost daily, and it wasn't as long-term last Saturday. School hadn't been cancelled for the rest of the year, so there was a possibility that seeing friends was on the fairly near horizon.<br />
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(Side note: Best April Fool's Day joke in a while was convincing all three kids that Governor Ducey had ordered they all repeat the grade they're in next year. Hyrum and Eve fully bought into it. Micah was incensed for a moment, then he realized what day it was and saw through me.)<br />
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Hyrum had such a good attitude about his birthday. He's suddenly looking older and acting older, still without the whole emotional teen hormone roller coaster, so I'll take that as long as I can get it.<br />
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Hyrum is funny, and not just in a "I'm-13-and-only-funny-to-other-13-year-olds" way. He's fun to be around and I enjoy his company.<br />
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Hyrum is thoughtful. He shares freely (with everyone but Eve, it seems). He thinks of others and completes small acts of service to make them happy.<br />
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For example, we have a young family living in our guest house, and since we share the yard and driveway and everything, we are all quarantined together. For Marc's birthday, Hyrum made him a lemon cake all by himself. I often wonder where this ability to see what people need without being asked will take him in his life. It really is a gift that blesses all of us.<br />
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Hyrum is learning how to interact with his older brothers on a new level. He's always been the baby brother with nothing important to add, but lately that field has been leveling out (along with the COVID-19 curve, right?). They are all becoming friends with each other, and it's incredible as the mom to watch that happen and see the foundation for their lifetime ahead as adult brothers. Chokes this mama up a little!<br />
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One thing that will really suffer during quarantine is his hair. We're only almost three weeks in, and look at it! I may have to break out my old haircutting buzzer . . . </div>
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Five more birthdays until he's an adult.</div>
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When did he change into a teenager? I still remember this little Rum Diddy:</div>
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Love you, buddy. </div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-3864814998389912392020-04-01T09:54:00.003-07:002020-04-01T09:54:49.298-07:00Parable of the Gardenia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yesterday, there was a 6.5 magnitude earthquake in Idaho.</div>
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Probably won't even make most news feeds, but that's a pretty significant quake--bigger than the one that just rocked Utah. </div>
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I couldn't stop thinking about it. Really? Another one? Can't the boat stop rocking for just a few days so I can recalibrate? </div>
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Last May, my favorite grocery store closed. Without warning, signs appeared on the shelves that prices were marked down because the store only had two weeks left before closing forever.</div>
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It sounds dramatic, but I was devastated. I've lived in the same neighborhood for 25 years, and I shopped primarily at that store for 24 years. They didn't have the lowest prices, but they had friendly staff that I knew by name, they always had what I needed, I knew the store without having to think, and they had the best floral department around. I could always count on them for quick arrangements for a friend's birthday or teacher appreciation day.</div>
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Ironically, the week before I discovered the store was closing, I took a risky step in my newly discovered plant love journey, and I bought a gardenia. I fell in love with gardenias the first time I smelled one--in my corsage for my senior prom. Thanks, Jeff May, for a lifetime infatuation with the heady fragrance and fragile blooms. And ever since moving to AZ, I've tried to grow my own. Gardenias do grow outside here, and Brad has planted at least a dozen bushes, but not one ever survived.</div>
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I've seen gardenias successfully grown indoors on social media, and (if you're a plant-lover, you understand this) since you can never have too many plants, I impulsively placed a healthy gardenia in my Safeway cart that day. It was covered in baby buds, and I was certain I could get at least one to bloom.</div>
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When I found out the store was closing, that little plant became emblematic of my dedication to my favorite store. I couldn't let it fail--somehow a bit of those connections I'd made over decades of sharing shopping experiences lived on in that tiny plant.</div>
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The plant painfully dropped each bud, and with every loss, my hope diminished a little bit more until no potential blossoms remained. </div>
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Brad told me I should get rid of the little gardenia bush because it would never blossom. But the little gardenia plant was healthy, so I kept it, mostly out of loyalty to my Safeway. I remained dedicated to watering and fertilizing and occasionally misting it, but no buds appeared.</div>
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Until February--nine months after I brought it home.</div>
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At one point, I counted ten new buds, and my hope resurfaced. Would they open this time? </div>
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The first few yellowed then dropped, just as it had before. And my hope ebbed once more.</div>
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Just before we left for our Spring Break vacation, I checked my gardenia. The buds were getting bigger, but still no flower. I trusted it to my neighbor and left for five days. </div>
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What happened while I was gone?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpDt6LUFfRVchre7rUJFv7c1HCQ69Zb85hSh_y8rL9IXvWYiOvE0ks-dRezu6NbdqCF179w6rutdAbHYcB2ew8a5gs9KdmAxBV1DvZ4qPqqZ4ziIKWX3diRv_iYP6Kzm1CT1_ECC1dZ4o/s1600/2FB83A3D-8930-4C29-B059-FD03AB2220A9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpDt6LUFfRVchre7rUJFv7c1HCQ69Zb85hSh_y8rL9IXvWYiOvE0ks-dRezu6NbdqCF179w6rutdAbHYcB2ew8a5gs9KdmAxBV1DvZ4qPqqZ4ziIKWX3diRv_iYP6Kzm1CT1_ECC1dZ4o/s640/2FB83A3D-8930-4C29-B059-FD03AB2220A9.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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My patience and diligence and hope bloomed!</div>
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Today (two weeks later) the first two blooms have blackened and shriveled, but two more have taken their place, with one or two left to still open.</div>
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My life right now feels like those long nine months of waiting with no change in sight. Hope buds then falls off again. Things level out then something else happens. And my hope in a return to life B.Q. (Before Quarantine) moves farther away.</div>
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But it won't last forever, right?</div>
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I've adjusted to new grocery shopping experiences (I still get a little sad when I drive by the carcass of the store). I got my much anticipated flowers--and they are so much sweeter and whiter and more fragrant than if it had bloomed last May.</div>
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There's always hope.</div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-32680511848698789412020-03-31T14:05:00.001-07:002020-03-31T14:05:28.281-07:00Verdict<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I keep telling myself that at least now we know what we're facing.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV4XtfU36r5ROEwEFz92yIjV_XbtcZG38_2zqt9Um580vf5a2Cnbi8iezHfk5y99pkmZU4jC5zTjQHx1JIwxRK8pdb9EfOYNmMDMeVKs0qaDAabaKr3kK2kMbyq-Gj9zKOu9Znrz7DtADy/s1600/FD4E0BC9-3078-4637-A52F-5B0652B61CF9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV4XtfU36r5ROEwEFz92yIjV_XbtcZG38_2zqt9Um580vf5a2Cnbi8iezHfk5y99pkmZU4jC5zTjQHx1JIwxRK8pdb9EfOYNmMDMeVKs0qaDAabaKr3kK2kMbyq-Gj9zKOu9Znrz7DtADy/s640/FD4E0BC9-3078-4637-A52F-5B0652B61CF9.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br />
I wrecked on my bike last week--hit my head pretty good, scraped up my arm, and embarrassed myself in front of a friend who witnessed the whole thing.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKiDixun_wEJSOiHD_f3qGIc0wAF7YO7x8qdnE592UJpLBd5F4Psku3czhIXhkbmVJgjU9H8ziEjuldZYalL8YWpCvKWUTEtOnyHwfaiTNIOFyfcuhTnXU2UAd6HZToKA82CBFyJD09OZ/s1600/5CAA6517-029F-44FB-8D9E-CB810E5977AC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKiDixun_wEJSOiHD_f3qGIc0wAF7YO7x8qdnE592UJpLBd5F4Psku3czhIXhkbmVJgjU9H8ziEjuldZYalL8YWpCvKWUTEtOnyHwfaiTNIOFyfcuhTnXU2UAd6HZToKA82CBFyJD09OZ/s640/5CAA6517-029F-44FB-8D9E-CB810E5977AC.jpeg" width="480" /></a><br />
The next morning I woke up with a pain in my back and realized I'd tweaked it in the wreck, and this sidelined my exercise for the rest of the week (but not my eating . . . ). I finally got back on the road yesterday morning, and while I was running, my watch erupted with GroupMe texts. I couldn't pull up the image and the texts were a little discouraging, but I determined to finish my run/walk before reading further.<br />
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Governor Ducey announced yesterday that AZ schools will be closed for the remainder of the school year.<br />
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Deep down I knew this was going to happen, but I'd recently convinced myself that the kids would get to return for at least a week or two to say goodbye to everyone and graduate and stuff.<br />
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Nope.<br />
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It's so difficult to express how all this makes me feel. Admittedly, I cried for a few minutes before I could make it into the house and tell the kids--especially Micah. High school is so social, and I knew it would hit him hardest. They took it pretty well, but its' going to be a LONG eight weeks.<br />
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Every day brings some new twist in this story, and I'm tired of it.<br />
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Now Micah has real school online (not that involved yet, but ramping up), and the little ones are scheduled to be online by Monday.<br />
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-7593901101877048722020-03-30T10:10:00.001-07:002020-03-30T10:11:43.258-07:00First Two Weeks of Social Distancing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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How two weeks of social distancing have played out at the Sanatorium:<br />
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The kids have responded miraculously well to it all. I'm sure that will wear off with time, but for the first two weeks, they got along beautifully. I do believe that one of the side effects of life coming to a virtual standstill is coming closer as families.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">We've learned together--these three have been pretty forgiving when it comes to learning from their mom.</span></div>
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I've made dozens of mistakes, and I don't know if they've learned very much, but they've each read and reported on at least one book not of their choosing (Micah--<i>Unbroken;</i> Hyrum--<i>Endurance</i>; Eve--<i>The Giver </i>and <i>Gathering Blue</i>). We've had a few attempts at math on Khan Academy, but with no direction from their teachers, I don't really know where to start them. We've watched Mark Rober every day and added in a little Crash Course US History from John Green. They're not progressing along a curriculum, but we have learned a few things.<br />
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The day we spent trying to make hexa-flexagons. Two hours and we finally got one to flip . . . </div>
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We've worshipped together--Sunday meetings are shorter than normal, but we've had sacrament meeting and Sunday School each week, thanks to videos from the church and members of our ward, and handouts and directions from local leaders and teachers.<br />
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We've watched movies together--almost every night. <i>UP</i>, <i>Captain Marvel, </i>even added in some classics like <i>Cool Runnings</i>.<br />
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We've also been to stores with many barren shelves, pieced together a few meals when what we wanted was missing, and waved to our friends from six feet away as they walk the neighborhood with their families.<br />
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This social distancing will get harder and harder, and I'm anticipating a small revolt this week.<br />
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We've worked together--dug a new foundation for our chicken coop and adopted ten new hens (one died after only a few days, but the rest seem to be acclimating well).<br />
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This is S'mores, the short-lived member of our flock.<br />
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Eve was so sad.<br />
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All of them are tame and beautiful and lay consistently.<br />
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They've been a fun new distraction/addition to our family.<br />
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We've played together--almost every afternoon the kids play a few games of "Cover your A$$ets with Marc and Ashley (they live in our guest house and since we live together, we count as family, right?).<br />
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It's been pleasant most of the time, to be honest. AZ spring weather is perfection, with the slight breezes perfumed with citrus. We've been on bike rides and runs and walks.<br />
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Sounds like heaven, right?<br />
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I don't know if I'd describe it as heaven, exactly. But it isn't hell, either.<br />
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As for me, I haven't made time for my schoolwork. I had a big assignment due last Monday, but it was an excuse letter. I've eaten all. the. things and I wrecked on my bike last Tuesday, which resulted in a very minor concussion and a tweaked back that has lingered till today. I'm hoping by tomorrow I can get back to exercising. But the eating is all my own fault. I'm a big stress eater, and there's been plenty of that intertwined with the Shangrila moments.<br />
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So. Many. Good-n-Plenty boxes.<br />
<br />
I don't know how I feel about all of the COVID-19 thing. We're following social distancing recommendations. We're fine financially. I wonder if this is all too much because of the economic toll. I wonder if this is all not enough because not everyone is following protocol and that will negate most of our efforts. I wonder if my neighbors are as strict with their kids or if they're stricter (and where should I be in that?). I wonder if someone I love will get the virus--and if that means I'll never see them again or is that just too doomsday and silly. I wonder how long can it continue and how much of our summer will be affected by this new reality we live every day.<br />
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It's a weird time, and life has changed in two weeks.<br />
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I can't say I hate it. But I don't love it either.<br />
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So strange.<br />
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-78285794007746145842020-03-27T10:42:00.001-07:002020-03-27T10:42:28.466-07:00Our Great COVID-19 Adventure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Stream of consciousness post with rights reserved to edit post-streaming . . .<br />
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Weird.<br />
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Life is just weird right now.<br />
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No school or date nights or random trips to Target or play dates or ball games or lessons.<br />
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Scary news stories and crazy news stories and factual news stories and fictional news stories.<br />
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But . . .<br />
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It's still the same in most ways.<br />
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Meals to prepare. Laundry to wash. Work to do. Bills to pay. Kids to hound. Research to complete.<br />
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I think that's what makes "social distancing" "sheltering at home" "quarantine" so hard to process. We don't know what's really expected of us except trying to continue our regular lives, which isn't really possible.<br />
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Full disclosure here:<br />
I've been up and down with this whole thing. Some days I've been pretty positive. Other days I dissolve into tears multiple times. Tears of fear. Tears of frustration. Tears of anger. Tears of inadequacy. Tears of when and how is this all going to end.<br />
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It's been rough, and yet strangely easy.<br />
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Maybe easy isn't the right word--simple.<br />
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COVID-19 forced me to simplify my life down to the most important.<br />
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The hardest part of the last (almost) two weeks of quarantine has been my inner struggle, not with mortality or contagion or even political leadership. I keep berating myself, questioning whether I'm doing this whole quarantine thing "right." Am I demanding enough of my kids academically? Are they having too much screen time? Should I be doing more with them individually and collectively? Was church good for them? Why can't I find time to (or make myself) work on my thesis, which now seems so peripheral and unimportant? Why am I eating all. the. things. and ignoring the habits that make me happy and sane?<br />
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I came to a "shut-the-front-door" realization today. Ready for it?<br />
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There is no right or wrong way to do this.<br />
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I was listening to <a href="https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/general-conference/2019/10/media/6092703651001?lang=eng">Dieter F. Uchtdorf's "Your Great Adventure"</a> this morning as I walked Cleo, and although I've listened to this talk a few times in the past months, hearing it for the first time with my newly honed COVID-19 ears brought fresh perspective to me.<br />
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"If you hesitate in this adventure because you doubt your ability, remember that [life] is not about doing things perfectly; it's about doing things intentionally. It is your choices that show what you truly are, far more than your abilities.<br />
"Even when you fail, you can choose not to give up, but rather discover your courage, press forward, and rise up. That is the great test of the journey.<br />
"God knows that you are not perfect, that you will fail at times. God loves you no less when you struggle than when you triumph.<br />
"Like a loving parent, He merely wants you to keep intentionally trying."<br />
<br />
Wow.<br />
<br />
That was it--the grounding I've been trying to find for the last few weeks.<br />
<br />
I've been looking at this all wrong.<br />
<br />
It's not about what my kids and family <i>accomplish</i> during this time. It's about what we <i>learn. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Adventures are full of intrigue and fear and wrong turns and villains and heroes. Some heroes willingly choose the adventurous path, but like Bilbo Baggins, we have been recruited into this COVID-19 adventure with little warning and no mental preparation.<br />
<br />
Remember, adventure tales are published in hindsight--after the hero <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lord_of_the_Rings:_The_Return_of_the_King">successfully throws the ring into Mordor</a> or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Endurance:_Shackleton%27s_Incredible_Voyage">rescues all the sailors from the ice-trapped <i>Endurance</i></a> or dies in a concentration camp, <a href="https://www.annefrank.org/en/anne-frank/who-was-anne-frank/">leaving behind journal entries for the world to see how normal life can be in abnormal circumstances</a>. It is the unusualness of the circumstances that makes something an adventure, not how grand the gestures or battles may appear.<br />
<br />
I needed to hear this talk today.<br />
<br />
I asked myself these questions:<br />
<br />
Have I been intentional with how we spend our time as our family in these circumstances?<br />
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Answer: Mostly. Sometimes it's a school video or a bike ride or securing the foundation of our chicken coop, but I've made intentional decisions most of the time. And I can't feel guilty that my research and personal habits have taken a temporary back seat to guiding my family through this adventure.</li>
</ul>
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Have I failed?</div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Answer: Yes. Lots. I've yelled and I've been lazy and I've fallen short so. many. times. And I've beaten myself up for it. </li>
</ul>
But the final question I keep asking myself is this: "When I look back on this time, what will I wish I would have done?" (Myquillyn Smith) and this follow-up question: Have I done THAT thing?<br />
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Answer: I don't know. I don't think I have done it enough, but I'm vowing from today forward to do that one thing.</li>
</ul>
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What is that one thing?</div>
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I've found inexplicable joy in the small moments, when I allow myself to see them. There has been a palpable peace here. Less fighting (oh, there still is some, don't get me wrong here). More camaraderie. Satisfaction in projects done together as our family. Small moments that are truly joyful because we are forced to choose each other over and over each day. To be truly honest, I don't hate quarantine, and I don't think my kids do, either, most of the time. I see it as a special, (hopefully) once-in-a-lifetime gift to slow down and just enjoy the little things for an extended period of time.</div>
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That's my one thing: Find the joy in the small moments. Record those moments--and have my kids record them as well. Be intentional with these small moments, whether it's an educational moment, a courage moment, a failure moment, a frustrating moment, a scary moment, a spiritual moment, a silly moment, a fun moment, or a serious, life-altering moment. Stop stressing the big stuff that won't matter 20 years from now when we all reflect on what life under COVID-19 quarantine was like. Teach them to be good human beings that care for one another and the world, and see joy in this crazy adventure.</div>
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We are living history right now. Experience it. Live it. Find joy in it.</div>
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What's your one thing? Are you going to do it?</div>
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Who's with me?</div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-35717783186079056382020-03-25T09:02:00.000-07:002020-03-25T09:02:04.665-07:00Last Leg of Spring Break<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The final stops on our Spring Break adventure were revisits to our favorite spots from the summer of 2012 when we lived in the cutest little farmhouse for three weeks. It truly was the greatest summer adventure we've ever had.</div>
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First stop was Watkins' Glen State Park. I figured it would be cold, but I didn't think it would still be closed for the season. I was so disappointed. I really wanted to hike the falls with the kids now that they're bigger and could have made the entire hike. We did go around to the picnic area so we could glimpse the lowest falls.</div>
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Just like the first time we went, the kids were obsessed with the quality and quantity of sticks. AZ kids don't see readily available sticks like this, and it's always fun to watch what they do with them.<br />
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This is a random picture from the Peter Whitmer farm . . . too bad Micah's eyes are closed. This was my favorite history stop because our guide/missionary was so awesome.<br />
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I also took no photos of consequence in Harmony, PA--except for the skeleton of this pine tree. When we were there eight years ago, Lily scaled it all the way to the top, easier than climbing a ladder. The boys really wanted to, and in hindsight, I should have let them. But we longer had access to a washer, and I knew they'd be covered in sap. Note to self: Sap is a small price to pay for a great memory, Mom.<br />
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Our final stop on our final morning was Wyalusing, PA.<br />
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Here's Hyrum trying to get a great pic for his Insta--but his brother couldn't resist a photo bomb in the back. That kid is always shaking his booty for some reason.<br />
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We stopped at this overlook so many times eight years ago. They're so big now.<br />
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We found that these kiddos loved to run and joke and play much more than they liked historical sites and learning. Whose kids? How can they be my kids???<br />
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Last stop: the grey house.<br />
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I wanted so badly to look inside, but someone is living there and no one was home.<br />
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So many memories in that house. I spent some of the best and worst times of my life in that little house, cocooned from the world with my four youngest kids. Catching fireflies at night and watching calves born during the day.<br />
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When the boys were little, they used to climb through this tunnel all the time. And (like the sap thing) Mom wouldn't let them this time. Lesson learned twice over.<br />
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So many memories here.<br />
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On our way out, we stopped at the rocky place to play on the slate slide one final time.<br />
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These kids are born explorers, and that inquisitiveness has only increased as they've gotten older.<br />
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I found my familiar perch to watch their excursion, taking the time to ponder on how much life has changed since that first trip. How the kids have grown. How I've grown--two years teaching and completed (almost) two master's programs. So different. And yet, all the rocks are the same. The farm is the same.<br />
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There is some deep thinking in there somewhere . . .<br />
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Eve has lately taken tons of selfies, experimenting with filters and color.<br />
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A little "Sunrise, Sunset"--when did she get so big?<br />
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More Eve pictures. Not the best of her mama, but I wanted to remember that she insisted on always sitting next to me on each flight.<br />
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Another funny memory: She drank more Sprite on this trip than ever in her life. And she also insisted on carrying that completely dead iPhone everywhere.<br />
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She took fake selfies with it and questioned whether TSA would take it if she left it in her pocket, thinking it was real. I love that she's ten and still pretends so much.</div>
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Our final flight from Philadelphia to Phoenix was a little weird. Trump had announced that European travel was being restricted/cancelled, but things were still vague. We found out the next morning that people had waited six-seven hours in customs lines at O'Hare that same night. Since Philadelphia wasn't accepting flights from Europe, the plane schedule was messed up. Instead of a basic, bare-bones American plane, we were treated to a big 787 fully decked to cross the ocean.</div>
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Eve was thrilled. Can you tell?</div>
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These three were bummed that they only had wireless headphones . . . till the flight attendant came by with corded ones. Movies for all for the last leg home.</div>
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Our flight landed in Phoenix after 11 pm, which was 2 am EST, and Eve didn't make it, despite all the tantalizing movie choices. (Disney dropped Frozen 2 the day before, and she took full advantage of it!) This may be the last time one of my kids sleeps in my lap. Some of this getting older is sad . . .<br />
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And with that, our adventure back East ended without fanfare, even though the entire world descended into crazy hoarding mayhem in our absence.</div>
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Maybe I'll blog some of my quarantine feelings sometime soon, but I've immersed myself in homeschool, schedules, more cooking than I like, and suppressing my stress in front of my kids whenever possible.</div>
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Oh, and eating all. the. things. Only Americans can be sent home for weeks with limited access to stuff and GAIN weight. Am I right?</div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-18271412025747375322020-03-20T08:44:00.001-07:002020-03-20T08:44:45.679-07:00Palmyra<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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These pictures were taken just a week ago--and yet it seems like years.</div>
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The primary destination of our trip was Palmyra, New York--an opportunity to visit the earliest sites in our church's history.</div>
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Joseph Smith's family home</div>
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The guide said three brothers would have slept in this bed . . . my boys would need a serious lesson on getting along in order to make that work.<br />
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The girls' room with my girl</div>
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We took the boys to the temple (in the background) earlier that morning--last time for the foreseeable future.<br />
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The Sacred Grove was still mostly dormant, but water ran everywhere as the winter snows melted and saturated the soil.<br />
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She picked this flower before she realized she wasn't supposed to. Not picking flowers for little girls is like not using sticks as swords for little boys.<br />
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We flattened this little crocus and taped it in a journal when we got home to preserve it forever.<br />
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Micah enjoyed some solitude in the grove--with very few people there, that was easy to do.<br />
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There were a few signs of spring pushing through the crackly brown carpet of leaves<br />
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These two tried to determine how old the tree was when chopped down.<br />
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Of course we would never deface one of the trees, but the kids did write their names in the dirt.<br />
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It was so beautiful there, even if it was still mostly dormant.<br />
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Next stop was the Hill Cumorah<br />
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These three took advantage of the clear steep hillside (and the fact that our AirBnB had a washer) to grass stain and muddy up their clothes. It was a beautiful cloudy day.<br />
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Final Church history stop for the day was the Grandin Press, where the Book of Mormon was first published.<br />
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By this point, they were all DONE with the sightseeing thing, but Dad insisted that we drive up to this random lighthouse on Sodu Bay.<br />
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Ironically, we all had a great time there--mostly because it's a summer vacation spot--and not a soul in sight.<br />
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Hyrum and Micah tried to get the perfect Insta shot . . .<br />
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And I tried to get a pic of all three of them along the pier, but Eve was too terrified to sit alongside them.<br />
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Micah, on the other hand, did dips between the pilings.<br />
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More Insta shots of Micah</div>
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For some reason, Eve tried to hide from me . . .<br />
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Hyrum's Insta pose. They both insisted on wearing their hoods--look more gangsta? Look more Tumblr? I don't know.<br />
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This was as close as Eve would get to the edge.<br />
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That long route to the lighthouse and walking along the pier as Brad flew his drone were some of the best moments of the entire trip.</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-64049358668838882392020-03-19T12:33:00.000-07:002020-03-19T12:33:42.281-07:00Portrait of Social Isolation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Eve's fifth-grade teacher arranged a zoom chat for her class today. Look how happy she was.</div>
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I listened to 20 fifth graders excitedly share what their lives have been like for the last few days, Showing off their pets and younger siblings, and chattering, chattering, chattering.<br />
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Her teacher patiently listened as they shouted over each other and discussed possible school ideas.<br />
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And it made me very, very sad.<br />
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I can't articulate it.<br />
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This is going to be long.<br />
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And hard.<br />
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And long.<br />
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Did I mention sad?</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-19524968647452223192020-03-17T10:23:00.001-07:002020-03-17T10:23:33.673-07:00Before the World Turned Upside Down<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A week ago today, life was relatively normal.<div>
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Why does it seem like a different lifetime?</div>
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I held a few reservations about our decision to travel for Spring Break, but it was more irrational fear at that point, and so the five of us flew to Rochester, NY, and crossed the border into Canada. After checking into our hotel, we ate dinner at TGIFridays, watched two hockey games on different screens, then went swimming in the hotel's pool. </div>
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Alone in a Canadian arcade, playing hockey--what else?</div>
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(Putting this all in perspective: Those were the last two NHL games played. The restaurants and bars are closed or closing. We made jokes about coronavirus as we soaked in the petri dish hot tub without fear. Yesterday the Canadian border closed.)</div>
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Wednesday morning we took a mostly deserted tram from the hotel to mostly deserted Niagara Falls, where five AZ desert rats shivered in the mist and marveled at the sheer water volume crashing over the rocks. </div>
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We wandered the practically empty shops, taste tested (and bought) several maple syrups--when in Canada--and headed back to the New York side.</div>
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(Perspective check: Our experience was mostly deserted because it is the freezing off-season. Now, the tram is closed, and if the shops aren't closed yet, I'm sure they will be soon.)</div>
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Brad drove us to Fort Niagara, where the cold once again limited tourists. </div>
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We only saw one other group the entire time we were in the fort, and the boys took advantage of this time to wrestle and shove and banter. </div>
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I took advantage of this time alone by not forcing them to be staid. It was a win-win for all of us.</div>
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(Perspective check: As far as I know, national parks remain open, but who knows how much longer that will last.)</div>
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My kids loved rolling down all the big hills they found. Just outside Fort Niagara was a huge hill, and they hiked to the top and repeatedly rolled down, getting coated in mud and grass stains and loving every pass down the hill.</div>
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Brad, Eve, and I were freezing, but the die-hard boys stayed on the hill much longer. We pulled the car around to pick them up, and when I rolled the window down to call them, Micah shouted, "Wanna see some real speed? I'll show you some real speed!" As he bolted to the car, Brad squealed the tires and sped away. I haven't seen Brad laugh that hard in forever. By the time we circled back through the roundabout, the boys were standing in the middle of the deserted street with their hands up to stop the car.</div>
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What a funny memory.</div>
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After a quick stop for a Chipotle burrito, and Girl Scout cookies and groceries at Walmart, we drove south to Palmyra, ready to spend a few days seeing Church history sites. But no bed until we watched "Man from Snowy River." I don't know how I've neglected to share this classic with my kids . . . My dad must be shaking his head in disbelief at this revelation.</div>
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It was an exhausting day.</div>
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(Perspective check: In hindsight, I wonder how much of the emptiness was seasonal and how much was situational. Wednesday was the day everything suddenly became harsher, scarier, and increasingly more restricted. That's the day March Madness was cancelled. Gobert tested positive. Harvard emailed and said campus was closing. And Thursday was even crazier.)</div>
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jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2750966252794891890.post-61845927738195258162020-03-16T06:39:00.001-07:002020-03-16T06:40:55.643-07:00Cleopatra<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This crazy girl turned two over the weekend.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJmhim4qNbfzwkga6RSwtGApkQqO9-7fZJhSDg5lM_82suGVNlOLIz8fcymHcln-1B0Ao6vc3ZcsO7PXJsZKYiam__R3oXvGB9LOQEihpIyCOopGC_pBX7FV86ULVZSCizqtHQPx-CAKoL/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-02-09+at+5.49.10+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="670" data-original-width="504" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJmhim4qNbfzwkga6RSwtGApkQqO9-7fZJhSDg5lM_82suGVNlOLIz8fcymHcln-1B0Ao6vc3ZcsO7PXJsZKYiam__R3oXvGB9LOQEihpIyCOopGC_pBX7FV86ULVZSCizqtHQPx-CAKoL/s640/Screen+Shot+2020-02-09+at+5.49.10+PM.png" width="480" /></a></div>
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She is currently seven points away from finishing her grand champion, and while our family doesn't show her or care too much about the dog show culture, finishing will mean that she can finally be bred and have her first litter of puppies!</div>
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Brad tolerates Cleo, but the rest of us enjoy having her as part of our family. One of my favorite moments of every day is as our morning walk ends.</div>
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I command her to stay on the corner as I walk to the driveway before releasing her.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2JSmvDwj5rfJIE0yD5R-tkIYmS2RkXaAbSGkQdreMZndRHtM4fadHnwyaa1wPT7awK6vZWO_vJFPoz0uq96LvR7xsv8CnAEdgPBOBF7_S0UqA0fxOGDjrzOfDw_-bYRq4nDRf7eCmFrY/s1600/IMG_0686.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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2JSmvDwj5rfJIE0yD5R-tkIYmS2RkXaAbSGkQdreMZndRHtM4fadHnwyaa1wPT7awK6vZWO_vJFPoz0uq96LvR7xsv8CnAEdgPBOBF7_S0UqA0fxOGDjrzOfDw_-bYRq4nDRf7eCmFrY/s640/IMG_0686.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
She bolts across the lawn and waits patiently for me to catch up to her at the back gate.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CWUXCvVYqW5WK7_CBwnXbkIzSLxIVSqjdTHRgsfFwqQ3ClOihnUoLVX5zwqOzxpx4m9n_uCP0W8pc5YLNzM4-FuUla4TfA0Du7OjkBUpuG8DT1ZCMgZUnfX3qRsSkkAXaJNdiB2E0Bcv/s1600/IMG_0687.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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3CWUXCvVYqW5WK7_CBwnXbkIzSLxIVSqjdTHRgsfFwqQ3ClOihnUoLVX5zwqOzxpx4m9n_uCP0W8pc5YLNzM4-FuUla4TfA0Du7OjkBUpuG8DT1ZCMgZUnfX3qRsSkkAXaJNdiB2E0Bcv/s640/IMG_0687.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
Photos can't show how beautiful and powerful she is when she runs.<br />
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Another of my favorite moments is watching her wake up Eve. You can't tell from the pictures, but Eve's bed is really high off the ground, and Cleo takes it in one bound.<br />
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She licks Eve awake, usually to Eve's giggles and mild protests (but sometimes to shrieks wanting more sleep).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEIGMJ24DrMNaVWtubRoLtwNdrwVxzIwJ1R91uIzlyVvffXOZRJDx9pRmdPQvn0qQLeaQKaIbwpMFyAH20v_7MBlxYOfRk9W6vhdRX-04TzDsfGlvXT4pKxFn_-lXzgkuABO82FZtSccN/s1600/IMG_0769.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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEIGMJ24DrMNaVWtubRoLtwNdrwVxzIwJ1R91uIzlyVvffXOZRJDx9pRmdPQvn0qQLeaQKaIbwpMFyAH20v_7MBlxYOfRk9W6vhdRX-04TzDsfGlvXT4pKxFn_-lXzgkuABO82FZtSccN/s640/IMG_0769.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
Who would have ever thought that the little girl who cowered on a table the first time they met would love Cleo more than anyone in the house?<br />
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That's the primary reason I love Cleo so much--because she fiercely loves all of her people.<br />
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Happy Birthday, girl!</div>
jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01313127576303289593noreply@blogger.com0