tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61398829580542883622024-03-19T08:09:47.153-04:00The Gutsy Girl~ ramblings of all sorts on health, family and food ~Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.comBlogger389125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-64667636859200871802013-06-24T14:33:00.000-04:002013-06-24T14:33:13.411-04:00A tiny, little changeSince I'm not working, I thought, "Heck, maybe I should try to write more," and with that I'm moving my blog to WordPress. The new platform will enable me to do more (well, that's Matt's promise, and I'm not sure what that means, and I'm not at all technical, so....yeah). It's still a work in progress but if using the URL www.thegutsygirl.blogspot.com please point your browser to simply www.thegutsygirl.com going forward.<br />
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As always, it's a marvel and a gift that anyone reads this little blog, and for that I'm very appreciative - thank you.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-43047574435649682562013-06-19T20:32:00.000-04:002013-06-19T20:33:17.716-04:00We are all in this together.<b>We are all in this together.</b><br />
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That's what I want to shout (beg? sob?) when I see a mom giving me looks as my kid misbehaves. Today I had a woman - older, probably raised perfect little angels - actually put her hands over her ears, shoot me a "Get your act together, mom" look as Annie shouted-out in the grocery store (okay....it was more of an undignified "You will let me eat this bagel right now you witchy woman!' shriek...but lady, let's abandon the histrionics).</div>
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And again today: the children's section of the library has a toddler / young child computer station - lots of little games where you color pictures in with a mouse, or practice matching, numbers, clicking, all of that. Of course, Annie is smitten with it, and I abhor those colorful keyboards and the monitors that beckon with Elmo and ducks and kittens. The point of the library is to get away from that sort of stuff (due to me, she is now obsessed with <i>Sesame Street</i> and she has forever been in love with our laptops and cellphones). I want her to read - digest - and not just sit in front of a screen, but I oblige for a bit (if only to avoid a meltdown and for me to grab a few books from the kiddie stacks). So there she was, sitting there on her own while I was about 15 feet away, thinking she's hot stuff and clicking on nothing in particular when she starts yelling, "Daaaad! Daaaaaad!" (Of course.) A mom, regaled in an (organic cotton, I'm sure) Ergo Carrier (it's like a baby Bjorn but even more expensive, and no, we don't have one) looks at Annie, looks at me, proceeds to roll her eyes and shake her head. When gathering her toddler, who asked to use the computers, she said, "No, we don't use those honey," very pointedly. And I know I sound bitter, and defensive, and all of that, but get off your damn high horse lady. Take your attachment parenting self, your cloth diapers, and your holier-than-thou behavior to the Whole Foods and just quit it. (Disclaimer: I have nothing against cloth diapers - we used ourselves for several months - and attachment parenting...well, only when it's used for evil.)</div>
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We are all just trying our best. I have an 18-month-old who is (true to form) testing her (and her parents') limits and finding her voice, and yeah, she drives me over the edge at times, but I try to be respectful (we left the library shortly after Annie had a mini-tantrum when I said she had to abandon the computers). Matt and I want nothing more than to raise a well-behaved child, but there will be outbursts and absolutely, I will sit her front of the screen to get something done. And I would never admonish the woman who has a screeching toddler - sympathy and support all around - because these kids are f'in nuts.</div>
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I've just been noticing - of course, not from all - but some parents my own little version of the "mommy wars" among the stay-at-home bunch. These women be cray, yo. It's like when I flipped open the latest issue of <i>Kiwi</i> magazine (the magazine for "raising kids the healthy and organic way!"...yeah, I know....that was my first mistake) and saw a column about how to make your little one's party more healthy for the planet and a woman wrote in who was absolutely perplexed how she could go green as her kid is asking for a party at the local bowling alley. (I mean, the horror.) The response from the columnist was something like, "This is the perfect opportunity to educate the staff at the bowling alley what going green really means...indicate you do not want disposable serving ware, etc etc". NO JOKE. Oh, the GULL. This is what I hate. Please, yes, let's lecture the employee at the bowling alley (who is probably not making a living wage) on how Atticus' party will be green (their names are always Atticus or something in that vein, too). </div>
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I bring stuff like this up to Matt (who completely agrees) but never neglects to add, "Well, you're a bit self-righteous too you know, just in a different way." <br />
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Yeah, Matt, I know: it's called the <i>good</i> way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My arch nemesis (the computers, not the kids).<br />
<i>Photo courtesy of phoenixvillelibrary.org.</i></td></tr>
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-16232599349851320062013-06-18T13:28:00.001-04:002013-06-18T15:32:45.400-04:00To Matt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've been feeling lost - murky - lately as I dig out from this rubble and try to find my self-worth again. But these blog entries always sort of have a fortunate "but": I say there is something beautiful in needing to rethink, reshuffle, and recalibrate in all that was lost, and this is true, but it comes down to this: I have a partner who wakes me up to that possibility every single day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is my belated thank you to Matt. We celebrated our five-year wedding anniversary on the 7th, and this is what I wanted to say then, but will say now (a windy, twisty love letter a few days after Father's Day for anyone to see):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First, there was this, circa 2004, posted online:</span><br />
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<i>How could I not love this face? He's so darn sweet and unassuming. I mean...the HAIR!</i></span><br />
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<i>And this is me trying to look sexy (or something, oh Kathryn), taking a self-portrait in my London dorm room. It was probably photo 30 or something. Sigh. Silly twenty-year-olds.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Matt and I met in February, 2004 on Match - have I mentioned that? Yes - online. I joined on a whim after breaking up with my college boyfriend and searched the zip code closest to my parents home (because, obviously, I had no job lined up and was trucking it back home to Pennsylvania for the summer). I went to a school where everyone was well-off, good-lucking, smug in their artsiness and just so damn blase about their lucky lot in life. That whole "We're moving to Williamsburg (Brooklyn) on our parents' dime and starting an artisan (pickle, cheese, whatever) business" before hipsters were in Brooklyn doing the same and it wasn't a tired joke. I was so exhausted with New York for that reason. I frequently said, "I just want to meet a lumberjack or a nice, nerdy guy," and then came Matt. Poof.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In typical collegiate fashion, we talked over IM and then met during our respective spring breaks. He was funny and smart, self-deprecating and sometimes shy. But always sweet. Always earnest. For example, he is a programmer and tried to teach me how to code, but I remember throwing the notebook across the room. He drives a manual and tried to teach me how to drive stick, and I remember throwing his air freshener out the window and stomping out of the car. Probably in tears - I can't recall but that sounds about right. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That first spring he came up to New York and I visited him at Penn State. I'll spare you all the gooey details, but it was easy to fall in love with this boy and if you've read this little blog you know Matt is without pretense, wholly kind, and so very good (to me, to his daughter, to everyone). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's sometimes hard for me to take his kindness and sincerity to heart: for instance, this pregnancy hasn't been as kind on me in terms of fatigue, weight gain, and I've been having difficulty sleeping. "I find you absolutely beautiful," he'll say as I stick my gut out in the mirror. And what do I say? It's always something along the lines of, "Oh please, you just want to get laid," while rolling my eyes, or "Well, you better, as I'm carrying your child!" I also started laughing when Matt proposed to me and to this day have no idea what he said. Oh, and the first time he told me he loved me. (I'm a gem, what can I say?)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've softened throughout the years - Matt is my daily dose of mellow - but I sometimes still have a way of ruining moments, and (thankfully) he still puts up with me. I hope - in my sometimes acerbic way - I feed and fuel him the way he does me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This blog has become a scrapbook and little ode to my family - of course to Annie - but I hope it's clear that it all began with Matt, who has lifted the burden of my health woes as much as he can, held me when I cried about work, and every day tells me to relax, find my passion, and when I do, he'll be there to help me pursue it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My world begins and ends with that boy and little girl, and the best decision I've ever made was IMing that fluffy-haired stranger one February afternoon over nine years ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Matt, happy belated anniversary. Happy belated Father's Day. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You make our family whole.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All photos were taken Father's Day weekend at Smith Memorial Playground in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia.</span></td></tr>
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<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-11181093789001943912013-06-07T16:38:00.000-04:002013-06-07T16:45:18.239-04:0018 Months<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"My <i>precious</i>...."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me: "What the heck is going on here?!" (upon reviewing the photos I took at the pool that day)<br />
Matt: "She was pulling my chest hairs."</td></tr>
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<i><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Photos were taken last week at French Creek State Park. After many years of successfully avoiding the sun, I got a burn so bad it hurt for days to put on a bra or lie down. Annie - who has developed a fear of baths - took to the water after about ten tentative minutes. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">OK - so this stay-at-home mom thing? It isn't so bad. I'm loving (while simultaneously being exasperated at) this age - 18 months - and taking such delight in your little burgeoning personality. You are clever, mischievous, still willful as ever, and loving life. You actually "oooo" at things. Like, I picked up your father a new bath sponge (the boy uses sea sponges in the shower, what can I do) and when I pulled it out of the bag you literally oooed and awwed over the thing. I mean, it's a damn loofah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You get so excited over things: "Do you want to go outside?!" I say, emphasizing "outside" and you perk up and go to the door and start doing your toddler version of the "running man", stepping in place and banging on the door. You're like a dog, in that way (I mean that really nicely...you know I love dogs.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've been struggling to find meaningful work that makes sense outside of the home, but am finding comfort in caring for you, although I've had a couple breakdowns this past week: your father has always been your fun favorite (I'm more behind the scenes at times - packing your diaper bag, readying lunch, making appointments while he is on the floor with you and your puzzles) and I accept that - and honestly didn't mind it one bit - until "Dat-tee" became the end all, be all. He would leave the room and you'd break down. Or you'd rush past me to find your father. A few weeks ago I thought I had finally crimped his style - you were saying "Mama" much more than Daddy, but after some "Daddy lessons" (I seriously heard your father practicing the word Daddy with you as he put you to bed several days straight) I was back to square one. It's a give and take - he's very hands-on and honestly, if you're going to chirp away to "Daddy, Daddy!" at least I get to lay on the couch with my Oreos when he corrals you. And your father assures me you'll soon see how dorky he really is, so of course I find solace (and agreement) in that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Also, you have discovered the word "No" (it's second only to "Daddy"). Like any toddler, you can be belligerent and stubborn and you are saying "no" to everything. At the library today I told you to stop taking books off the shelves, and you yelled "NO!" and took five more off and ran off to the train table, where I swear you were trying to look strong and nonchalant but were spying on me and trying to gauge what my reaction was (by the fifth or so "NO!" we packed up and it was time to go, and by the way, my reaction was pissed off). Another mom, who had a 22-month-old in tow, said from experience your next word will probably be "mine". I told her you're already on the cusp of that because the other week you took sprinkles from our baking supplies, starting shaking them on the dog, and when asked to give them back, said, "No, no, mine, mine!" Then you ran into the living room to sprinkle the carpet. It was one of the longest, most coherent thoughts you've had to date so I let it go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You never really watched TV before, but I have been using it as a crutch so I don't lose my mind, and you've developed a love for Elmo. You love Elmo and shout his name and bounce on your little butt when he comes on-screen. What's with kids and Elmo?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You're finally sitting with us nightly when we read with you and your two current favorites are "Goodnight Moon" and "I'll Teach My Dog 100 Words", although the simple baby touch-and-feel "Farm" you still have a soft spot for. Whenever you spot a duck you screech, "Duck, duck, duck!" (as in "quack, quack, quack").</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And last but not least, I'm going to try to start potty-training you. Or at least getting you accustomed to the little toilet we bought you so we can have a leg-up when your little brother/sister makes their appearance in October. Today at the library we picked up some "I love the potty!" books and today I sat you on it and you looked rather amused. Almost regal sitting high on your throne. Maybe it was because - I swear - about a minute after you got off (and I was running to get a diaper for you) you pooped on the floor about three feet from the thing. Then you stepped in it. Then you started wailing. Your father thinks this is the sign of a genius (sans the stepping in it part), but unfortunately you've had some stomach issues the last few days so I think it was purely coincidence. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You are really giving us a run for our money, kid, and we're just trying to keep up (and last until your bedtime). Right now you're napping beside me (naps have become a battle of wills), and you're stirring, so I'm going to end here and say we love you times infinity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And, also, please be easy on us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's to a spectacular year-and-a-half.</span><br />
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<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-68171013568820249902013-06-01T09:43:00.001-04:002013-06-01T17:25:26.247-04:00Little gifts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We are expecting another baby in the early fall. This fact is what I remember (literally,
feel) when I find myself gazing at job boards and going on fruitless interviews
and navigating this whole wretched situation.
Somehow we hit the lottery with Joanna.
Modern medicine, the gods, every four-leaf clover in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Ireland</st1:country-region>, smiled
on us a year and a half ago and now we get to do it all over again. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve gone on two interviews, both in the city and both (in
my mind) hard-driving positions that don’t lend themselves to any sort of
balance . The second was just yesterday
but the first was last week and they wanted to have one last phone screen
before moving to offer – and jeez, what a surprising, glorious position to be
in – but I just couldn’t do it. They
didn’t know I was pregnant, and the position responsibilities peak in October
(oh), and it’s what I’ve been doing for many years and what I desperately want
to leave behind. It was really a
non-starter, but I went anyway. It’s
hard to turn down an interview even when you know in your gut it’s not right,
or you probably cannot fulfill the job obligations. So I find myself in the very frustrating
situation of being smack dab in the middle of a pregnancy and unemployed. But also – and here I am, typing this for
second time – expecting a baby. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And that trumps everything.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We found out in late February, when I was trying to
calculate if I was going to get my pesky period in <st1:place w:st="on">Mexico</st1:place> when I realized I couldn’t
remember when I had it last. Maybe
Christmas time? Before then? After?
I had no clue. I feel very
ignorant typing that. Like, maybe I
should have a handle on my body or something, but you’ve got to remember –
things are funky down there! – and a 28-day cycle is a foreign concept.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The telltale sign of pregnancy – I’ve learned – is an uptick
in Oreo consumption. I mean, I remember
this clearly – I specifically went into the grocery store to buy Oreos (who
does that?) and walked by the pharmacy and bought the cheapest test (store brand,
because really, there was just no way). I
even helped myself to a huge cup of coffee that morning, knowing full-well my
egg got caught up in my kinky fallopian tubes and I just didn’t ovulate. I am not the girl who just gets pregnant. In our early days of infertility – before blood
tests confirmed that I was or wasn’t expecting – I had gone through many tears
and many bargain two-packs of pregnancy tests.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Matt and I are not ignorant: since having Annie we have
scrapped protection because, if for some miraculous reason it happened – that would
be a good thing. A really, really good thing. And after a year it did. I am not one to mince words – or do cutesy
things when announcing news – so I called him three minutes after I peed on
that stick, in a semi-panic, and said, “But it’s too soon!” Our children will be just under two years
apart (22.5 months). Matt laughed
nervously, happily, giddily. I wanted
Annie out of toddlerhood before having another.
I just don’t have the energy, I said.
And I told him work is going so poorly, that everything wasn’t just
right yet. And how funny to be typing
that today, now out of work. Job
searching while midway through a pregnancy is almost a fruitless exercise, and
in that, coupled with inconvenience, there is some very real solace. There is solace when Matt ran down our
finances, took me by the shoulders, and said, “We will be OK. We will be fine. Relax.
Be picky. Take your time. Find something you will love. I know you will probably not go back until
well after the baby is born.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So here we are. I am
in my 21<sup>st</sup> week of pregnancy and due in early October. Unlike with Annie, I have been feeling this
baby kick from week 17. All day. Unrelenting.
Beautiful. Like with Annie, we
have decided not to find out if this is a boy or a girl. Matt wants another girl, and as a girl who
never really had guy friends – or a brother – I’m curious about a boy.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Instead of plotting out the perfect time, there is now some relief in completing our family earlier than expected. We are not newborn people – we find infinite
delight as Annie grows older and there is more give and take – and I’m glad we’ll
be in our early 30’s when completing this portion of babyhood. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because boy I am tired. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe it’s the pregnancy (I haven’t been sleeping
well). Or maybe Crohn’s (I always felt –
in general – I was more tired than others, and frequent blood work confirms
that yes, I’m deficient in this and that). I’m happy we’ll be young parents. When it's all said and done, I'm happy our path took us to here: I’m happy I met Matt when I was 21 and we married at 26 and we will have
our children by 31. In terms of
fertility, how very fortunate we have been.
To be younger. To have that gift
of time. I am reminded of this
frequently. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thank you for following this blog, and our story. I know I haven’t written about Crohn’s in
quite some time, and this little space on the internet has become a patchwork
of our family life, for better or worse, and in sickness and in health. </span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here’s to health.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdEIIa2oMq5RHTakDsLpmQ1gzbef5FEAWe6_Gzy1uDFyyiWd7DNe3fIJMFJ73ql3ucmyEdleQHeXgPVeATj0qiycWqRZ5VQkYGL5t0RJl7d5QVWQTRpdAy1uzMl-wke1qebNBtKpYkHg/s1600/DSC_0598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdEIIa2oMq5RHTakDsLpmQ1gzbef5FEAWe6_Gzy1uDFyyiWd7DNe3fIJMFJ73ql3ucmyEdleQHeXgPVeATj0qiycWqRZ5VQkYGL5t0RJl7d5QVWQTRpdAy1uzMl-wke1qebNBtKpYkHg/s640/DSC_0598.JPG" width="424" /></a></div>
<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-37799128130015003972013-05-20T14:11:00.000-04:002013-05-20T14:14:39.507-04:00Green Goddess Dressing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TxfkeU8KXAJGno8pIDLMKXBzWLuG6x6QXhnHa25DmegCYHYoG4oNpNiNdk4KBTO2ATeW9SAgYEPatNpaBjZGCyqdd0GQplgcsJytJ6WYNWJeeuYB-JFiwEk4WMYG4xt6BEgo7dhIfhU/s1600/DSC_0415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TxfkeU8KXAJGno8pIDLMKXBzWLuG6x6QXhnHa25DmegCYHYoG4oNpNiNdk4KBTO2ATeW9SAgYEPatNpaBjZGCyqdd0GQplgcsJytJ6WYNWJeeuYB-JFiwEk4WMYG4xt6BEgo7dhIfhU/s640/DSC_0415.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since I have more time on my hands (not as much as I would have thought - corralling that child is a full-time job in and of itself) I started trying a few new recipes (all very easy, no fuss). The first is<b> <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/bibb-salad-with-basil-green-goddess-dressing-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">Barefoot Contessa's Green Goddess dressing</a></b>. Now, this dressing is essentially some herbs with sour cream and mayo, so...yeah. It's fatty goodness. It's a dressing but would work just as well as a dip: even our picky kid dipped some asparagus in it and ate it (must be a one-time thing as I have doused veggies in cheese in the past and she wasn't having it). We served it with some chicken and asparagus from the grill. It's bright and summery with a slight tang from the lemon juice and anchovy paste (I had this on hand - go figure - but read in some reader comments it can be made without), and the perfect pick-me-up on a dreary day. Don't shy away from the salt content (I paused a bit): it's needed to cut through the creaminess and unmuddle the flavors. You'll get big basil, onion and lemon notes. Enjoy!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Green Goddess Dressing</span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/bibb-salad-with-basil-green-goddess-dressing-recipe/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Courtesy of Ina Garten, The Barefoot Contessa</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;"><b><u>Ingredients</u></b></span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">1 cup good mayonnaise</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">1 cup chopped scallions, white and green parts (6 to 7 scallions)</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">1 cup chopped fresh basil leaves</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (2 lemons)</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">2 teaspoons chopped garlic (2 cloves)</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">2 teaspoons anchovy paste</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">2 teaspoons kosher salt</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">1 cup sour cream</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">Directions</span><br style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; outline: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">Place the mayonnaise, scallions, basil, lemon juice, garlic, anchovy paste, salt and pepper in a blender and blend until smooth. Add the sour cream and process just until blended. (If not using immediately, refrigerate the dressing until ready to serve.)</span></span><br />
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<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-6908894761794526102013-05-19T22:03:00.002-04:002013-05-19T22:11:35.025-04:00Rainy Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVC6P3KOJ59brs1Rgqj9f1dEfT0czBjHyryWa9AORXER6Nj3MmvaDIPkr0-PGjHUtMk8GBUztdwIoZ_UzI3sY-z4v_dCuh8vOQujcVfiFAL0Qb5xODeCXzLdsRbxaxzeaAUuNwxRFaNes/s1600/DSC_0429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVC6P3KOJ59brs1Rgqj9f1dEfT0czBjHyryWa9AORXER6Nj3MmvaDIPkr0-PGjHUtMk8GBUztdwIoZ_UzI3sY-z4v_dCuh8vOQujcVfiFAL0Qb5xODeCXzLdsRbxaxzeaAUuNwxRFaNes/s640/DSC_0429.JPG" width="424" /></a></div>
<br />
Since I'm finding myself thrown into stay-at-home momhood head-first, I've been scouring Craigslist - and this Saturday a few yard sales - for cheapy toys for Little Miss "Let's go outside! Let's do this! I'm bored, I'm bored!" She is always on the move, seeing, doing, taking apart, and putting together. Today it rained all day but here she is, out with Matt with in the mist, droplets of drizzle on her face, riding her new toy giraffe. That's $3 well spent.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBFuocsJHXSay44HV_ToYivZi_mOIN8mRew9UeP-ZaNA-HxYj_vxPNpQ9eEQbbZoPwpQnw8Tmdowe5obB7wtVOVfwWZbiwVdzRilMYfLiWxq35s3Y-WhdP_YBbL11nv7Do3miJxAzS1I/s1600/DSC_0433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBFuocsJHXSay44HV_ToYivZi_mOIN8mRew9UeP-ZaNA-HxYj_vxPNpQ9eEQbbZoPwpQnw8Tmdowe5obB7wtVOVfwWZbiwVdzRilMYfLiWxq35s3Y-WhdP_YBbL11nv7Do3miJxAzS1I/s640/DSC_0433.JPG" width="424" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBn54LJQjA0fRhBqpr6e6mUAaXMT0tGYj8H9JSgYlJiiztBB6ahKuP_TTdEwlkFWRfLZg38Q_aqft51F5V5nwST1yE3TL5XZqAw2YaAhekLYi8M9zw8RHE2yBwEZe7SQnuTGz4SKlIiSI/s1600/DSC_0452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBn54LJQjA0fRhBqpr6e6mUAaXMT0tGYj8H9JSgYlJiiztBB6ahKuP_TTdEwlkFWRfLZg38Q_aqft51F5V5nwST1yE3TL5XZqAw2YaAhekLYi8M9zw8RHE2yBwEZe7SQnuTGz4SKlIiSI/s640/DSC_0452.JPG" width="424" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-FYE12RGMFX5lo8cswSwUCinG5Ux5daycE-o3JNR97-JXlphrLTqmhhsLz42hzumRrrv1kFl09lbqcpMq7vzXezMFe63EhwlA8vTaMuWw57HjwKxodqjZe8zZIIKhyqIRhZUlnDezEs/s1600/DSC_0454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-FYE12RGMFX5lo8cswSwUCinG5Ux5daycE-o3JNR97-JXlphrLTqmhhsLz42hzumRrrv1kFl09lbqcpMq7vzXezMFe63EhwlA8vTaMuWw57HjwKxodqjZe8zZIIKhyqIRhZUlnDezEs/s640/DSC_0454.JPG" width="424" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAaDon1NJE01Syo23IHjfbAX8SE9YlyX689EjPuG2piHxg9oeRcA1l8n9Nh6i9QxbXL_Jtl0RGlfYMdfsnulC8B_rd_3vU0rM80DVgQ_bE2diRgpPjyphWsuB3hgvieK8BuCDf6j38Dk/s1600/DSC_0457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlAaDon1NJE01Syo23IHjfbAX8SE9YlyX689EjPuG2piHxg9oeRcA1l8n9Nh6i9QxbXL_Jtl0RGlfYMdfsnulC8B_rd_3vU0rM80DVgQ_bE2diRgpPjyphWsuB3hgvieK8BuCDf6j38Dk/s640/DSC_0457.JPG" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you notice the remnants of a bloody nose, the poor girl fell - face first - into the ground earlier in the day, leaving a bloodied mouth and nose and some tears. She was fine in five minutes (forever our trooper)....me, not so much. ;-) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-44814070731177158962013-05-09T20:49:00.003-04:002013-05-09T20:49:44.988-04:00Job loss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I lost my job last week; it was unexpected and incredibly abrupt. Matt asked what we should tell people if asked, and I said, "I did nothing wrong! I'm not ashamed," so there it is. It wouldn't be prudent to get into the specifics, but I will say I've felt they were looking to push me (and perhaps, others) out for a while under new management and restructuring and they cited a bogus reason for termination. It was done with spite and honest-to-god malice and I was out of the building within five minutes. I was the girl bamboozled, walking down the sidewalk with picture frames and a fake plant in my bag, and other nicknacks I hastily grabbed from my cube. I called my friend - who had left like a bat outta hell a few months before - and now works at her new gig (that she loves, adores, feels valued at) a block away. "I'm meeting you downstairs in one minute!" she said, and we talked for thirty minutes on Market Street about how absolutely shitty that place is, the situation is, how, "Can you believe this?!" the thing is/was. She reminded me how toxic that place was, how I was deeply unhappy, how this is the push I need. Sure, sure. But I was just fired!, I said. That sting (no matter how ridiculous or obtuse the reason). That venom.<br />
<br />
The thing with getting fired? It's not as much the tactical concerns (although they are incredibly stressful - finding another job, financial worries, and so on). The thing that kills me is this: it's the stripping away of any sense of self-worth. I hate that they took that from me. Work - even though I never loved it - made me feel more whole. I feel devalued, dejected...all of that.<br />
<br />
But...it's been a whole week now, and I've experienced more positive feedback and reinforcement from family and friends in this week than I have for the last two years at my former employer. And for that I am so very, very thankful. It's things like that that make me tear up now (I haven't cried about the job itself in days). Like this email from Matt, which I re-read often:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Wanted to make sure you know how valued you are. If [former employer and former manager] can't see it, it is entirely because of their own shortcomings. You are lovable smart, kind, charismatic, friendly, funny, loyal, and gorgeous. You are a great wife and mother. Annie and I will be happy to have you more to ourselves, and not wasting your presence on people who can't appreciate you. We're going to be perfectly ok. I can run some numbers if that will ease your mind a little. I'm so sorry you had to go through this rejection, and my thoughts are with you as you figure out how to reconcile yourself with it.</span></span></blockquote>
(So he's not like that all the time, but I totally had to post that.)<br />
<br />
Or when my friend (the lovely Danita) sent this, like, Visio-esque crazy chart mapping out available steps entitled "Mojo Rising: Operation You've Got Options, aka The Mojo Reclamation Project" (the girl has a way with words and a thing with titles, what can I say?...love you Danita!). Or how friends are reaching out almost daily asking how I'm doing, saying let's go out for lunch, and sending me job postings. Thank you, thank you.<br />
<br />
One of the things I've cried over many times was taking Annie out of daycare. Obviously, there is no reason for her to be in full-time care - and we can't afford keeping her there on a full or part-time basis - but she loves her friends there. She wobbles with such joy to her seat at the table every morning, with breakfast in hand. She and her friends giggle and screech and when we pick her up it's like, "Yeah, I see you, but as you can also see, I'm finishing something up here." I love that she had that. This week Matt and I visited a few in-home daycares in our area that allow two days a week (for my sanity, job searching, what have you) and that we can manage financially. I also want her to continue to have that experience: to learn and cope with others, grow independently, discover things on her own away from us. We're so proud of that girl, and I know she'll be fine, but it makes me hate this situation so much more. Here are some photos of today at her last pick-up:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of her teachers, Mr. Eddie and Miss Holly. Miss Holly knew her since she was a wee newborn at 11 weeks old.</td></tr>
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So I'm not sure where this is going, or what my next step is, but there is beauty in all this ugliness. Yesterday Annie and I had our first full day together and went to toddler time at the library and made a craft, then took a long nap together (she wasn't napping alone and I'm a bit under the weather). Sweetness wrapped in a duvet. Tomorrow we're going to our first local mom playgroup (I'm sure there will be more on that later). And today I had an interview. So...things - life - are moving along. And in it's own way, it's still quite lovely.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-33468310104021543822013-04-24T20:43:00.000-04:002013-06-07T22:15:14.929-04:0017 Months<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">These last two weeks have been hard, for reasons both very big and small (big: legislation not passing, the Boston marathon bombings, small: work, always work). Which brings us to this past weekend, which was lovely. Sometimes I feel those two blissful days off are the only thing keeping me together, and I guess most people feel this way, right? So many of us have these corporate gigs we so desperately need but I’m at the point where I’m daydreaming daily about just walking out. Which isn’t healthy. But then the weekend comes and I exhale and just say, “It is what it is,” and go on my merry way. In my long-winded way, I’m saying this to you, Annie - as your mom I wish you this: I hope you find something that you love and loves you back. </span><br />
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<span id="internal-source-marker_0.6274223350919783"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">I feel you’ll get there: you are spunky. And stubborn and demanding. And charming. </span><span style="line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mischievous</span><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Loving. I am too Germanic in my emotions but you light me up. You have this sparkle - this zest - and make each weekend with you a neatly wrapped gift with a bow on top. You also drive us </span><span style="line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">mad</span><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and looking at each other, like, "What is wrong with this kid?!". Take last night. You hollered and cried and swung your arms to and fro, and no, I don’t want this, or that, and you just get me that, no, I mean this, waaaa! Sigh. You are a toddler. You trip and it’s epic. You drop your scrambled eggs and it’s epic. We take away the raisins you were munching on and it’s like you simply. cannot. survive. And we try to emphasize, looking at each other and the pitiful raisins, but we just don’t get your toddler brain.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This week we went to the zoo. We thought you’d like it, and did. Your father said that’s it’s so exciting you can actually experience things now, which is true. The day before we were at PetSmart picking out fish (whom you love to feed) and you were fixated on the cats up for adoption. “Hiiiiiii!” you said and waved. You screeched and gesticulated wildly. You were beside yourself and didn’t want to leave; you loved peering into their enclose glass room trying to figure out what they were up to. When one woke and looked at you, you were elated and took it as a personal victory. So, the zoo was fabulous: you stared wide-eyed at a baby orangutan swaying in front of you, and loved as the otters swam past. You fixated on the orangey-pink flamingos and enjoyed feeding a duck your lunch. </span></span><br />
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You surprise us with words. “Bubbles!” while playing with your father outside with a soapy set. “Elmo!” this morning as I flipped on the TV getting ready. When did you watch Sesame Street? You examine things every so closely - you live for being tactile - for figuring out how this clips to that, or how you can stack that. You dig into the bucket where we keep Penny’s food, grabbing a handful of kibble while following her around the house saying, “Dog!” more and more urgently. You love filling her food bowl and at school your teacher said you’ve really turned a corner (from what, I don’t know) and turned into a real helper. You fetch a dropped cup for a child, or put a blanket on another during nap time. You clean up. It’s wonderful hearing your teacher say, “Oh, I wanted to tell you what Annie did today” and it being followed with that (instead of how you stole your classmate’s lunch - true - or bit another classmate - also true). We’re very proud of the little person you’re becoming.</span><br />
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">You also insist on going outside several times a day, and we </span><span style="line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">oblige</span><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">, because I suppose before you know it you’ll want to stay in, huddled with a computer (sigh). So we walk around and examine the grass and push you high on your swing. You give us high-fives with each pass and giggle. You laugh a lot now, especially with your father. He scurries around like a rat and hides, you chase him, and he chases you, until he catches you and you laugh laugh with glee in his arms.</span></span><br />
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;">You’re such a social baby at daycare and home, so it startles me when we run into a neighbor and you hide behind our legs. Or when the cashiers at Trader Joe’s try to give you stickers and you stare at them blankly (until I take it for you and give it to you, happy as a clam). This morning at daycare drop-off you you squealed as you burst into your room with milk and banana in hand. You have a routine and were irritated as I was taking my time putting your things in your cubby before we could make our way to the drop-off room. “I have people to see!” you seemed to say. You’re already becoming your own, independent little person and hardly notice as we say our good-byes in the morning as you sit </span><span style="line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">among</span><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"> your friends. All toddlers at a tiny table, </span><span style="line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">eating</span><span style="line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"> fruit and waffles and milk.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You warm my heart, Annie. You do. You drive me to hide under my covers in the morning, but once I'm up you win me over again and again. Happy 17 months</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span></div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-8212282918218263012013-04-10T19:20:00.002-04:002013-04-10T19:20:34.580-04:00"Parenting is the long goodbye."The title of my post - that quotation - was written by a pediatrician commenting on the NYT blog, Motherlode, and it made sit back and swallow. Even though I was reading it when Annie was napping - and thinking, "Thank god that kid is down for a bit," and even when I groan when we hear her cries in the morning. This morning - although going to bed late - her soft but escalating cries started at 6:20 am. "Oh god, " I mumbled. "Mmmrghf," replied Matt. "You go get her - you went to bed before me, " I said. No response. Poking him, he mumbles. Getting out of bed and bringing her into our bed, putting a pacifier in her mouth, soothing words - "Good morning, little one. Let's all go back to sleep," followed by her reaching for my eyes, my nose. Pulling my nose. Even with all of that - and even when 7:30 pm (her bedtime) cannot come soon enough, and even when I'm loving, loving, loving every new milestone (she's walking! she can ask for bananas and her milk and is twaddling behind us, between our legs, loves banding on the door to go outside to her swing, is making friends at daycare and sits in the corner with one of the girls and giggles!), and Matt and I are wholly, truly taking delight in the little girl - charming and mischievous - she's becoming, I cried. <br />
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It's all just a big pot of contradictions, but I suppose that's natural. We love our kids to death, but they drive us crazy. Matt and I love what daycare does for us - gives us that break, that breathing room - to be better parents when we're home with her. Making those moments count. I relish picking her up at the end of the day, but I love putting her down in her crib, too. That balance makes our world go round.<br />
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Take my birthday. Although it's over a month away, Matt keeps asking what I want. Other than a Subaru (ha!), I need nothing. And then it came to me: a clean house, some trashy magazines and some trashy television, some Oreos for good measure, and a quiet afternoon alone. Nothing sounds sweeter. <br />
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-87269477170516079552013-04-04T21:42:00.000-04:002013-04-04T21:42:03.563-04:00Easter WeekendAnnie, you have no baby book (oops) so I'm trying to update your comings and goings here, but my lord, have you seen how messy the house is? And how impossibly tired (read: lazy) I am? These are my new normals: a very messy home. Dishes from two days ago by the sink (not ever even "in" the sink). Dirty clothes on the floor. Tripping over stuff...always.<br />
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I guess it's a balance. Matt and I do not value a clean house. <br />
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Okay, fine, that's a total lie. You got me. I would love nothing more than a clean house, but I'm just so tired at the end of the day. I suggested we get someone to do a clean quarterly in the house (as my birthday and Christmas and everything gift wrapped in one) and Matt was positively horrified. I guess it's too bourgeois. And how embarrassing, in a way. I don't know how they possibly couldn't pass judgement on the way we live. So he offers to clean - and does - but it's a pitiful job. <br />
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So here we are. I have pink eye. Again. It's like when I got Hand, Foot and Mouth and you didn't. I swear I need to wear a hazmat suit to pick you at daycare. But things are well other than my goopy eye and icky house. You are walking everywhere! About three weeks you go up and just decided, "Fine. I'll do this without prodding," and from there you were off. You adore chasing Penny (of course) around the ottoman and teasing her. The poor girl is panting afterwards!<br />
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Oh, and the best thing happened yesterday. I was picking you up at school, and, laying there, was an incident sheet. But the offender wasn't you! It was for the mild-mannered George, who (okay, I read the whole thing, sue me) apparently bite a classmate out of the blue! Boy wasn't even provoked. I was elated to find another troublemaker in the group and desperately want to cozy up to George's mom and dish on our sharp-toothed kids. Fortunately, you haven't bit anyone this week, but maybe it's because I keep reading the refrain from "Teeth Are Not For Biting" that goes, "Ouch! Biting hurts!" while screeching the "ouch!" part. You always look vaguely embarrassed.<br />
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You've been growing a bit more petulant at times, but also so much fun. You snuggle and love being chased and giggle and hide behind our legs. You still love bananas and walk over to where we keep them on the counter, pointing and saying, "Na-na! Na-na!" and yesterday I gave you a string cheese stick and you chanted "Cheesh!" over and over again. You also say "dog" and "all done" (ah dowwwn), but only rarely call me mama or your father dada. I guess you can't have everything. ;-)<br />
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Here are some photos from Easter weekend:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly (far left) totally makes this photo. "Can't these bozos get their act together and take a good picture?!"</td></tr>
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<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-31947818449020624262013-03-25T20:51:00.000-04:002013-03-25T20:51:35.793-04:00She's a biterIt's horrifying to find out your kid is a biter. Annie comes from such gentle stock (ok, fine, perhaps not me, but Matt) and we were both quiet and good kids, so I'm not sure how she has become so willful and headstrong (and dare I say defiant?). Last week Annie's teacher took me aside at pick-up and told me she's had a biting episode each of the last four days. "We're working on her words, because she bites when she gets frustrated," Tiffany said. "I told her mouths were for eating, not biting. I gave her a strong 'no!' and she just got up, walked across the room, and gave me a smug look that seemed to say, 'You don't say 'no' to me!'" Upon hearing this I was tickled. My firecracker. Of course we were concerned, but the rest of the week there were no remaining biting episodes and I chalked it up to a toddler hiccup. A little fun story to tell about my sweet, charming kid. But today Tiffany said Annie had bitten again, and I was to sign an incident report. The victim also receives their own report, which is horrifying to me as I feel ashamed and embarrassed for my little girl, even though I know she's not malicious, she just doesn't have the vocabulary to say say, "No, I was playing with that!" when her classmate grabbed her toy. I went home and cried and told Matt, "What if the other family is very upset? What if they want to know who the biter is? (It's all anonymous.) What if their kid was really hurt?" It hurt knowing my child was getting an aggressive rep. It hurt knowing that the other toddlers - as they become more conscious of these things - may learn to avoid her.<br />
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Annie doesn't bite at home - why would she? - there are no other babies grabbing toys or pushing. She is an only child who, generally, gets what she wants. Matt and I decided we needed to start being more firm with our discipline. Throw your food on the floor? You're done with dinner. Want to "play" (e.g. bang) on my computer? No longer. She hates sitting with us and reading, but in teaching her to be more verbal, to learn how to start expressing herself rather than grunting, we decided we absolutely will make her sit and read with us each night. We're not talking 30 minutes here - maybe 10! But tonight she threw a tantrum that lasted until bedtime.<br />
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I read that biting is relatively common, and upwards of 1 in 4 kids will bite at some time. I read that it is not a future predictor of behavior and it should pass. But here's the thing - Annie just turned 16-months-old - girlfriend isn't getting a big vocabulary anytime soon! And, I swear, that girl is getting sly. She has a wild streak. Last night at the grocery store she took things from the cart and dropped them on the floor. I yelled at her - firmly and clearly - and each time she gave me this look that said, "Yeah? What are ya gonna do about it?" I have a 16-month-old going on 16; lord help me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One word: TROUBLE.</td></tr>
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<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-87023879512864369422013-03-11T21:16:00.000-04:002013-04-04T21:46:11.574-04:00Mexican getaway<b id="internal-source-marker_0.17613043007440865" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Matt and I were in Tulum, Mexico last week. This was our first big trip since our Honeymoon almost five years ago. We agreed on Mexico because I wanted tropical, and he wanted ruins. The boy is obsessed with those damn Mayans, I tell you. </span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tulum is about two hours south of Cancun and an hour south of the big all-inclusives “This place reminds me of Vegas,” Matt noted as we drove by the entrances of these mammoth hotels. Big fountains, ostentatious fences and winding drives into their grounds. Not that that’s bad, but we wanted small. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tulum is a funny mix: almost everyone here is white, either from America or Europe. It’s half well-off tourists and half hippie enclave. Everything is open air, and Christmas lights strewn in the trees and fresh fish, ceviche and good fruit. The ocean water is teal and a few dogs, all belonging to the seemingly year-around transplants who run the dive shops and restaurants (and all beautiful, sinewy Europeans with long hair or dreads) - scamper on the beach, dodging the waves. Our small hotel was literally on the beach and we fell asleep each night listening to the waves.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve spied several topless woman (with great, small perky breasts...I mean, I would go topless too if mine looked like that) and a older, very pale man in a tiniest sliver of a g-string. “That’s got to be a dare, right?” Matt said. I replied that no, he’s just European. “Don’t be so uncultured, Matt,” I added, although secretly thinking, “My god that is a sight...but I have to give it to him.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And with that, here are some photos of our trip:</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__6OZlFvPSneRSf-kUGUWbSFJMqB7nfwuNfY8XMP9JXsOyVb2X-4MGqOBw_iJlxUsWQ-DGNDcf7csIB7FDrzMXxzKbJo0dRJ8HmcoD240GcPhBa2kSX883bxx79Xf10JiqOrj8mUuxx8/s1600/DSC02695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__6OZlFvPSneRSf-kUGUWbSFJMqB7nfwuNfY8XMP9JXsOyVb2X-4MGqOBw_iJlxUsWQ-DGNDcf7csIB7FDrzMXxzKbJo0dRJ8HmcoD240GcPhBa2kSX883bxx79Xf10JiqOrj8mUuxx8/s640/DSC02695.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The beautiful view from our balcony. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPNZskDq7FpjouLwA_oBtMxImUrIUrvhb8J-AXc8VLuO0zF_VbGHDiLcWKP7aQXGhPuYVsUs-9C2TrPeaf0Pw0sx4EuPk_58QkE4RA-juTkLLht35yz2EU8XAxcTrrCjrl-DafZGMX_o/s1600/DSC02705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPNZskDq7FpjouLwA_oBtMxImUrIUrvhb8J-AXc8VLuO0zF_VbGHDiLcWKP7aQXGhPuYVsUs-9C2TrPeaf0Pw0sx4EuPk_58QkE4RA-juTkLLht35yz2EU8XAxcTrrCjrl-DafZGMX_o/s640/DSC02705.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We're so used to getting up at 6:30 due to Annie, so we just kept the blinds open and rose with the sun every morning. Gorgeous.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoISyPmGUlTsmbiep_A3LIeLIHqL44vcdgC6zQD9xJmm5lIvqAwpEZSgJeLU4FtxVLp2NMk-wD8P8w5ueieGoWBiUOj5woxhSEaOYzM9s3I8incViX1aX84QqzlOR31GZ3BAcH82vobeU/s1600/DSC02714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoISyPmGUlTsmbiep_A3LIeLIHqL44vcdgC6zQD9xJmm5lIvqAwpEZSgJeLU4FtxVLp2NMk-wD8P8w5ueieGoWBiUOj5woxhSEaOYzM9s3I8incViX1aX84QqzlOR31GZ3BAcH82vobeU/s640/DSC02714.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every morning we ate breakfast on the beach. This is Lorenzo taking our photograph.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVLbLfODnycoQrB6JZD8zvRMOhDH7MbAEpg7rg3gl5vI-2kE4GNU5HJhAAr0JaSoFrQoCZ2YAUb4bhuhu1a7ab_SerfLs83vWDRUGfaX4tDJMQQG-LUkToLAJ4ed1Lw5m_95rPuZ-dv0/s1600/DSC02719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVLbLfODnycoQrB6JZD8zvRMOhDH7MbAEpg7rg3gl5vI-2kE4GNU5HJhAAr0JaSoFrQoCZ2YAUb4bhuhu1a7ab_SerfLs83vWDRUGfaX4tDJMQQG-LUkToLAJ4ed1Lw5m_95rPuZ-dv0/s640/DSC02719.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We ate several of our lunches on our balcony and just picked up goodies from the local grocery store. Here I am ogling the varieties of peppers.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSukWC37UYI0hSbainb8K1QKlcrfDU4eA8w2bhmYHcLqwyruMwO5Ecmpi3J5wPYV6lEAHZ3qW7ehdc3w3H9RRl1UNiXWsrr2dIxLC1Cy5PRkXtDzcR8jjG-OwFnkoi28omnCUNpOQwYfA/s1600/DSC02721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSukWC37UYI0hSbainb8K1QKlcrfDU4eA8w2bhmYHcLqwyruMwO5Ecmpi3J5wPYV6lEAHZ3qW7ehdc3w3H9RRl1UNiXWsrr2dIxLC1Cy5PRkXtDzcR8jjG-OwFnkoi28omnCUNpOQwYfA/s640/DSC02721.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our Mexican rental car. Note there is no clock, radio, or CD player. The fingerprints are me pushing on it saying, "It has to be here somewhere!" Sadly, no mariachi music for us on our drive down to Tulum.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSq_PwH_ECDmM5fa_wadUjffLvnwl0rYODXEHw6IKDTfTjcoK3Qcra07TcgtrsW1VcV9fDiOr0GyUadBqoUjyaE6is0L7twGiisgZdMd208htB9mLXu7-OLAhdUokcaB2yJAfoxkp2qDA/s1600/DSC02723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSq_PwH_ECDmM5fa_wadUjffLvnwl0rYODXEHw6IKDTfTjcoK3Qcra07TcgtrsW1VcV9fDiOr0GyUadBqoUjyaE6is0L7twGiisgZdMd208htB9mLXu7-OLAhdUokcaB2yJAfoxkp2qDA/s640/DSC02723.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our hotel room. Very white. Very austere. Very peaceful.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-zxXCUVRrOxeBVG2vOsdYhyphenhyphenrEXu5-T0FXhPy6sEa6P_SsikPiKDwweoRNF6_-cSMg7LP68gkp2B1zldHd40wR_HcNqQ0JhbQNFd9vAzrUeQXzyPQNXUMgW5dKAj_4MB1FCMM1KTO69A/s1600/DSC02741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-zxXCUVRrOxeBVG2vOsdYhyphenhyphenrEXu5-T0FXhPy6sEa6P_SsikPiKDwweoRNF6_-cSMg7LP68gkp2B1zldHd40wR_HcNqQ0JhbQNFd9vAzrUeQXzyPQNXUMgW5dKAj_4MB1FCMM1KTO69A/s640/DSC02741.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Matt went scuba diving in a cenote, which is a water hole formed by an above ground portion of an underground river. There is a complex maze of rivers, caves, and cenotes in the Yucatan. We went swimming in one as well (photos later).</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mhkinUI2a5dCk7QxrOBNF1LQUNvIRQFrpNZ6NdMrNQQO17YswpvJOhyHZJ11eMJd9WKj14sQz35AY55Zt5cxX5YQb6w2jeYG7OH8QK9-5t7_MQrIOnihIX2xLlZm9VvNxl7zEfQJ_z0/s1600/DSC02743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mhkinUI2a5dCk7QxrOBNF1LQUNvIRQFrpNZ6NdMrNQQO17YswpvJOhyHZJ11eMJd9WKj14sQz35AY55Zt5cxX5YQb6w2jeYG7OH8QK9-5t7_MQrIOnihIX2xLlZm9VvNxl7zEfQJ_z0/s640/DSC02743.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On the road to our hotel. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1WFf8JytP-XgkxNlm9Fzfy4oiH3Wqradt2Ksrxun9fH0Yvow39aW8Bl8NcCNKQ_AVZ2d9I0LlPe2Zbp9D3aCGhgZ0CxYzi6c84GMrN4K8U1Dl1Xdg_K6zqqv2r3yeBZ_3Q3LY2h7yj4/s1600/DSC02747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1WFf8JytP-XgkxNlm9Fzfy4oiH3Wqradt2Ksrxun9fH0Yvow39aW8Bl8NcCNKQ_AVZ2d9I0LlPe2Zbp9D3aCGhgZ0CxYzi6c84GMrN4K8U1Dl1Xdg_K6zqqv2r3yeBZ_3Q3LY2h7yj4/s640/DSC02747.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mexican bakery. You KNOW I got my baked goods on!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Wc8Jy5WfS-AlziyGZD8DiY4RxB8MD40rogi5ZvxVqAU6kRzCOzKtbrf13jw8pgR65rT3afTFB0r1mYtkjfv6qSt-wK3uq7xL54URq2LGkLcCuI9KLW4omEQa8Jokx3Mx_BH_ggtjT5k/s1600/DSC02746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Wc8Jy5WfS-AlziyGZD8DiY4RxB8MD40rogi5ZvxVqAU6kRzCOzKtbrf13jw8pgR65rT3afTFB0r1mYtkjfv6qSt-wK3uq7xL54URq2LGkLcCuI9KLW4omEQa8Jokx3Mx_BH_ggtjT5k/s640/DSC02746.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I took a photo of this because I thought it would be Matt's last healthy hours on the trip. He asked for a aqua fresca (flavored water) and asked if it was purified. The waiter said "si" but with a glint in his eye. Totally thought he was playin' us. Anyway, Matt didn't get sick, so I guess that's good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(Prices are in pesos, and the exchange rate is about 12 pesos/US dollar. That's one cheap taco!)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-Wj0ZEhDwPUSoBv5uTRHxKXPnV_l2D85bu2efQ0EH4KQI_S7mRMYNSNoNl3HvGwAzNM878tmn5qAhj5V3NfW89KCfAEAiLf4bKBhESD5SP9b7sSC57F958wJ8i9pjqlfsLJbJKrzQmI/s1600/DSC02758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-Wj0ZEhDwPUSoBv5uTRHxKXPnV_l2D85bu2efQ0EH4KQI_S7mRMYNSNoNl3HvGwAzNM878tmn5qAhj5V3NfW89KCfAEAiLf4bKBhESD5SP9b7sSC57F958wJ8i9pjqlfsLJbJKrzQmI/s640/DSC02758.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We had a game throughout vacation calling "Lizard Spotting" (ingenius titling, I know). Here I am with a bucket full 'o' lizards!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigcbv1rcucDgW9yrHYLGi2w2JCw3DYSZenTXzd43C9eil7lF6VLKtvWq_MYsNjv2kF4FYNJyO0FqtpWPNanNWVbth9FFtLhbd3FGnbtjatT0Ukw0O61WujxWRy7gg3_QvReMqJwg71P4/s1600/DSC02772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigcbv1rcucDgW9yrHYLGi2w2JCw3DYSZenTXzd43C9eil7lF6VLKtvWq_MYsNjv2kF4FYNJyO0FqtpWPNanNWVbth9FFtLhbd3FGnbtjatT0Ukw0O61WujxWRy7gg3_QvReMqJwg71P4/s640/DSC02772.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Visiting some Mayan ruins in Tulum on the beach. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXtARjJJ-bVkIJNv9i_Z-94eyNsjV9Ggx4mcZ-Lbj304X9z_geuV4D6hZM7A_gOS-cIvqQkfB5GYofklZE-YGzjIj4hZQ4Xghuro40H8rGQQLS_xQUmxuAhudYbgYo7PQiJnLISddZE8/s1600/DSC02771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXtARjJJ-bVkIJNv9i_Z-94eyNsjV9Ggx4mcZ-Lbj304X9z_geuV4D6hZM7A_gOS-cIvqQkfB5GYofklZE-YGzjIj4hZQ4Xghuro40H8rGQQLS_xQUmxuAhudYbgYo7PQiJnLISddZE8/s640/DSC02771.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm smiling, but I'm already getting sick of these darn ruins. Once you see one ruin, you've seen 'em all (don't tell that to the Mayans).</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQZSiPA5pSwbXLHEH0FLNB1znz4foKixFRvAqMCRoQ6ovLG6mlYJ5zCIq-R-3NxKwxLVNRJ12zWPl-VqkvcU8kBapUsOKJNJ32vK0ByUXKX6VAt8JGJrWBhmh0Tojk0MrMGvstGTVaDk/s1600/DSC02778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQZSiPA5pSwbXLHEH0FLNB1znz4foKixFRvAqMCRoQ6ovLG6mlYJ5zCIq-R-3NxKwxLVNRJ12zWPl-VqkvcU8kBapUsOKJNJ32vK0ByUXKX6VAt8JGJrWBhmh0Tojk0MrMGvstGTVaDk/s640/DSC02778.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then we went ziplining over a lagoon.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBAppyCVaPiFHmaDjcNYHi0Xy1MTRxJ3YNOF_6E2Xn_qVa_ShDrpvJVrpbI-WOR8-MmneZqD_f6icDLvv-Y1McmaEHtti70X9PHDFF9HMFrZpuZ-OTNiAjmal-Sj1tL09XSvaYuhyphenhyphen8ymM/s1600/DSC02785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBAppyCVaPiFHmaDjcNYHi0Xy1MTRxJ3YNOF_6E2Xn_qVa_ShDrpvJVrpbI-WOR8-MmneZqD_f6icDLvv-Y1McmaEHtti70X9PHDFF9HMFrZpuZ-OTNiAjmal-Sj1tL09XSvaYuhyphenhyphen8ymM/s640/DSC02785.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Take a look at this here action shot.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vbtu4_mUiZ6AVQtqTedNMBHlBWOaKWdLOEuyfPc_zrY0TVJiQzYJZwk2VN2iTjmLoWv4-sp0uP_8pOQM8SA1-H2jfUzN_Hecpe1LQUYN0_QxbKsrdW8k09mbgac6qleGCQYSIi8R4vk/s1600/IMG_0214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vbtu4_mUiZ6AVQtqTedNMBHlBWOaKWdLOEuyfPc_zrY0TVJiQzYJZwk2VN2iTjmLoWv4-sp0uP_8pOQM8SA1-H2jfUzN_Hecpe1LQUYN0_QxbKsrdW8k09mbgac6qleGCQYSIi8R4vk/s640/IMG_0214.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now take a look at Matt in these photos...</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzXz6V-0N6ss_srQhHSHUpQYh1vjzGnVizDoMPUwIy3r-yHzK9dVaCa5zTQ8-IvmItPpXstwLrPIggfEoYBWL8xhhIhDdML2fUkdwJYW-I201XL0GmvciUAC3aomw14auTg0OCwKrNws/s1600/IMG_0212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzXz6V-0N6ss_srQhHSHUpQYh1vjzGnVizDoMPUwIy3r-yHzK9dVaCa5zTQ8-IvmItPpXstwLrPIggfEoYBWL8xhhIhDdML2fUkdwJYW-I201XL0GmvciUAC3aomw14auTg0OCwKrNws/s640/IMG_0212.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lounging back....</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuS7lR8HVmt8FxadLhgxrF9P9DWWgi6u4TwzNvHmWGLedf1rCH08muAYC5os4m51J3FMYLYYjndUHl0cWFFuf0Xp-N5ttnds8IhzO_r7SxbUD3QjzPt6n6xbof3R9g7alQ2d_h_smSMc4/s1600/IMG_0213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuS7lR8HVmt8FxadLhgxrF9P9DWWgi6u4TwzNvHmWGLedf1rCH08muAYC5os4m51J3FMYLYYjndUHl0cWFFuf0Xp-N5ttnds8IhzO_r7SxbUD3QjzPt6n6xbof3R9g7alQ2d_h_smSMc4/s640/IMG_0213.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Relaxed....</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDdcxe8BmBN8SVsvfMgEEe-ASY1C4_sJRUshdHu3XKqy-7jRRyyolM-8ECbDnguOHUUA-il_WfENdOml8xXz9NyPSUoy1SOk5oN5Glc2WzX-2SxukVpf0uhJhuOOa58WxUEQo7sPf1dZI/s1600/IMG_0215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDdcxe8BmBN8SVsvfMgEEe-ASY1C4_sJRUshdHu3XKqy-7jRRyyolM-8ECbDnguOHUUA-il_WfENdOml8xXz9NyPSUoy1SOk5oN5Glc2WzX-2SxukVpf0uhJhuOOa58WxUEQo7sPf1dZI/s640/IMG_0215.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Almost zen....</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguaz4AVbE24b_PTlh8SnbBUSLCTyMbTUa0s6eBkL1NkdZGrzXT13C30ze1CdG-nlyFLz4mY2KU0WxObfjcuA9-1jU0DJ7ahSMzjmooha3gTZ3evuSHg1E6MwlURQr6BZhclYMiMvTRe-E/s1600/IMG_0210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguaz4AVbE24b_PTlh8SnbBUSLCTyMbTUa0s6eBkL1NkdZGrzXT13C30ze1CdG-nlyFLz4mY2KU0WxObfjcuA9-1jU0DJ7ahSMzjmooha3gTZ3evuSHg1E6MwlURQr6BZhclYMiMvTRe-E/s640/IMG_0210.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then there's me hanging on for my life. Schreeching.<br />Typical.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMhjkrmsmWWfME8BU0dtffWg2S1pdpngtPMb94aIh0NL1_CE7xQNdqY8SbeDC1omFIGZXB2IFwHsK7QyWvCWwuJghsVG-HA4fjxMZQggsbeisbRzoysxQNCEZjTTNLKlzpT2z1w6MSGk/s1600/DSC02806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMhjkrmsmWWfME8BU0dtffWg2S1pdpngtPMb94aIh0NL1_CE7xQNdqY8SbeDC1omFIGZXB2IFwHsK7QyWvCWwuJghsVG-HA4fjxMZQggsbeisbRzoysxQNCEZjTTNLKlzpT2z1w6MSGk/s640/DSC02806.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We fit in a little canoing.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_PijvCeuPLahgVpMAbJ_bMfNKkJ8_XhHVdHWm2vfNrmI4wyWoSPW4eKTWC7PHHv7G9n6y6ZNwy4l4jn8CloIShRPOFJNR6XWotfXHjbaNyjp_DuWpJVtAR710dMrQ_P_iPZFqrHmr7c/s1600/DSC02815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_PijvCeuPLahgVpMAbJ_bMfNKkJ8_XhHVdHWm2vfNrmI4wyWoSPW4eKTWC7PHHv7G9n6y6ZNwy4l4jn8CloIShRPOFJNR6XWotfXHjbaNyjp_DuWpJVtAR710dMrQ_P_iPZFqrHmr7c/s640/DSC02815.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's Matt jumping into a cenote.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgON9BMidt-2BPb5I8B3fTZuqGyJPKK5-K4z6aNlNC9bpNXc1pFkq5v83UFKWHdWcTMDWSXfNdGEURsAXX1dfuAbkcPzSbB2ejTFk2Sm4unYan9uiS4dH3541R75KaLZwqgpdzFFlHa8ck/s1600/IMG_0221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgON9BMidt-2BPb5I8B3fTZuqGyJPKK5-K4z6aNlNC9bpNXc1pFkq5v83UFKWHdWcTMDWSXfNdGEURsAXX1dfuAbkcPzSbB2ejTFk2Sm4unYan9uiS4dH3541R75KaLZwqgpdzFFlHa8ck/s640/IMG_0221.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another view.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7gMThOQvKeyDN0EV_1uJ7WN0FLmA435JrcT_T9-4whds5HWycl2nxj9nw9ELMTycBaMaDerqq718IR8zepHnxaQbEMiJJBigtLcHj5h1Gp3RL5hBMvYEFmD5McVpzd-STwXkguH05x0/s1600/IMG_0222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7gMThOQvKeyDN0EV_1uJ7WN0FLmA435JrcT_T9-4whds5HWycl2nxj9nw9ELMTycBaMaDerqq718IR8zepHnxaQbEMiJJBigtLcHj5h1Gp3RL5hBMvYEFmD5McVpzd-STwXkguH05x0/s640/IMG_0222.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here is Matt being suave (aka doing a flip).<br />Our guide - Raphael - said, "This one's good for the Facebook, no?"<br />Well said, Raphael. Well said. We'll have to upload this bad boy.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqnIOySYiyHk1S5v_y40IcJXCAWLrNk4GCeNQg69f0uNP7mfQVRRf5YzqhHHrG8Y0OzgU2T2yTUjrxJiZ24M23cvttLmjiM-4nAeDwQL7wxjuLzD9kMk-zTyl8He_PdtweJ2cpuSP5Uc/s1600/IMG_0226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqnIOySYiyHk1S5v_y40IcJXCAWLrNk4GCeNQg69f0uNP7mfQVRRf5YzqhHHrG8Y0OzgU2T2yTUjrxJiZ24M23cvttLmjiM-4nAeDwQL7wxjuLzD9kMk-zTyl8He_PdtweJ2cpuSP5Uc/s640/IMG_0226.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The next part of our little adventre was an underground cave tour! It was pitch black<br />(these photos are taken with a flashlight and camera with a flash).</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWR7NEKfxpW3fIN7s-TCLJ5UFFjuqgPhjdh_0Xg32GGzWCyy9fPNyMYlmm5q7gEWjykbsobDoBemnDcbbVHtbCd6ZCJ62Ro7PUcWMOqFF62KD9G_ZuEMBlH_Wi4JHOf8t3035tvRdOgA4/s1600/IMG_0238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWR7NEKfxpW3fIN7s-TCLJ5UFFjuqgPhjdh_0Xg32GGzWCyy9fPNyMYlmm5q7gEWjykbsobDoBemnDcbbVHtbCd6ZCJ62Ro7PUcWMOqFF62KD9G_ZuEMBlH_Wi4JHOf8t3035tvRdOgA4/s640/IMG_0238.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Making our way through the cave....doggy paddle style, yo.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LTabWpombVsDR4gdkbZhWSGROS-WOZHlcn2OeF5irWHbHerFq_O9bhAxliC2dNIE7B3dV-7MVKOv5GktxKTx3h-jrRAKTH5gZ43JTfgf6l0CaA9USXcjejlHjcpHP2yy2cMCISdul9w/s1600/IMG_0242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LTabWpombVsDR4gdkbZhWSGROS-WOZHlcn2OeF5irWHbHerFq_O9bhAxliC2dNIE7B3dV-7MVKOv5GktxKTx3h-jrRAKTH5gZ43JTfgf6l0CaA9USXcjejlHjcpHP2yy2cMCISdul9w/s640/IMG_0242.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hands down, my favorite photo of the trip. Bwhahaha.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZTTRH9I97fw-qDbUqphKKVivmodsqVS9XG50qanVW0phdrfV43sswkOf6-DPLiDBDsJ-DPX6lCWzbgjbV5Kx6sqhOvwY8i74FoL_PHh9LTqfV3g5m-A6NrI2-n84YVXms-wJP_Yo1JI/s1600/DSC02819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZTTRH9I97fw-qDbUqphKKVivmodsqVS9XG50qanVW0phdrfV43sswkOf6-DPLiDBDsJ-DPX6lCWzbgjbV5Kx6sqhOvwY8i74FoL_PHh9LTqfV3g5m-A6NrI2-n84YVXms-wJP_Yo1JI/s640/DSC02819.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lunch on the balcony.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItf3hhz4Ofjz6-n8tMiJ0GqOzMSdbDDQp0yNmYSi3VBRdoPTFpKOJ1-hgkcv9YE-Ru_K0VsA-2j1X5qULe9tqMofdW301vd8h4BxedCduZGpWVgDYR1POxVRu8PhyBkOhjows9F859zc/s1600/DSC02823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItf3hhz4Ofjz6-n8tMiJ0GqOzMSdbDDQp0yNmYSi3VBRdoPTFpKOJ1-hgkcv9YE-Ru_K0VsA-2j1X5qULe9tqMofdW301vd8h4BxedCduZGpWVgDYR1POxVRu8PhyBkOhjows9F859zc/s640/DSC02823.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Matt and his lady friend.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEEh1kk0Sl6bkmqobYkzlYhjfeCUeYeFcNlTiVM9wlOL2bjb1-YIFFqP-A8agqbvrmTzxyb-fLC4m-vFhxXOqYKcRqdrasMG_V5KEU3A2wUHxlP7F9zGaiHNGY1psZ34YfJ8aAoFaSkw/s1600/DSC02830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEEh1kk0Sl6bkmqobYkzlYhjfeCUeYeFcNlTiVM9wlOL2bjb1-YIFFqP-A8agqbvrmTzxyb-fLC4m-vFhxXOqYKcRqdrasMG_V5KEU3A2wUHxlP7F9zGaiHNGY1psZ34YfJ8aAoFaSkw/s640/DSC02830.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I asked for "anything in a coconut, but it must be in a coconut". You know, just for this photo opp. Classy.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tJxnMSMPy0WPkdDmo96ry99ytwR0uD4VlQiQfB3H-qQoEw_7s8nJzOU9Nz5RPMhqgToDfu6PzOhgnMgi6uqLSh3QoOy8L0FvHWRQPIaqtth67aVSABUEhRyIlPhwFfIXeW-qU0RLYNM/s1600/DSC02826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tJxnMSMPy0WPkdDmo96ry99ytwR0uD4VlQiQfB3H-qQoEw_7s8nJzOU9Nz5RPMhqgToDfu6PzOhgnMgi6uqLSh3QoOy8L0FvHWRQPIaqtth67aVSABUEhRyIlPhwFfIXeW-qU0RLYNM/s640/DSC02826.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Matt relaxing.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaLFwySKgEkTv6MqEcQZ1QGCkjligVUdCuKma4b_2Re8XoXMDD9sdzpFpA-JwfD1QKg4pTYsbaXegELCpzerLjXfoFgPBk-we3X2jHpiq2Y1rLGumUZ8iZITgPQVz2HHMoVx3E_1jTQM/s1600/DSC02831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaLFwySKgEkTv6MqEcQZ1QGCkjligVUdCuKma4b_2Re8XoXMDD9sdzpFpA-JwfD1QKg4pTYsbaXegELCpzerLjXfoFgPBk-we3X2jHpiq2Y1rLGumUZ8iZITgPQVz2HHMoVx3E_1jTQM/s640/DSC02831.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is Matt's favorite part of the trip, bar none. He sincerely got a kick outta the old man in the g-string. He said everytime he spotted him, he got 10 extra "lizard points". (Boy was falling behind on the lizard points, let me tell you.) Anyway, since Matt was so enamored he spotted this gentleman daily (look, this dude really piqued his interest), and thus clenched the win for "Lizard Spotting". Unfairly, I might add.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt6fzk_NZjALSjRasm6HYujjbDbIni7z16xjZtIM2pOkPU3TA0vVUIZ5zjArSbbeIfkYTP6sbjGgEVkUf1gPyOqtxJglzEZ4NTDjtlNQrQ8R8KyV-nR2BEMykcUALfOu3XtPj2yJoYhs/s1600/DSC02837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt6fzk_NZjALSjRasm6HYujjbDbIni7z16xjZtIM2pOkPU3TA0vVUIZ5zjArSbbeIfkYTP6sbjGgEVkUf1gPyOqtxJglzEZ4NTDjtlNQrQ8R8KyV-nR2BEMykcUALfOu3XtPj2yJoYhs/s640/DSC02837.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Beautiful beach.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5OodDZLwCS_S23FJVcAzc7pO4UrrdEsv1WnClZZKCi5b0njJ4GOx3p4QTUBY4VumBPK8oayNfNMCfLjW8G1vT-4j1kBqhKW-9ODYAVGWi5rbI2-Mq9kDkQfUOpnPjDE20XQonYV4r7Q/s1600/DSC02845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5OodDZLwCS_S23FJVcAzc7pO4UrrdEsv1WnClZZKCi5b0njJ4GOx3p4QTUBY4VumBPK8oayNfNMCfLjW8G1vT-4j1kBqhKW-9ODYAVGWi5rbI2-Mq9kDkQfUOpnPjDE20XQonYV4r7Q/s640/DSC02845.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nighttime in Tulum is magical: lights in the trees everywhere, people walking to dinner on the dirt road, flashlights in hand, and hotels aglow. Here is the pool at our hotel.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPd-3Rs3lFDqzQ-sUok9H6w-VEpsd6F2G3ler_ZL7sJP2ns1i2mKiwOYSb6rFNCMJk3C7-Bjyv46BcemmFaRBpzlzo0dGqyaRGhyAmxeuSF7YwPdWH3optMGbvnghDe4w88pmlSueXi0k/s1600/DSC02854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPd-3Rs3lFDqzQ-sUok9H6w-VEpsd6F2G3ler_ZL7sJP2ns1i2mKiwOYSb6rFNCMJk3C7-Bjyv46BcemmFaRBpzlzo0dGqyaRGhyAmxeuSF7YwPdWH3optMGbvnghDe4w88pmlSueXi0k/s640/DSC02854.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On our last day we went to Chichen Itza. Matt was dying to go. I was like, "eh, ruins.." I know, I'm so jaded.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><b style="font-weight: normal;">We also snorkeled and saw tons of sea turtles and took some underwater photos, which I hope to share when they're developed. It was a terrific trip, but we were so happy to come home to Annie, who spent three days with my parents and three days with Matt's. It's good to be home.</b></span>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-55385336511775705382013-02-12T20:28:00.000-05:002013-02-12T20:28:14.865-05:00A doggone health scareLast week Penny almost died: that beautiful being who was almost an afterthought this past year came front and center and settled deep and heavy in my chest reminding me what a damn god dog - and companion - she has been. <br />
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Penny has been getting thinner - and we thought at first she was mimicking Annie's persnickety eating habits - but then she grew weak and lethargic. She could not finish a walk. We learned she had a tumor on her spleen and it was removed on Thursday. On Wednesday - the eve of her surgery - we cooked her a steak. She loved it. <br />
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The day of the surgery Matt had to carry her into our vet's office because she had grown so anemic and weak, and that morning we said goodbye. Matt took a quick snapshot of Annie, Penny and me, all of us with our hearts in our throat except Annie, who just wanted her morning banana.<br />
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But yesterday we learned it wasn't cancer and day by day she grows fatter, stronger, happier. Her appetite is strong and she jumped to greet us when we got home (so much for, "She should only be walking to go out to the bathroom," which was the advice of our vet). We have matching scars - long, deep vertical cuts on our tummies - and I'm reminded of the comfort she brought me when I was sick. <br />
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The day of the surgery Matt wrote this is an email:<br />
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I'll always be in Penny's debt. What I'm most grateful for is how she's been able to soothe and comfort you. Especially when I think of the rougher times we've gone though, your hospitalization, then surgery, your unemployment, and all the failed fertilization attempts. Our doggy daughter was always able to provide solace in ways that eluded me. </div>
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We're so very thankful to have her home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxX8n9410PBuTcub-_6zKfDNpnNdlBegzOnMeRk5H_S3W5vpVnEj1cYXx59Ie-DE0BjAPK3KBZWZ4c53h3peVxfcp4SeWoeeG3zogpfSG1InpirVpflV4He-cG8wPCO7NxDqlkH7fx6OQ/s1600/DSC02618.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxX8n9410PBuTcub-_6zKfDNpnNdlBegzOnMeRk5H_S3W5vpVnEj1cYXx59Ie-DE0BjAPK3KBZWZ4c53h3peVxfcp4SeWoeeG3zogpfSG1InpirVpflV4He-cG8wPCO7NxDqlkH7fx6OQ/s640/DSC02618.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Penny: "Let's get on with this already you sentimental ninnies."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15OXZPtUbVogAEjo87axlt8c7SwQdQ0g4mcrzkIqRlyQs65XWsHE72wZKmuQJaYmFxGcSkZ4D510c9F5WJ7HOaGcKT5_YZ0UuA9ERnvxOImq7VJr1kMF1sEjY8g1Nk1682ahzQlpiD1s/s1600/DSC02604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15OXZPtUbVogAEjo87axlt8c7SwQdQ0g4mcrzkIqRlyQs65XWsHE72wZKmuQJaYmFxGcSkZ4D510c9F5WJ7HOaGcKT5_YZ0UuA9ERnvxOImq7VJr1kMF1sEjY8g1Nk1682ahzQlpiD1s/s640/DSC02604.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her steak (well, we had some as well...let's be real y'all).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9ahpSQaId-Ax19t1SELgAtum7WedDuVNt-kxMQ_2x25D-udvU_rCLAUX43zqABTsevfhoizUTjKE8aUnJwePXS2Cgm1IewZFYtuNMfcc1dkmw2qi6ITLx79RZUxevM5XLFsU0LjjFlw/s1600/DSC02613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9ahpSQaId-Ax19t1SELgAtum7WedDuVNt-kxMQ_2x25D-udvU_rCLAUX43zqABTsevfhoizUTjKE8aUnJwePXS2Cgm1IewZFYtuNMfcc1dkmw2qi6ITLx79RZUxevM5XLFsU0LjjFlw/s640/DSC02613.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our precious pup.</td></tr>
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<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-89222960227153925622013-01-30T20:33:00.001-05:002013-01-31T19:41:26.209-05:0014 Months<br />
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I've been having an impossibly bad week: at work, and health-wise (let's just say it involved me puking all over the train parking lot, oy). Then I remembered I had this on my work computer from last week, and it made me smile:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghH7LOPrMDlQMqPNyEIag2pj6gbP1bppMCjhp-VSoC3ljIuPyZ6ZiUi8mLBd-ZHOKf448aRhErAhP-nFYih3hJi6XHC7R9IrwRce9DlMBESrOz6yaVS1p3gg0F0Pf0FoYRZMqjZADUv60/s1600/annie+xmas.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghH7LOPrMDlQMqPNyEIag2pj6gbP1bppMCjhp-VSoC3ljIuPyZ6ZiUi8mLBd-ZHOKf448aRhErAhP-nFYih3hJi6XHC7R9IrwRce9DlMBESrOz6yaVS1p3gg0F0Pf0FoYRZMqjZADUv60/s640/annie+xmas.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I realized I haven't taken any recent photos! I'll have to remedy that, but this is from Christmas.</td></tr>
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I find myself writing these letters to you when I’m away: right now I’m trying to feel my toes again in Michigan. It is below zero with the wind chill and I just walked eight blocks in flimsy flats to an event I’m attending for work. I flew in late last night from Colorado, where the sun made the mountains orange and it was a windows-down sort of 68 degree day. This morning I ate oatmeal in my hotel room, thinking of my flight home tonight and seeing you tomorrow morning. Your dad tells me you’ve been grumpy, and I’d like to think it’s because you miss me but I’m pretty sure it’s just that nasty stomach virus you’re getting over. </div>
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On Monday you turned 14 months old, and high in the clouds I thought about how lucky I am to return home to you and your father. It’s important you know that these work trips are fraught with many emotions: overall, I really do dislike them. I hate flying (sitting in a small commuter plane while crews work on de-icing the thing is harrowing to me) and I really hate being away from you (not that I don’t enjoy a break: in my travels I’ve recently discovered the joys of room service…and not having to pick up the tab!). But, I’m very fortunate to provide for our family in this way and something about late night drives or even sitting in an airport fuels me: I am working as a means to an end – our family (and let’s be honest – my penchant for weekly Target runs!). I hope you find something you love to do: I haven’t yet – and continue to have many heartaches in the corporate world - but I find solace that motherhood feeds me in a way no job will. </div>
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So here we are. First, let me say I am not pleased that you have turned into a very picky eater. My number one pet peeve is a picky eater, and lordy, if I don’t have one from my own flesh and bone! These are the things you like: bananas (like is an understatement), eggs, yogurt, refried beans, pancakes, bread (and any bread product, really), and cheese. Sometimes you eat other fruit (pieces of mango or peach, pineapple or applesauce), but the only vegetable you seem to digest are avocados. You push these foods around on your plate and eventually throw them to the floor for Penny. Then you start whining and flailing your arms for a banana. Every. Night. We have capped your banana consumption to one banana a day and you are NOT pleased.</div>
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You still aren’t walking (your father and I were both late walkers at 15-months-old) but we know you can do it. You seem to say, “Why walk when I can scoot?” So you scoot and crawl everywhere (you are finally crawling), and cruise everywhere else. Sometimes you’ll stand up unassisted and then realize what you’ve done and sit back down. You’ve take a few steps but you just really seem disinterested.</div>
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You haven’t talked much but love saying “uh oh!” when you drop anything. Or when we drop anything. Or really, whenever something goes awry. You still think Daddy is the silliest goofball ever, but I’m happy to report I can also get you giddy and squealing. You adore peek-a-boo and often play it in the bath, with me or Dad hiding behind the shower curtain.</div>
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This winter you have had a series of health hiccups: two ear infections, a sinus infection and a stomach virus. You and your daycare classmates are riddled with germs, and it’s like an infectious hopscotch from one miserable toddler to the next. But – amidst the sickness – you’ve become more affectionate. You have never been a cuddler but starting with that first ear infection you nuzzled close and still do when you’re under the weather or feeling tired: you don’t know how good that feels to your father and I.</div>
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One thing that doesn’t feel good? Girl, you are waking up during the night! It started during Christmas vacation and hasn’t let up. We never truly needed to implement “crying it out” because you were always our sleep champion, but now we find ourselves biding the minutes until you settle back down. It started with two stubborn top teeth that finally appeared a few weeks ago – those wretched teeth! And then you were sick. And then? Then I think you just got used to being soothed late into the night. The last week has been a bit better, and I think you’re finally getting the hand of self-soothing (I sincerely hope I didn’t just jinx myself by typing that!).</div>
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And, like I said before, here we are. I’m finishing this post in the air again on my way home. The plane is running 30 minutes late (had to taxi 10 minutes to a de-iced runway and wait in line to get de-iced for another 20 – shiver!) but I should touch down in another half hour. If these tiring work trips are good for anything, they’re good at making me realize how good I have it. Your father sometimes irritates me in ways I didn’t know I could be irritated (how can the man pull out of the drive way and reach the top of the street forgetting where we’re going?!) but you and I are lucky baby girl: he is a good man and a terrific dad. I hope you find someone you love deeply too someday. For now, you have us: two impossibly imperfect newbies who love you to pieces. Happy 14 months, my little Joanna Rose.</div>
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-6192063678265774862013-01-02T20:20:00.004-05:002013-01-02T20:20:55.113-05:00Happy New Year<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7198257334530354" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I do not love working, but I love the momentum it brings to my day. If I didn’t work, I would never leave the house - or, when I did - it would invariably be in three-day-old yoga pants and a stained hoodie. Forget brushing my hair. And for that reason alone, I am happy to be back at work today.</span><br /><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2013 came with a grumpy mumble. Mainly, me bitching about the neighborhood fireworks going off and a baby who - inexplicably for the last several days - refuses to sleep through the night. It starts at 11 pm - a cry soothed by a pacifier - and again at 2:30 am, where nothing seems to work (pacifier, diaper change, soothing words, until we gave her baby Tylanol [aka baby crack] and a bottle). The moment you realize you’re wide awake and it’s going to be a fight to get back to sleep, the battle is lost. The moment that tiny seed of worry is planted I might as well put on the coffee and get a shower.</span><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On New Year’s Eve, Matt and I sat in bed with our laptops and ate desserts and watched bad TV. We did manage to plan - and book - a getaway to Mexico for March, which is really big for us as the furthest away we manage to get is the New Jersey or Virginian shoreline or reading the TravelZoo weekly Top 20 vacation deals email Annie will stay three days with my parents, and three day with Matt’s - a baby on her own suitcase adventure with Penny in tow.</span><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hope the new year brings you many adventures, too. Here’s to 2013!</span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkQec30rXm1KU_wH37YXK0BqP8O3W4yJgu8CYvw7yoJb1u2MZakSFmRt3g8IGgMWsyvSwOvbJLTH4bXq2gHzYWK_wh-EDAfHpbIgW496Ge9Y8KPTX_IhZW16xgwkztAKYTm1Qb7hnXE4/s1600/annie+new+yr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkQec30rXm1KU_wH37YXK0BqP8O3W4yJgu8CYvw7yoJb1u2MZakSFmRt3g8IGgMWsyvSwOvbJLTH4bXq2gHzYWK_wh-EDAfHpbIgW496Ge9Y8KPTX_IhZW16xgwkztAKYTm1Qb7hnXE4/s640/annie+new+yr.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Adventure? <i>Pah-lease.</i> Just give me my banana already."</td></tr>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-20557764831156955322012-12-29T15:48:00.001-05:002012-12-29T15:48:32.873-05:00Christmas in photos<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTPRSee1-lZvVhTV99_t0nmWyWyBoIT2kI8s6AwB9iJKi2ofEKPmrOOP4NhVDso2LnRsD7tR8XHGfi2_MTmpmFMiAjPwR3-FHpP_Lsjzzo_0UI6vgqTj0YDhyphenhyphenHwOO_IM9YdvQsF0sl1Vb/s1600/DSC02443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTPRSee1-lZvVhTV99_t0nmWyWyBoIT2kI8s6AwB9iJKi2ofEKPmrOOP4NhVDso2LnRsD7tR8XHGfi2_MTmpmFMiAjPwR3-FHpP_Lsjzzo_0UI6vgqTj0YDhyphenhyphenHwOO_IM9YdvQsF0sl1Vb/s640/DSC02443.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We spent the holiday on Long Island with Matt's aunt and uncle. <br />It's beautiful there and here we are walking on the beach at Sagamore Hill National Park, aka Teddy Roosevelt's former digs. The walk was lovely except I had to go to the bathroom (but what else is new?). </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtg8MwXgCggzyq5N9nd-ONwv8o6VHbPbAhQoNYwUyXd5jF4j0adiAoiluQ84p-Affio48Mm0h7SPFJXGyGn6jOhOevgQN5Ut5sUadDRhtbUDwRNy4Q2Maz_Fgu4F6_8W1StTFQyrh09jS7/s1600/DSC02445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtg8MwXgCggzyq5N9nd-ONwv8o6VHbPbAhQoNYwUyXd5jF4j0adiAoiluQ84p-Affio48Mm0h7SPFJXGyGn6jOhOevgQN5Ut5sUadDRhtbUDwRNy4Q2Maz_Fgu4F6_8W1StTFQyrh09jS7/s640/DSC02445.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is Matt's uncle Joel with Annie. <br />Joel looks lovely, although Annie is showing some major 'tude.<br />(Also displayed in the first photo.)<br />(To her credit it was quite chilly.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cj2uSbhI9MUNyGY2V6-KcZ7mlZBaEZiTG1PEm9zTfJGN39Wi3l0zEU-mhTExkQDzGSDbbL-Gj7p4X1IrGGuabUcNLJdPumecXWX7jLKA49dE7biu3izFVaMHRZdEFrv_ZuIQJtZFK5C2/s1600/DSC02450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cj2uSbhI9MUNyGY2V6-KcZ7mlZBaEZiTG1PEm9zTfJGN39Wi3l0zEU-mhTExkQDzGSDbbL-Gj7p4X1IrGGuabUcNLJdPumecXWX7jLKA49dE7biu3izFVaMHRZdEFrv_ZuIQJtZFK5C2/s640/DSC02450.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie was obsessed with poor Penelope, and often tugged at her tail and ears.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's Granny Nanny (Matt's mom) showing her how to pet her gently. <br />Annie is all, "What? <i>Me </i>pull the cat's ears?! It's insulting you would even think that!"<br />Then she pulled them anyway. (of course)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is Matt and Annie on Christmas Eve as we're about to go into our hotel for the night.<br />It started flurrying, which I thought was magical. Annie was over it, though.<br />Snow smow, she seemed to say. It's late and I want my bottle, people!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNdsKm-lc38O5c4bk-apROEZ9j7TyE5xmtKVXWyxSX1fOfpnBIPEAnqcN9qX-TLr5PS3tYWXIM-G3toIti-rDlLBlv7b0PLgl3TLnfK9z5NvEiGD4riyRBaPril9Tq9flSF78WfJPEJQQ/s1600/DSC02468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNdsKm-lc38O5c4bk-apROEZ9j7TyE5xmtKVXWyxSX1fOfpnBIPEAnqcN9qX-TLr5PS3tYWXIM-G3toIti-rDlLBlv7b0PLgl3TLnfK9z5NvEiGD4riyRBaPril9Tq9flSF78WfJPEJQQ/s640/DSC02468.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the few photos I got of Annie in her Christmas morning ensemble. We got everything from Goodwill/on consignment, which is good, as she wore it for about two hours tops. Poor thing looks somber as can be, but I can assure you she had a really fun holiday and was active and giddy most of the time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Why is everyone so excited?!"<br />From the left: Matt's Aunt Debbie, cousin Julia, Uncle and Aunt Dave and Cyndy, and poor Laura, <br />who is cut off (sorry Laura!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had our big Christmas dinner on Sunday evening, as the whole gang was there, and then on Christmas Day went into Manhattan. Here is Annie bundled up in her stroller.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQM6DxbKoMguxYAmu4e4dJDLsbKFiAvmBmYARQFpUlEksYinFyAfxDuItmSGrXHSC93M6yIsFMqylcjZ-TClEyP_6nF-k8W1jkiCzp89QqFIEeu0V9jCRBCN-NQa62Cul_k2nFh-csS4Iz/s1600/DSC02481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQM6DxbKoMguxYAmu4e4dJDLsbKFiAvmBmYARQFpUlEksYinFyAfxDuItmSGrXHSC93M6yIsFMqylcjZ-TClEyP_6nF-k8W1jkiCzp89QqFIEeu0V9jCRBCN-NQa62Cul_k2nFh-csS4Iz/s640/DSC02481.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And some of the gang at the tree in Rockefeller Plaza.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiduYgrRJkR1XaGYIYtgGgl8_YNUZY2LmdOY6grfCM2YJhhII6mYbZ_qygOs3wotrt2O_A4KH-es5Da2rJ0MH7C-xsQNd7g-YL1ObeqNknUGveIgkphuqOhahonV48cIJOopleNjLlRObSI/s1600/DSC02485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiduYgrRJkR1XaGYIYtgGgl8_YNUZY2LmdOY6grfCM2YJhhII6mYbZ_qygOs3wotrt2O_A4KH-es5Da2rJ0MH7C-xsQNd7g-YL1ObeqNknUGveIgkphuqOhahonV48cIJOopleNjLlRObSI/s640/DSC02485.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With dad and Poppy Hoppy on a carousel in Bryant Park.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt: "Wave, Annie!"<br />Annie: <b>No.</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54q6YKFBjwAz7gnXV7fezjt30p39eSdAJV5kIb_neT7doeqRz6af5N9AvONnuoOZn-WqQwC2XQo-F0LFtqNdVk8-2Q_5IWzCLUzfrrk7-yiVkcqda3fwJqgrv_NTW9dMswlDydGelhl9t/s1600/DSC02500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54q6YKFBjwAz7gnXV7fezjt30p39eSdAJV5kIb_neT7doeqRz6af5N9AvONnuoOZn-WqQwC2XQo-F0LFtqNdVk8-2Q_5IWzCLUzfrrk7-yiVkcqda3fwJqgrv_NTW9dMswlDydGelhl9t/s640/DSC02500.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City girl.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCjQWUeUwtAf7Fy00wFcxUDPbgksZTZ9O_YeTnqbwXDeGTOi8upf-5-GGuUjSk56UE4IoErdns2ARSdD0yL1MjZWZoIr5n13rfaqp583koenunVOXUEnzj4zoOO1t2k5ch26xBjDtEdO9/s1600/DSC02501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCjQWUeUwtAf7Fy00wFcxUDPbgksZTZ9O_YeTnqbwXDeGTOi8upf-5-GGuUjSk56UE4IoErdns2ARSdD0yL1MjZWZoIr5n13rfaqp583koenunVOXUEnzj4zoOO1t2k5ch26xBjDtEdO9/s640/DSC02501.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt and Annie.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf4gwyHpvuwJECzLM0yNeuC3Yp190qqPYD_jzBdl19d04_ngZoiTpvXKy1w1oEAKJGsTQpfVtzcrfxdHSThfi3CXTWT-cQTVYFGCxwa6t3zycoNs1T7SEHXBQVvrN1i2BSPFRaM9dEAVFS/s1600/DSC02505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf4gwyHpvuwJECzLM0yNeuC3Yp190qqPYD_jzBdl19d04_ngZoiTpvXKy1w1oEAKJGsTQpfVtzcrfxdHSThfi3CXTWT-cQTVYFGCxwa6t3zycoNs1T7SEHXBQVvrN1i2BSPFRaM9dEAVFS/s640/DSC02505.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such is the life:<br />girl woke up one block away from the Chinese place where we ate dinner. <br />Obviously, she knows what is important in life.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDol_ljrTZ6a1o3WtepEChMtR7xb01hitr5IoG2bt9zh8y77uZR5qYQMa9pMs5rMnVAD412YZWU618d-JZyvIR31eG0k9ZzGP9pu3sqPjk6ePnVtyWRwf6y0gUXZ06pNey3lmVDGbPXsZ4/s1600/DSC02510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDol_ljrTZ6a1o3WtepEChMtR7xb01hitr5IoG2bt9zh8y77uZR5qYQMa9pMs5rMnVAD412YZWU618d-JZyvIR31eG0k9ZzGP9pu3sqPjk6ePnVtyWRwf6y0gUXZ06pNey3lmVDGbPXsZ4/s640/DSC02510.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Now, let's see what the specials are today."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'd like some tea, too. You can put it in the sippy cup, Poppy Hoppy."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After-dinner aperitif.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us at Rockefeller Plaza's Christmas tree. I love this shot.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQcaqLRGTJX1lRZqstv7RvPZ4MCZ59Lee3SnmO2UDzy11tHEqkriEiuxcrVE22f5dsLAxBat69E2Oc6e8j3juahs1F9z54MC8D9KdpPNySmsJz2ogY425Hlsqlzifv2WLLdTPogSjVVpaM/s1600/DSC02536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQcaqLRGTJX1lRZqstv7RvPZ4MCZ59Lee3SnmO2UDzy11tHEqkriEiuxcrVE22f5dsLAxBat69E2Oc6e8j3juahs1F9z54MC8D9KdpPNySmsJz2ogY425Hlsqlzifv2WLLdTPogSjVVpaM/s640/DSC02536.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My father got Annie a rocking horse, much like the ponies we see while vacationing in Chincoteague.<br />She's still a bit scared of it. Here she is looking...uh... ambivalent. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today it started snowing, and we took to the neighborhood for a little walk. Here is Matt and Annie in front of the house. (Four hours later it's still coming down!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And me.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WflrrZ5mkZzTqZ_TyeCboJNC8PsFWkYxoZLjX-wYLpwJJm0qnKb6EKGlj5yJEcRYhY4EJvODYNHCke_Gm00chi2pm5hxpGLAe5so5ZNuIX3ZMmnHXFmo0AlGY64ay2eGw1tDclHNiuod/s1600/DSC02558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WflrrZ5mkZzTqZ_TyeCboJNC8PsFWkYxoZLjX-wYLpwJJm0qnKb6EKGlj5yJEcRYhY4EJvODYNHCke_Gm00chi2pm5hxpGLAe5so5ZNuIX3ZMmnHXFmo0AlGY64ay2eGw1tDclHNiuod/s640/DSC02558.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And our doggie daughter, Penny.</td></tr>
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Happy Holidays!</div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-73122355019116683362012-12-24T11:37:00.001-05:002012-12-24T11:37:23.692-05:00Merry Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_f473fcrJ6kkFisPv-_L0pvQQVLnEIpOrGFGZm7F7aZV_btwb3VJBO0itjw-cCdJSi0RhM0tjiPR667ZZ1HHFp968wM9JsIrEvvG1OTngpUQB0FX9tqolVbUmNITEiNH8G1pPKaxMOnBz/s1600/xmas+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_f473fcrJ6kkFisPv-_L0pvQQVLnEIpOrGFGZm7F7aZV_btwb3VJBO0itjw-cCdJSi0RhM0tjiPR667ZZ1HHFp968wM9JsIrEvvG1OTngpUQB0FX9tqolVbUmNITEiNH8G1pPKaxMOnBz/s640/xmas+card.jpg" width="412" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Merry Christmas, friends! I'm writing this is a dark hotel room on the North shore of Long Island as Annie naps. She's a good traveler and has taken to her Pack 'n' Play like a champ. In a bit we're heading over to Matt's aunt and uncle's with the rest of his family for lunch and a mid-day hike. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Speaking of Christmas, a large package (which I believe Matt had shipped to his work) showed up in our car among the wrapped presents the other day as we headed up to my parents' place. It's addressed to Annie and upon asking him about it, he said, "Oh yeah, I got Annie something," with no further explanation, although adding, "Don't worry; I'll say it's from both of us." Um, <i>thanks</i>. Boyfriend went out and bought his little girl a gift and refuses to tell me what it is! Suck up. I find this whole thing very suspicious. And irksome. Particularly because I didn't really get the kid anything - she's a year old! Girl doesn't know Santa from the Easter Bunny.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyway, at the hotel's continental breakfast this morning Matt and I met a man who lost much of his home to Hurricane Sandy and FEMA has put him up in these temp digs since then. Describing the mountains of paperwork, red tape and formalities to get his house back in order (fortunately their home wasn't condemned, but the first floor had to be entirely gutted) made me - even further - realize how fortunate I am. Cheesy, I know. But it was a beautiful little reminder from a stranger on Christmas Eve.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Much love to you and yours this holiday season,</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kathryn, Matt, Annie, and Penny (who I'm sure is enjoying a swanky doggie spa-like day at my parents, complete with gourmet food, lots of doggie treats, and river walks)</span>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-89215460709500637842012-12-18T14:41:00.000-05:002012-12-18T14:41:32.741-05:00Meaningful action
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">There’s nothing more to write on Newtown that others haven’t
already (and so beautifully, too) said – like these </span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/15/opinion/collins-looking-for-america.html?smid=pl-share"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">words</span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
and </span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/16/opinion/sunday/kristof-do-we-have-the-courage-to-stop-this.html?smid=pl-share"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">this</span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">.
</span>I will say we live very near to an expo center in the Philadelphia area –
and drive by it regularly to go to Target, or the grocery store, or wherever –
and they had a gun show this past weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They have shows for everything: Western pottery, quilts, outlet sales
for Lilly Pulitzer or Boden, reptile shows, the national dog show films there,
and so on and so on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually go twice
a year to a children’s consignment sale where I purchase the bulk of Annie’s
clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So having a gun show was
nothing new – we’ve seen the signs for them in the past – but the lines, the
gridlock to get in, the sheer volume of men – was very real, and very
unnerving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have never – in the five
years I’ve lived here – seen crowds like that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our gun culture is very real and also very
frightening. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As a mother – and like any parent, or any American, or,
really, anyone – I feel like I have been punched in the gut and have yet to
exhale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure you feel it too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I couldn’t get an early train out of the city on Friday and
when I finally picked Annie up, I drove home with mascara tears, saying, “I’m
crying because I love you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m crying
because I’m so happy to see you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please
don’t be scared, I’m sorry, your mommy is just sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something very bad happened today but you are
OK and I am OK and daddy is OK too,” and then, a peppy squeak of, “Now, what do
you want for dinner!?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Annie may have
been asleep, or just tired, or just a quiet almost 13-month-old who can only
say “dog”, “hi”, and “bye”, but of course she was silent as we drove through
Valley Forge Park on our way home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So, here we are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
Tuesday and it was a fine day: I just finished a big sweet potato pound cake
cupcake (heavenly) left from a lunch I threw for our interns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Workloads are winding down in anticipation of
the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took next week off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matt and I carpooled today so I’m getting
picked-up at the train by him and Annie – my Corolla chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I can’t quite reconcile this ordinary day
and feeling so very helpless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And hopeless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I suppose I wrote a lot for not wanting to write about what
happened this past Friday. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that
horror is deep in my veins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not a
religious person – but I want to have faith – so I whispered my meager thoughts
of hope and healing and wished them to the heavens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I looked at my little girl – my
shimmering star burst, my light – and said we need to do better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to do right by them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">To add your name
urging Congress to introduce gun control legislation, please visit the </span><a href="https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/immediately-address-issue-gun-control-through-introduction-legislation-congress/2tgcXzQC"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">White
House’s “We the People” site.</span></a> <o:p></o:p></i></div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-23921968211268462032012-12-14T14:43:00.004-05:002012-12-14T15:55:41.133-05:00Unspeakable acts<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’m writing this at my desk at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a 40-minute train ride away from Annie
and it’s too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like everyone else I
just learned about the elementary school shooting in Connecticut, and like
everyone else I’m sitting at my desk finding it hard to breathe, think, move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Perhaps today is not the time, but tomorrow?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Tomorrow </span>we need to finally start a <strong>vigorous</strong>
discussion of mental healthcare reform and, above all, gun control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When is it enough?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Those children deserve <em>at least</em> that.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My deepest, deepest sympathies, thoughts, and prayers to all
the families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How horribly unspeakable</span>.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-46260955632079611292012-12-05T21:42:00.001-05:002012-12-05T21:45:35.160-05:00Baby cashmere and other ridiculous thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.gap.com/assets/common/clear.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.gap.com/assets/common/clear.gif" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Some thoughts:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">1)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">“Baby’s first cashmere!” This was the subject line of an email I received from the Gap. I have a soft-spot for Baby Gap, lord help me. Their clothes are sweet but never too cutesy, girly but never too babyish, and just all-around covetable, but you know Mama K isn’t about to lay down $35 on a baby sweater (those are the cotton ones). Oh hells no! And now this – cashmere?!?! I don’t even own cashmere. Look, if they don’t sell it at Target I probably don’t own it.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A baby primer of sorts (for babies of a certain echelon only, of course):</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s7.jcrew.com/is/image/jcrew/22212_SP5883?$pdp_fs418$" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://s7.jcrew.com/is/image/jcrew/22212_SP5883?$pdp_fs418$" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Isn't this <a href="http://j.crew/"><b>J.Crew</b></a> baby sweater just darling?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the way, it's cashmere.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh, and $145.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And your baby will get spaghetti all over it and outgrow it within six months.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But first-world problems, right?!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ok, ok, let's do something a bit more...eh...shall we say..."for the masses":</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www1.assets-gap.com/webcontent/0005/714/991/cn5714991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://www1.assets-gap.com/webcontent/0005/714/991/cn5714991.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That's better.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is from<b> <a href="http://www.gap.com/browse/category.do?cid=84674#department=165">the Gap</a></b>. This sweet number is indeed cashmere.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All babies need cashmere for their baby-soft skin, silly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(That goes without saying.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's 88 bucks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I get a little tense even typing that. $88 and "baby sweater" do not belong together.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">2)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Speaking of fancy sweaters, Matt has been prancing around saying, “You know, I wear things from Neiman Marcus...basically I wear that stuff when I can’t get to Bergdorf.” He knows nothing about these stores, but the other week a friend and I gave him the run-down on the department store hierarchy. So now he thinks he’s very hoity-toity, because the boy found a Neiman Marcus sweater at the Goodwill and plans on tailoring it. It’s his new thing; finding ill-fitting clothing and making them his own. It could be worse, I suppose, but he is still eyeing up my clothes and you know I’m not pleased.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">3)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">He also decided he wants to knit. So he bought knitting supplies at Michael’s and now knits watching TV. He is making a burnt orange scarf. I feel like I’m married to a granny: he’s either at the sewing machine or knitting. Come to think of it, he was complaining of impending “arthritis” when he was giving me a back rub the other day, too.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">4)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Annie has ringworm. People freak out when I say that, but what can you do. She’s on oral meds and a topical treatment and she does not care one iota. Just give me my scrambled eggs and bread and I’m happy, she says.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">5)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Which brings us to the fact that she NEVER EATS HER VEGETABLES ANYMORE. She only wants bread, eggs, some fruit, occasionally some meat, cheese, sometimes yogurt or cottage cheese, and that’s it. Oh, and graham crackers (it was a mistake to introduce her to those.) If she spots a box of graham crackers her eyebrows raise and screeching begins. <b>Babies.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">6)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">So I’ve been hearing sounds from the wall between our kitchen and living room for weeks now. I didn’t even really realize this until I heard it the other day and it finally clicked and Matt heard it this time and I screeched, “THERE IS A RAT IN OUR WALL!” But every time we go to the store we forget to get bait or traps or whatever it is you get, so the rodent-thing is still there, which is lovely.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Happy Wednesday, all! Now go out and treat yourself to a baby sweater. Or, better yet, this luxurious baby blanket (in cashmere of course...ALWAYS in cashmere, you fools):</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s7.jcrew.com/is/image/jcrew/22217_SP5881?$pdp_fs418$" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://s7.jcrew.com/is/image/jcrew/22217_SP5881?$pdp_fs418$" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'd like to add that although it's<a href="http://www.jcrew.com/kids/baby.jsp"> <b>$228</b></a><b>,</b> it automatically comes with free shipping.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It goes without saying what a bargain that is.</span></td></tr>
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-29594176313681865312012-11-24T11:39:00.000-05:002012-11-24T19:53:30.281-05:00A whole year oldHey baby girl! You turned a year old this week. I think you're technically a toddler now, but when I ruffle your peach fuzzy hair and kiss those full cheeks, you are and forever will be my little baby. <br />
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I’m starting to see flashes of the little toddler you’re becoming: serious but charming, a girl who knows what she wants (and often how to get it, uh oh), friendly and curious and getting into everything, and a kiddo who loves dissecting how things work. You can be very deliberate and intense fiddling with your toys: your father thinks you’re a little engineer in the making and he couldn’t be more proud.</div>
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Nothing has changed between you and your dad: you're two peas in a pod and he is, without a doubt, the fun parent and you guys are always getting into mischief together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll say things like, “Mommy can be such a drag, don’t you think Annie?!” and you both will look at me and you’re grinning your wide-mouthed two-teeth little smile and I say, “You can’t say things like that!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s going to understand you sooner than later!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then your dad laughs and then you squeal and then I sigh and the whole charade begins again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s you two against the world and you are a Daddy's girl through and through. It's such a privilege to see the two people I love most in cahoots together. </div>
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You’ve been our health champion but man oh man, it’s been a trying couple of weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two weeks ago I got a call that your temp was nearing 104 and I took you to the doc: you had your first ear infection!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> You've never been a big cuddler - you always must be seeing, doing - but that day you just snuggled up against me, your hot head and crimson cheeks on my chest. </span>A week later you were covered in hives. And this week, lord almighty, you might just have ringworm (pending the lab results).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forever our trooper, you took it in stride. You are often so very even-keeled! When you had your ear infection, you were a bit more fussy but also quieter, more serious. Your dad and I think you'll be an introvert like your two parents: I can't imagine you hamming it up and putting on a shtick for the crowds. Perhaps this is just your ol' parents projecting and we can't wait for all the surprises as you grow and blossom.</div>
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You’re getting pickier when it comes to food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oatmeal is out and cantaloupe is in. Today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You still have a healthy appetite and have been given me these fuming little looks when I’m chomping on something delectable and you have a very mushy entrée.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re just not buying it anymore and damnit, you want salad and whole fruits too!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You recently discovered graham crackers and you went bonkers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was love at first bite and you snarl and fake cry when I cut you off.</div>
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I’m making you sound like my little tormentor!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the truth is, we love your willful side and it cracks us up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just hope you use your powers for good. Take physical therapy: you can be very obstinate when it comes to your exercises and crawling: you know exactly what we want you to do (and you can do it), but you often out-and-out refuse. We're supposed to dissuade scooting and encourage crawling to develop those weaker arms, and when I spot a tell-tale scoot, I shuffle over to put you in the crawling stance, but by that time you're already in a sitting position looking at me innocently. "What, me scoot?" you seem to say. "I was just playing with this here block, jeez." I sit back on the couch you and you commence scooting again, sometimes even looking over your shoulder to see my reaction! Some babies might just oblige but we can do this back-and-forth exercise, well, forever. Lately, your father and I just don't have the energy and we let you do your half-gorilla, half-crab scoot all over the place. You, dear, will not be deterred. And lordy if it just doesn't make my heart soar to see you beamin' and scootin' your little heart away. <br />
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And, on a very positive note, your torticollis (your weak neck muscles that made your head favor one side) is almost gone and you have much better alignment. I am so grateful. I pictured you, walking around as an adult, with your head tilted to the one side, cursing Matt and me for not getting this corrected when you were a kid! And the whole image would spiral downwards: you would often be homeless and warming yourself by a burning trashcan ranting about your upbringing. I'm not sure how a slight tilt to your head equates to homelessness but I guess this is just what mothers do. <br />
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Your father and I haven't been encouraging "mama" and "dada" too much, but "dog" (strangely enough). So I guess Penny wins. You say "daw" when you see Penny and often a muffled "hi" after we say hello, so I'm not sure if we count these as your first words. Does the dog need the G sound for it to count? Sometimes you mimic our sounds if I say mama, but I know you don't equate it with me, so Matt says that doesn't count, either. (I think he's just bitter.)<br />
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Your now cruise along furniture and often scoot over to us and pull yourself up on our pant legs. It's very sweet and you just love standing tall. It's also annoying when you cruise around the ottoman knocking things off, or shuffle over to where our laptops are sitting and begin pounding on the keys. You are out-and-out obsessed with our laptops! I got you a baby laptop for your birthday and I honestly think you find this childish gimmick of a toy insulting. "I have a lot of work to do and don't throw that juvenile toy in front of me, I need Daddy's Mac Book NOW!" One time you erased lots of your father's work (jibberjab to me, code to him) and I found it hilarious. So that's a win.<br />
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And last week we celebrated your birthday: the party was a success but your dad and I decided next year it's a pizza or Chinese take-out type of gig. Sorry, kid: your parents were exhausted and we got everything on the table just in the nick of time! It was a fall spread: pumpkin soup, lots of bread from the bakery, braised brussel sprouts with bacon, a pecan and pear salad, a pomegranate champagne punch, hot cider, and lots of other nibbles. It was wonderful to spend the day with the people who love you most - and who knew intimately of our struggles to get you here. You are one lucky little girl to have so much love surround you.<br />
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Which brings us to today. I'm writing this post - uninterrupted - because you spent the night with your Granny Nanny and Poppy Hoppy. Your dad and I went hog wild with our free night. First, your father called around to get quotes on a new hot water heater as ours is leaking. (Like I said, it was wild.) Then we saw <i>Lincoln </i>(I know, you're in a tizzy, like, "How could they do all of this stuff without me?!"). Then we picked-up some Chinese takeout and went home and I watched Nightline. Seriously. <br />
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Your dad and I are excited to pick you up in a couple hours. Even when you're not here, you're on our lips and in our thoughts. When I had you I won the lottery. It was a windfall that just keeps on giving and giving. Eternal dividends.<br />
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Happy birthday, my darling girl. My serious scientist. My charming child. Your father and I love you so very much. <br />
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And now, onto the photos of the bash!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The gang, from L to R:</i><br />Cliff and Lorene (Annie's paternal great-grandmother), Danita (my dear friend who is the "Ebony Aunt" to Annie's "Alabaster Niece"), Annie's paternal grandparents in the foreground - Poppy Hoppy and Granny Nanny, Annie's maternal grandparents in the background - Mimi and Grandpa, Me, Matt and the birthday girl, my sister Kristen and her boyfriend Chris in the background, then Matt's brother Joe and his girlfriend Kristen in the foreground, Matt's aunt Cindy, then his sister Priscilla and her boyfriend Royce, and Matt's cousin Laura. Whew! A lovely group.</td></tr>
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-48683268971507367642012-11-21T19:40:00.000-05:002012-11-21T19:49:42.039-05:00Happy birthday, Annie girl.Today was Annie's first birthday and it was lovely. Matt and I worked from home and attended a little "Thanksgiving Feast" at day care. Her teacher asked, "So at what time was she born?" and I looked at my watch and screeched, "In five minutes!" We spent the hour talking to her teacher and another mom and feeding the babies mashed sweet potatoes and green been casserole, and then Matt and I took her to physical therapy. We came home and ate the last of her birthday cookies (buttery little pumpkins with her name adorned on them made by a very talented former co-worker) - all of us on the floor (dog included) scrambling for the last bite.<br />
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I'll write more - and include photos from her first birthday party - very soon, but for now I just want to say thank you to that little girl for making this the sweetest year of my life. (Even without those fabulous birthday cookies.)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie, on her birthday, in her birthday suit.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She humored me and wore the hat for all my annoying photos.<br />
Here she is with George (he's got a thing for her), enjoying their Thanksgiving meals.</td></tr>
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-27078045909381919832012-11-11T10:05:00.000-05:002012-11-11T10:05:43.776-05:00Random thoughts on a Sunday morning<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>The other week Matt and I did some shopping at Whole Foods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know us foolios don’t shop at da Whole Paycheck, but it was all very surreal and Stars Hollow-esque (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gilmore Girls</i> allusion there) because everyone there was skinny and beautiful and there were musicians playing outside the store and it was so quaint and so dang pretty and THEY DO YOGA ON THE ROOF!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking past all the Lexuses and Volvos I thought, “This is it. The liberal elite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We finally made it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we got into our Corolla (still package-taped up!) and I thought, “Nevermind.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Matt found groats at Whole Paycheck and is in love with them (or, the idea of them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are like oatmeal, but on steroids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Athletes eat them and the groats (too close to “groin” for my liking) fuel them for hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So Matt brought them into work, planning on making them, but they’re like steel-cut oats where you gotta cook ‘em for a long while, and you know that boy only has a microwave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>I’ve been reminded lately that it’s up to us to make our own happiness, and I’m trying to be very deliberate in this, particularly regarding work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It’s always work, isn’t it?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My wallpaper now says “My To-Do List: Count my blessings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Practice kindness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let go of what I can’t control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen to my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be productive yet calm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just breathe.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stole it off someone’s Facebook profile, and I know it’s hokey, but it really is quite good in its own way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read it every time my work computer boots up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Annie is almost a year old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I look at her, or Matt, I realize this right here is where I’m meant to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a beautiful year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Driving late the other night I plowed into a fox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I think it was a fox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My worst fear was that it was someone’s dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really upsetting at the time and came out of nowhere, and there was on-coming traffic, so I couldn’t swerve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It happened so quickly there was no avoiding it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matt and I were stunned and saddened, but what can you do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which brings us to topic number six.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>I really want a Subaru.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My front bumper – due to the poor fox – is now severed in</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> several areas and there’s only so much packaging tape can do…</span>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>And duct tape is just really trashy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m a lady.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Back to the Subaru (Outback or Forester).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love the cars aesthetically and I think it’ll be the perfect family car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, oh, and the advertising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The advertising gets me every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, I just cry and cry. Who doesn't adore all the <a href="http://www.subaru.com/mobile/dogs/commercials.html">dog ads</a>? (There's so many more on YouTube too.) But the ad that most recently gets me is this one (I cry to Matt and say, "We just have to get a Subaru It reminds me of us and it's so beautiful and fdklaj;dkf " (that's when I start crying, all snotty and perusing the Subaru website):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> W</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">hen I hit the fox, we were coming home from a Halloween party at Matt’s parents’ place.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Matt and I were trees and Annie was an owl.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Which brings me back to why I love Matt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made that owl costume.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, boy borrowed a sewing machine and made it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s photographic evidence:</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The artist hard at work.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>But – on the other hand – he’s now obsessed with sewing and tailoring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lost some weight in the last year and, I cannot make this up, took in his sweaters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He watched a YouTube tutorial and did it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This morning he said to me, “Those jeans of yours are a little stretched out; do you want me to take them in for you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He got a raised eyebrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></i>I prefer to shrink my jeans in the washer and dryer, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thank you very much.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13)<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>It’s the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy Sunday all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leave you with a terrific Sunday morning song to dance/clean/make breakfast to: </span><br />
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139882958054288362.post-17596451110065730982012-10-23T16:22:00.000-04:002012-10-23T16:30:36.360-04:0011 Months<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Annie,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Guess where I am?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over 10,000 feet in the air on my way to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Arizona</st1:state></st1:place> for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect right now you’re beginning your morning at daycare, yogurt in your tummy and playing alongside Thomas, Abigail and the other babies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Your dad and I are having the time of our lives with you: every week you dazzle us with something new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You absolutely adore music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We signed you up for a music class at daycare every Tuesday, and your teachers are tickled by how much you dance!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You sway and bob your head to the beat and bat your arms: you shake maracas and bells and twirl scarves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You love anything with a strong beat and constantly shake your head to the jazzy scat that plays from your Leapfrog toy table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other night we put on house music – a nice club mix – and we had a dance party in the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, after all of this dad ordered a whole set of baby instruments from Amazon (I think for him as much as for you), which I believe you’re receiving in the mail today!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can’t wait to see the concert when I get home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Your therapy is going well, and you are making small (but marked!) improvements. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We try to work with you every evening on tummy time and your transitions (you still don’t quite know how to get from laying to sitting, from laying to rolling, and from sitting to crawling).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You still refuse to crawl and scoot everywhere now; we’re supposed to dissuade this – and most of the time we do, putting you once again in the crawling stance to develop your stomach and arm muscles – but sometimes you’re beaming as you scoot from one toy to the next and we don’t have the heart to fight you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days your head tilt is quite noticeable, and then I won’t notice anything for days on end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your neck range of motion is good as you’re building those neck muscles slowly but surely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">What I love most about going to therapy is watching you in the waiting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve noticed this too at daycare when you’re in the “drop off” room with older toddlers: you lock your eyes on those older kids and are positively enraptured by what they do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s almost as if we can see your little mind working overtime figuring out what these “cool” older kids are all about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the waiting room you whip your head from left to right so you don’t miss any of their antics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of the kids in the waiting room are very curious and outgoing and come up to you and ask your name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We tell them “Annie” and one boy said, “You don’t look like an Annie!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just continued to stare at him in wonderment, watching as he jumped around the room and hung on to his mother’s legs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Daddy loves walking with you: he holds your hands and you take wobbly steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our therapist chastised him, though!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said you need to learn your basics, first, and to concentrate on building those stomach and arm muscles!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, your father didn’t listen and still continues walking around the living room with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You love it, too, and you both mimic each other’s grins as you put one foot in front of the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re also “cruising” around our new square ottoman; you love the thrill and the challenge of rounding those corners.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’ve noticed you’re more vocal with your displeasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You do a particularly loud shriek when your diaper desperately needs to be changed (the last time in Wegman’s when I needed to finish shopping, and girl, you were not pleased!), and another shriek when you are dissatisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although you’re willful (which we love), we are still constantly impressed on how you take your colds in stride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You sure have a lot of poise for someone with snot running down her little nose; I think you get that from your father who refuses to admit he’s sick unless he’s absolutely bedridden. (I’m a different story!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We’re trying to transition you to more finger foods and two nights ago I made you a big plate of little cut-up carrots, string beans and shredded chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You tried it but weren’t impressed and then swept the contents of the plate onto the floor for Penny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well – we tried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes you love finger foods, but it’s touch and go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re trying to introduce more as we heard you’re picking up and stealing food from the other babies at daycare!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other day I was sitting on the floor with you and Penny and you both stopped what you were doing because I had a banana in hand – both you and the dog go bananas for bananas!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we all sat there – the three of us – and shared the fruit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You still adore Penny, and although she’s such a sweet and gentle dog, she’s not one for playing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You scoot over to her and she promptly gets up and moves to the other side of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You frown and I think she just doesn’t know what to make of you, but she always bounds out of the house excited to greet you at the end of the day, showing her love by jumping up and licking your little toes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My little work trips, and daycare drop offs, are getting harder as your personality blossoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think your father said it best with, “She’s just the coolest person I know.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can hardly believe your big one-year bash is less than a month away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy 11 months, Annie – we love all of you: your shrieks, your (almost) toothless grins, and your ceaseless wonderment as you begin to explore this big, wide world in front of you.</span></div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10746789901825076957noreply@blogger.com2