tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66394034169080460752024-02-19T17:51:32.031-06:00From Dill to Brown and BeyondJennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.comBlogger773125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-19887675176680652512019-11-22T09:15:00.000-06:002019-11-22T09:28:59.146-06:00Reflections on Red for Ed<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Up to two
weeks ago, I began to watch on social media as fellow parents and teachers
geared up for Red for Ed Day that happened on Tuesday this week. I read all the
posts and listened. My heart swelled at the love and support I was witnessing.
However, I found myself having a nagging feeling that I could not formulate
into words until today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">I love
most and respect all of the teachers I had in my life, and I feel the same way
about my kids’ teachers today. I do feel like they deserve better support and a
better system. This, I can get on board with 100%, and I understand that this
is largely why so many people chose to speak up during those weeks. That is
easy. I know many people wore red on Tuesday, and many even wore it to
Indianapolis to stand in the cold (which is less easy). I fully understand the
fight for changing the weight of standardized testing and other intense
benchmarks, too. There is too much pressure to teach to a test. This, I fully
understand and appreciate because I can feel those effects at home, too.<o:p></o:p></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">What nags
at me is this: when all these people (parents and teachers alike) go back home
to their respective school districts (or that were so vocal on social media and
wore red at home), are they going to pay attention to for whom they are voting
when it comes to electing school board members in their local districts? Are
they going to choose a candidate because they recognize a name instead of
investigating the candidate’s qualifications—like whether or not the candidate
would make decisions that are in the best interest of students and teachers?
Are they even going to vote at all? Are they going to question things when
their schools have more administrators than needed (or administrators who are
grossly unqualified for their positions because they got their jobs because
they know someone)? Are they going to question things when the teachers and
students are not receiving textbooks and other basic supporting materials when
textbook/classroom fees have been billed and collected? Are they going to speak
up when they experience poorly managed technology in the hands of students? (I
may be projecting on some of these.)<o:p></o:p></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The
reason Indiana started to “fix” education years back is because too many
schools were having too many local-level administrators making big bad
decisions (like building fancy auditoriums and gyms instead of paying teachers
more, and adding assistants to the assistants because buddies needed jobs,
too), and the spending got out of control. (I am paraphrasing an interview I
remember reading with Mitch Daniels, here.) We can ask (or demand) them to give
money to public education again, sure (and it would be great if they did—that I
can agree on, too), but once they do, we’d better be good stewards of that
funding, and make sure we are all watching where it goes. Can you look at your
school district administrations right now and feel comfortable about how the
money is being allocated? Do you even know how to find out where the money is
going? If you don’t, isn’t that unsettling? It should be. How many
administrators does your district have? How many are actually needed? Where are
the "Office Space" Bobs that come in and ask these people what they
actually do? <o:p></o:p></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">This is
more complicated than just pleading to the Indiana government for more funding
and more relaxed standards. Everyone knows (and, I think, understands) this.
However, It has to be addressed at the district level, too. This is an
important step that cannot be forgotten, and I have not seen anyone say
anything about it (except, it was mentioned in a poorly written NWI Times
editorial that honked everyone off, which was understandable, since they
neglected the importance of the rest of the fight that was more than just
government funding). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The fact
that it has not come up at all scares me. It scares me because people have no
problem getting mad and standing up for what is right when the demons are state
legislators (which I can fully appreciate and support. I am not decrying that),
but when a large part of the problem happens to be people they know (and like,
even) in their own districts who are part of the problem, fear and/or apathy
sets in. This is not unique to your own district. It is everywhere. It is still
rampant. The funding was removed to stop this behavior at the administrator
level (again, paraphrasing), but it has not stopped it. So, the problem is just
worse, now. Less funding, same corruption = dollars not being spent on students
or teachers.<o:p></o:p></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Government
funding cannot fix it all. Fight for it and all those changes for standardized
testing and other state-wide policies, yes. Absolutely. (Because funding for
public schools should be better than it is in Indiana, and the standards and
benchmarks are too plentiful.) But, please, please, please fight the fight at
home, too. Have ongoing conversations between parents and teachers and even
potential candidates for school board, if you can, offline to try to understand
what is really going on (teachers cannot and will not talk on social media or
email about school district issues—there is too much risk). Watch some school
board meetings online if you can't attend (if your school district does
that). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">I would
argue the fight at home would be more productive in the short term. It is important
to get good local school board candidates and administrators in place, and that
takes so much time because of terms, elections, and contracts. Once all of that
is settled, when the long-term (funding and changed standards) kicks in, it
should be a smooth transition into excellence. If the funding and changes never
come, at least you can feel like you have tried hard and helped put the right
people in place that are going to do the best that they can with what they have
available. That's still worth it.<o:p></o:p></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">It will
take time, though. It is going to require years of everyone paying attention;
having open, honest, and hard conversations; and focusing the rage to all of
the proper parties. Vote for your state government officials, too. Don’t forget
to show up (but study first!) for that.</span></div>
JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-58429737141483055662019-09-30T09:31:00.001-05:002019-09-30T09:44:56.643-05:00Middle School (and Beyond) Friendships<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The transition of our eldest child to middle school this
year has not been gentle. We knew it would not be. Middle school is . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">middle school</i>. It is the closest to purgatory
a person can get during this life (for both the middle-schooler and the
parents). The game plan is to brace for it, keep your head down, and keep
truckin’. But, it’s hard. It’s even a little scary sometimes. (Girl will come
home and be like, “Some kid scratched me in the hall today,” or, “My teachers
have zero patience,” or, “Some kid called me a B---- today, and he doesn’t even
know me,” or, “Some jerk boys tripped me on the bus and laughed.”)<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Watching our only daughter go through this has revived many
long-forgotten struggles of my middle school (and life ever after) experience.
For awhile, I didn’t think she and I were that much alike. However, after
seeing her navigate the strangeness that is middle school friendships, it
occurred to me that she is so much more like me than I ever realized. The
fascinating part of her revelations, though, is that she is self-aware enough
to recognize her feelings and the reality of what is happening (and is aware of
her own awkwardness—and owns it). I didn’t quite have that going for me (even
though I thought, and was told sometimes, that I was pretty intuitive). <o:p></o:p>One day (and this blew me away), she said, “I feel like I’m
figuring out who I am all over again.”<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She has made some comments that have stung me for her
because I remember exactly how I felt when those things happened to me. She’ll
say a lot of, “People just don’t see me,” or, “I’ll talk to girls at school,
and they will just look at me with a blank stare and ignore me,” or, “I seem to
make better friends with boys right now than girls,” and, the one that hit home
the most because of freaking “twin day” in middle school (which I am still WTCing about), was the, “I am not
anyone’s #1 friend.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This whole thing woke up some deep, sad memories (some old
and some new) for me, and somehow, it stings so much worse when it is happening
to her than when it happened to me. For some reason, and I don’t know if this
is a gender thing or not, we are predisposed to assume that everyone has or
should have a best friend. Why is that? My husband and I were talking about
this, and he did not have the same predisposition that I did. I think it is
possible that I struggle with it for the same reason Nora does: it seemed to
elude me (until about 7<sup>th</sup> grade for me).<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been thinking on this and praying about it, and here
is the conclusion that has found me: perhaps it is better to not have a claim
on a best friend and vice versa. Throughout life, I’ve made lots of friends.
Some of these friends, I have felt more of an intense bond with than others,
but most of the time, I have recognized that the same intensity isn’t returned
(and, I am sure I have done the same to others). I’ll realize it when they don’t
think of me when they tag something in a Facebook post (with a group of friends
that I thought I was a part of), or I’ll realize it when I hear about an event
that a group attended, and they just didn’t think of inviting me (because why
would they think of inviting me? I’m just tangential). It’s happened with not
only friends, but it’s also happened with family and coworkers. After seeing it
and feeling it over and over again (and telling myself to just suck it up and
get over it), I’ve realized that the best way to be is to be someone who loves and
includes everyone with their affections and friendship. When a person talks
about “their best friend(s),” or “their squad,” or “their crew,” or “their
circle,” there are people on the outside looking in at that who are indirectly
(and, usually, accidentally) hurt by not being included. (It always makes me
cringe when I see a group friendship post on social media, and I see a person,
clearly hurt, who says, “Where was my invite?” It hurts me, and it isn’t even
about me! What the heck!?) I know how this feels because I have been that
person so many times. (Although, I have never, ever posted on something like
this and accused, “Where was my invite?”)<br />
<br />
Incidentally, this is why we never
host social parties. I’d have to invite everyone I know, and I just cannot. The
thought of hurting anyone’s feelings by exclusion just tears me apart. Our wedding
(nearly 15 years ago) about killed me. (To our church family, who loves them
some small groups, this may help clear up any assumptions/confusion about why
we’re so reluctant to do small groups, etc. It’s because we’re weird. There. I'm glad that's out, now.) This is
also why I can’t ever send Christmas cards. I can design a card all day long,
but when I look at the mailing list, it’s a “nope.” If I had a million dollars
set aside for postage, sure. Game on.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Watching all this happen to my daughter, now, it is forcing me
to verbalize that it is truly a better, healthier, happier way to live if you
go through life with low expectations of friendships. Yes, be a good friend. Yes,
be open to friendship. Have fun! Be welcoming to everyone. Be kind to everyone.
Make that U instead of a circle—like <a href="https://www.lovewhatmatters.com/i-dont-fit-in-i-feel-like-they-dont-really-want-me-there-i-wonder-why-i-wasnt-invited-i-walk-up-to-a-circle-of-people-and-dont-know-whether-to-force-my-way-in-or-han/">Amy Weatherly</a> said. Sometimes, you might
feel close to people, and sometimes, good friendships fall apart (because maybe
they got too close for healthy boundaries, or maybe you suck at calling people because you hate the
phone). It’s best to not put that “best friend” label on it because that will
hurt someone somewhere, and it puts a lot of pressure on the friendship. It also
implies that there are no more invitations for new friendships available for
distribution. You might find yourself part of a group, and that’s all well and
good (I’ve tangentially been a part of several). Just make sure that it’s not
exclusive, and try to keep your chin up if you’re not tagged in their social
media posts (look at it as, “Hey. At least I’m not part of this incidental exclusion”).<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I will say, though, that a relationship that is
definitely worth putting the “best” label on is your life partner. Choose that
one wisely with your heart, your prayers, your gut, and your mind (I don’t know
what order it needs to be, but they all need to be consulted). You have to
smell that person’s morning breath the rest of your life together, so you’d
better make sure that is a solid choice. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, keep on . . . keep truckin’. Good stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-26055674803748795922019-04-22T13:37:00.003-05:002019-04-23T06:46:56.458-05:00Reflections Upon Lent 2019<div>
<span style="text-align: left;">This year was the first time in my life that I gave up something for Lent. I didn't know I was going to do it until Ash Wednesday. It wasn't planned. It's like my gut (probably the Holy Spirit) said, "You should give up Facebook for Lent."</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, I did. Facebook is something I really enjoy. Facebook is also a bit of a problem/distraction in my life, and I know it. I had never taken a break from it since I joined back in 2004(!), and I felt like I was long overdue to step back and take a hard look at how I spend my time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was hard. I had to take it off my phone, and I had to block the website on my internet browsers because it was second-nature to just go there. I missed it. I felt like I missed a lot of things and important info (like, for example, I missed the announcement that Camp Lawrence is closed this summer—the kids were so looking forward to going again). I learned a few things, though. One thing is this:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Once you're on Facebook, there's really no going completely off of it. People develop the expectation to communicate with you there, so if you're off, you do fall out of touch with people—and that can be either good or bad. I'm not sure which of those is heavier. I think it depends on the day.</blockquote>
I did replace my Facebook time with a Bible study series (<a href="https://shereadstruth.com/">She Reads Truth</a>), work, and an attempt to read real news sources (that was a horrible idea, BTW), for the most part. Our company (G.W. Berkheimer) hosts a trade show for select dealers every couple of years, and we had one on April 11 that we had to prep for. So, it was actually a really good thing Facebook wasn't even on my mind during that time. Also, this was the first time I ever successfully completed an entire Bible study during the Lenten season. A good chunk of it was the entire book of Job, which is always harsh.<br />
<br />
This was also the first time that I have ever attended multiple Holy Week church services at our church (<a href="http://www.portageumc.org/">Portage First United Methodist</a>), and we brought the kids with us (Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday on top of regular church services). The kids came out of it with a ton of questions, and it was incredible—Henry especially. The other two kids did, too, but they were marginally less intense with the rapid-fire questions. They were well-behaved throughout—even though I will tell you that Ev is right on the edge of really being able to handle it at age 7. (During the Maundy Thursday communion, he grabbed/dropped at least one other piece of the unleavened bread in the offered basket before settling on a piece that he deemed acceptable. I died. Sorry, Pastor Michael! I did not anticipate his pickiness. Luckily, we were in the last row!)<br />
<br />
I was moved by those Holy Week services, by the way. I wish I could've made it to the mid-day ones that week, too (I almost made it to one, but I was just a little too late). Andrew said he went to the one on Good Friday that was from 2:30 to 3 p.m. (for his lunch break that day), and Pastor Michael talked about the hour of Jesus' death. He said it was really powerful, and I was sitting at my desk at home working all day. The Good Friday service that night did move me to tears a few times—especially when the whole church sat in silence. It's unbelievable how silence like that can allow the weight and the reality of everything to come crashing down on you. It's that feeling that transcends all need for physical and visual proof. It's real. He's real. It happened.<br />
<br />
After all, I'm glad to be back on Facebook once more. I missed being in touch with the rest of the world. I hope I'm a little better about managing it in my life moving forward. I'm going to try, anyway. I'll leave you with some photo highlights of my Facebook/Lent hiatus.<br />
<br />
<table 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/AVvXsEjFwg4l7xFYgjecmwQ3o_FtgMr4drqrB_b3cBc9iPipVwXGG6LK4iF4zB_Rp5pGbbVK9-xCTfthKtXMZcZE8M_OE39KHxwPsuEwFXfz9duRYJ0KRrJB5cK6QCPNDBBwZk30wx0ULfERKq0/s1600/IMG_20190321_191556296-ANIMATION.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="606" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFwg4l7xFYgjecmwQ3o_FtgMr4drqrB_b3cBc9iPipVwXGG6LK4iF4zB_Rp5pGbbVK9-xCTfthKtXMZcZE8M_OE39KHxwPsuEwFXfz9duRYJ0KRrJB5cK6QCPNDBBwZk30wx0ULfERKq0/s320/IMG_20190321_191556296-ANIMATION.gif" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Nora with Lil Falk after her school play, James and the Giant Peach. <br />
She blew us away with her performance as Miss Spider. <br />
And, I can't say enough about how much we love Lil Falk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipNTnMHTJnupfsLOa1NIisWoDpNADEr4NwCWYjXzCdnNQVhnQhOdQkRhMFf8HjnMEg/photo/AF1QipOTkUCuCTNYDccKO4P7zcnI3ybrdBBMi1HXZSZb?key=THRQUU5odXZjQklYRngzY3pwY1JUZFdEVmNLSTFR"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgifDGPVw-u77yXxQ0vjp-GAO1FNOd99WyWr-J8kf9IzEulZTbiOlJ_vUts9y_8lq7iLW_foPALeFnqjOOH66kGEk689P4Pl3vpm8-SKWJ0_KbeWPBtSG6EHl6_Mw_SMMz8BK_VnO_w40/s320/VID_20190323_190354021_HDR.mp4" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipNTnMHTJnupfsLOa1NIisWoDpNADEr4NwCWYjXzCdnNQVhnQhOdQkRhMFf8HjnMEg/photo/AF1QipOTkUCuCTNYDccKO4P7zcnI3ybrdBBMi1HXZSZb?key=THRQUU5odXZjQklYRngzY3pwY1JUZFdEVmNLSTFR">We went to the ODVFD's Annual St. Patrick's Dinner/Dance. The kids loved it.</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgRO4ZuYPnpBjSnjCWosEWzdLiTNL4vFegDXOREhPZvgisUqLddMwU0L43JMkD4-ReOcphoa0KuegjNfuCQI47xlDHc9u1goia0g9x9_39-PjG7jRYL1xc1CyzH74TTYbdMz7zwBzsaz-Q/s1600/IMG_20190330_140835346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRO4ZuYPnpBjSnjCWosEWzdLiTNL4vFegDXOREhPZvgisUqLddMwU0L43JMkD4-ReOcphoa0KuegjNfuCQI47xlDHc9u1goia0g9x9_39-PjG7jRYL1xc1CyzH74TTYbdMz7zwBzsaz-Q/s320/IMG_20190330_140835346.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom made a Scottish Highlands cow at the behest of Henry within, like, <br />
48 hours while the kids were at the Farm for a visit over their Spring Break.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0SgPaUrFb6I1iUGnfWBcOkjNv3z43s0vHtp6h-cKaPBC2DhkXD6PaTsyqszpr-akN8nBGUyaIHVKCgkX3ElNHJfYLGF5KZc0nIjBiyL3ymTWamYd7d0gebH1HsAxvzYEUbGvTAEKEpw/s1600/IMG_20190406_104322082_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0SgPaUrFb6I1iUGnfWBcOkjNv3z43s0vHtp6h-cKaPBC2DhkXD6PaTsyqszpr-akN8nBGUyaIHVKCgkX3ElNHJfYLGF5KZc0nIjBiyL3ymTWamYd7d0gebH1HsAxvzYEUbGvTAEKEpw/s320/IMG_20190406_104322082_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andrew and I hiked Cowles Bog while the kids were out of town, <br />
and we saw these rare beaver-geese and their destruction.<br />
They were not pleased with my photo-taking and/or giggling.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8m5jJLv65i3OOABB34SIvJEhqX1LomH0IIRDE3wTrKSos2EtBONEF0xCCTVbJNY_87gaVwYMF4PqfQyBaKZ234Cm2huYMDCBhwqGQg7WTiXV0CkRTnfnrrdTn-CTlCAzsIVS68wEA7vE/s1600/IMG_20190420_122623597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8m5jJLv65i3OOABB34SIvJEhqX1LomH0IIRDE3wTrKSos2EtBONEF0xCCTVbJNY_87gaVwYMF4PqfQyBaKZ234Cm2huYMDCBhwqGQg7WTiXV0CkRTnfnrrdTn-CTlCAzsIVS68wEA7vE/s320/IMG_20190420_122623597.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We just discovered this area of Ogden Dunes we had never seen before.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEhaThaaAtfvIUG8jb1shPTxnEIq3OlR1_N4VC2Q0hpko6d-7frsQJxZZ8KVMYILVUiOw0Uxo0Uv4S4bwSvKo2JOEckZkEw8GaQ-yQcfP_JJjHHdxBdq30T3jafhFSszOX5e_jAjNuWRJ0I/s1600/IMG_20190420_140516242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaThaaAtfvIUG8jb1shPTxnEIq3OlR1_N4VC2Q0hpko6d-7frsQJxZZ8KVMYILVUiOw0Uxo0Uv4S4bwSvKo2JOEckZkEw8GaQ-yQcfP_JJjHHdxBdq30T3jafhFSszOX5e_jAjNuWRJ0I/s320/IMG_20190420_140516242.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spa day kid 1. (I may get in trouble for posting these one day.)</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEiE3IiMSs3KvnOI0FKa0FzwTVnamKZo5m-y9I1Rh5VaurpVxC8zHLMI1haLI-tjYJxsB7_x9Ld8dI7GJreR-lplO-7BiN3_k_dCm6fRbxSOHEaXSbeoqw7nudqPMkrq_r4xqjo4RlUB8fA/s1600/IMG_20190420_142057671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3IiMSs3KvnOI0FKa0FzwTVnamKZo5m-y9I1Rh5VaurpVxC8zHLMI1haLI-tjYJxsB7_x9Ld8dI7GJreR-lplO-7BiN3_k_dCm6fRbxSOHEaXSbeoqw7nudqPMkrq_r4xqjo4RlUB8fA/s320/IMG_20190420_142057671.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spa day kid 2. The boys totally wanted to do this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgDjTuJxMLOvGwGoOFQR_-WDnmZh90UoI26qIPcFVU2qyyN4iOn3EOPFWB_r6aijdTN6wNGnQI-bbqfJue0XwgLQ1gjHMxG_o7Hx4SIO4DpDt-eucSxg4EbUWMASg-5lKtYibYGQgNTq6k/s1600/IMG_20190420_153817658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDjTuJxMLOvGwGoOFQR_-WDnmZh90UoI26qIPcFVU2qyyN4iOn3EOPFWB_r6aijdTN6wNGnQI-bbqfJue0XwgLQ1gjHMxG_o7Hx4SIO4DpDt-eucSxg4EbUWMASg-5lKtYibYGQgNTq6k/s320/IMG_20190420_153817658.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spa day kid 3. I painted her toenails, too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipRY5j2MMjsZ96Yy0zIqyqp0bew836WJOrJewXtACkh9UM8H8KvUslgH3tF4ZItZzHYuPVl4qSsd0eWbEyaG7HdQcqd9yzavMIzImFScMTIK4KRZnFCLVRE-BipZAG78x6SXvBI-EipqY/s1600/IMG_20190420_190152079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipRY5j2MMjsZ96Yy0zIqyqp0bew836WJOrJewXtACkh9UM8H8KvUslgH3tF4ZItZzHYuPVl4qSsd0eWbEyaG7HdQcqd9yzavMIzImFScMTIK4KRZnFCLVRE-BipZAG78x6SXvBI-EipqY/s320/IMG_20190420_190152079.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hen's. I think.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEjYhurbxWtW0gjifHRONd8H9_7W2iHTe_p95k3u9Nk8pKV0Yq_TPehjz7-gujH4P-EoGHBLD24-MSyh9nPjg6fBMlPtvB7-ca38nONX6CEg7cIXudnWK-lxIO4fvLe9FYaTDpbtPbgEAdw/s1600/IMG_20190420_190137621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhurbxWtW0gjifHRONd8H9_7W2iHTe_p95k3u9Nk8pKV0Yq_TPehjz7-gujH4P-EoGHBLD24-MSyh9nPjg6fBMlPtvB7-ca38nONX6CEg7cIXudnWK-lxIO4fvLe9FYaTDpbtPbgEAdw/s320/IMG_20190420_190137621.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mine.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEhhENV_8WeM0JMSWxCrBEIvnAah5ZQRPY57l4l4mHswhK0zU5oWzQEIni3Nzh7EgLbF9RF7fnK3aKd_rsyJm3vrIKUVBDBhLY5RHHEmV3Czn6DaL9l2ip4qGwkzXzBLNLeef2ZbqENxnoc/s1600/IMG_20190420_190123752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhENV_8WeM0JMSWxCrBEIvnAah5ZQRPY57l4l4mHswhK0zU5oWzQEIni3Nzh7EgLbF9RF7fnK3aKd_rsyJm3vrIKUVBDBhLY5RHHEmV3Czn6DaL9l2ip4qGwkzXzBLNLeef2ZbqENxnoc/s320/IMG_20190420_190123752.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ev's. I think.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEiT0_2WGp7hiwRG5hxysXabjPqEP6J2MWuguspH88eB6ZVac1Jdc4qf_ADl2d4jdjSkmeHg6C8fZawQKhc88Spxyi2L1gU1K0YOJlwq0SH85_Jlzp9Hl4qU-6YBX4FXwD_8NRGRmIVYAok/s1600/IMG_20190420_190109499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0_2WGp7hiwRG5hxysXabjPqEP6J2MWuguspH88eB6ZVac1Jdc4qf_ADl2d4jdjSkmeHg6C8fZawQKhc88Spxyi2L1gU1K0YOJlwq0SH85_Jlzp9Hl4qU-6YBX4FXwD_8NRGRmIVYAok/s320/IMG_20190420_190109499.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry's biohazard egg.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEhYA7xp9agaUlc3tN6mcyM9yfp7YELeKT1o8S7t-AYr2RNeMu7rpkU4p7BNcDUyl4wofmuYg5flXFUsXrdJHtG3O_I_VbefB2ueytfKBYBgAM0Opg-9T61K3ma7SlQLXDMrnN_s5ojlwX8/s1600/IMG_20190420_190057620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYA7xp9agaUlc3tN6mcyM9yfp7YELeKT1o8S7t-AYr2RNeMu7rpkU4p7BNcDUyl4wofmuYg5flXFUsXrdJHtG3O_I_VbefB2ueytfKBYBgAM0Opg-9T61K3ma7SlQLXDMrnN_s5ojlwX8/s320/IMG_20190420_190057620.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nora's Miss Spider or her egg.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEhJ0b473PkRyw5c2O9sTqCBTcrOTh7cECYxF-gV41Zd1oKcNQcUqEKKkdstmZ39Sbi-rfQs4Y-4uvFbpqvRpN3jtLym8MqXGhyphenhyphenv0ZsDEuBz2UEjF8rkhTdYif5MSRwcpQfaOwbH4nrR7MI/s1600/IMG_20190420_190034564_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0b473PkRyw5c2O9sTqCBTcrOTh7cECYxF-gV41Zd1oKcNQcUqEKKkdstmZ39Sbi-rfQs4Y-4uvFbpqvRpN3jtLym8MqXGhyphenhyphenv0ZsDEuBz2UEjF8rkhTdYif5MSRwcpQfaOwbH4nrR7MI/s320/IMG_20190420_190034564_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mine. Side 1.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEiFEcKYmgLpqGWKQVJxZ2CSmDhFSQHpmgbLvV3F19bdi3WyeWtNXIML54PDyFuLRKLwyg77pZYz6smdyJplmVa3Pxwu5ureoaA9HZcpOEIzEmiK8ocnngS15WUWlvcy2nkCMFWsWDelsQY/s1600/IMG_20190420_190023159_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEcKYmgLpqGWKQVJxZ2CSmDhFSQHpmgbLvV3F19bdi3WyeWtNXIML54PDyFuLRKLwyg77pZYz6smdyJplmVa3Pxwu5ureoaA9HZcpOEIzEmiK8ocnngS15WUWlvcy2nkCMFWsWDelsQY/s320/IMG_20190420_190023159_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mine. Side 2.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEgPf5jMVN5ysZkEvde_YFoMo6kiYYJWXi5Dmv348NaoKRJ5k74hUPL4elAc5a-FSooxjdTTcvVn-vU8CKDXPTT3p1obQR7DSNQ1VjZVMcKHcFFrhQsS8VmQDSIyzXwqJjiVA6xCFG31D9g/s1600/IMG_20190420_190008458_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPf5jMVN5ysZkEvde_YFoMo6kiYYJWXi5Dmv348NaoKRJ5k74hUPL4elAc5a-FSooxjdTTcvVn-vU8CKDXPTT3p1obQR7DSNQ1VjZVMcKHcFFrhQsS8VmQDSIyzXwqJjiVA6xCFG31D9g/s320/IMG_20190420_190008458_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry says this is his.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEh7cAJZ78hZmB0YmyMztdtGnY9Xuj64f5FQcEVkSQ531VLPzQjkRTcmiORTmDIYRTBPm1Hmxs00M7SJye79tkB6ha1DtgqI8NV-l1IeaLxxNHAu3i3bvfuB78GVpkwwgc2wmQtX9DuRMjA/s1600/IMG_20190420_185941690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7cAJZ78hZmB0YmyMztdtGnY9Xuj64f5FQcEVkSQ531VLPzQjkRTcmiORTmDIYRTBPm1Hmxs00M7SJye79tkB6ha1DtgqI8NV-l1IeaLxxNHAu3i3bvfuB78GVpkwwgc2wmQtX9DuRMjA/s320/IMG_20190420_185941690.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ev's.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEiRyDg3Mylj0Q4dfVLR1GnFqe-b5Hr1JX3vxHxbqNdxqFD8S-FFRbKK6rLXfQXZBa4rCm8BBDvxPlcGPf67L8tr8dSWj5R-VsY8Pzl-q-7xK7e2A5FMMtWfmA2Abj_l-QJ1gDRz3oqmf2g/s1600/IMG_20190420_185918319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyDg3Mylj0Q4dfVLR1GnFqe-b5Hr1JX3vxHxbqNdxqFD8S-FFRbKK6rLXfQXZBa4rCm8BBDvxPlcGPf67L8tr8dSWj5R-VsY8Pzl-q-7xK7e2A5FMMtWfmA2Abj_l-QJ1gDRz3oqmf2g/s320/IMG_20190420_185918319.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think these last two are Nora's.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEgcj1f3MR_8Odmq67yAuolsXaVOPRcmeR_YC0xyjce-niHQqcTVqTucTZvJI5GQs-w_O17EGynKHhk1vokJKHtAith9uCATiepgRypQYffltVzGD-R5irj8KInV5cgmRX9t12XO36sBXNU/s1600/IMG_20190420_185851707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj1f3MR_8Odmq67yAuolsXaVOPRcmeR_YC0xyjce-niHQqcTVqTucTZvJI5GQs-w_O17EGynKHhk1vokJKHtAith9uCATiepgRypQYffltVzGD-R5irj8KInV5cgmRX9t12XO36sBXNU/s320/IMG_20190420_185851707.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEijnfK5iBTlAxvwzEZCiPrRI0oukFSrh1TC3YH859w2EcEOq-aBTPH4SYr5ASygDVY7WRMRmxM6Pi6xBoMguWt2nq2VtUjWNhH5F-AYErbrDuAX1lD27-G4_96P_Y5VgBeS1FPO6XpsfEE/s1600/IMG_20190420_200319556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijnfK5iBTlAxvwzEZCiPrRI0oukFSrh1TC3YH859w2EcEOq-aBTPH4SYr5ASygDVY7WRMRmxM6Pi6xBoMguWt2nq2VtUjWNhH5F-AYErbrDuAX1lD27-G4_96P_Y5VgBeS1FPO6XpsfEE/s320/IMG_20190420_200319556.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We attempted setting Nora's hair for Easter. It was a success!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnXNtNKrdcyLc5QhxWWEQx4yoPe8853iFC3ZJCyD_F_OF41f7A4lsCkrfMaQOaMq6TaKeg95qVStax07qXvih1acU8oZTeGzolpV4L5nqKGu5RltW-gMdOoXULi8xY0TfKeKjDpDnw5k/s1600/IMG_20190420_200309985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnXNtNKrdcyLc5QhxWWEQx4yoPe8853iFC3ZJCyD_F_OF41f7A4lsCkrfMaQOaMq6TaKeg95qVStax07qXvih1acU8oZTeGzolpV4L5nqKGu5RltW-gMdOoXULi8xY0TfKeKjDpDnw5k/s320/IMG_20190420_200309985.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKdxqvVzVnfvJHmu21ZAI18Is9AsuNi79awAe1eeO-h1esNWa7NR6FMufrs-DQzW4yXOJmqf6sgblSEeeIwbxqDyl4fbmikLbw91S6sYS50ygjxUYEe5zgEohi7Dmaz2quj1DBC61y4Y/s1600/IMG_20190421_074343984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKdxqvVzVnfvJHmu21ZAI18Is9AsuNi79awAe1eeO-h1esNWa7NR6FMufrs-DQzW4yXOJmqf6sgblSEeeIwbxqDyl4fbmikLbw91S6sYS50ygjxUYEe5zgEohi7Dmaz2quj1DBC61y4Y/s320/IMG_20190421_074343984.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She grew up over Lent, BTW. It hurts me.</td></tr>
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That's a wrap! See you on Facebook. Did I miss anything that you can remember?</div>
JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-2722191459667097422019-03-17T16:25:00.000-05:002019-03-17T16:25:35.334-05:00St. Paddy's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJvfflPLq5YuZ-0o4lAMp3DVrw2maLsUfxyHEkr7m6UQTtcirSWNKL3rmGRlDxG-KVTrjAFq21tgs35thNlXLJW4Ud4tuz8k7P3mdYrYU-6oUaKYnGH2UGS6ZeJAZ-GFJSxSxPdB3eNU/w1115-h1353-no/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1352" data-original-width="1114" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJvfflPLq5YuZ-0o4lAMp3DVrw2maLsUfxyHEkr7m6UQTtcirSWNKL3rmGRlDxG-KVTrjAFq21tgs35thNlXLJW4Ud4tuz8k7P3mdYrYU-6oUaKYnGH2UGS6ZeJAZ-GFJSxSxPdB3eNU/w1115-h1353-no/" width="526" /></a></div>
<br />
It's so close to being spring. So close. We heard (and saw!) Sandhill Cranes flying overhead today. That always means that spring is soon, but not quite yet.<br />
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This time of year, Willis gets the itch to grill, and sometimes, I can suck it up and sit outside with him. I couldn't do it today. I did it yesterday, but it's just a little chillier today. (We woke up, and there was fat snow falling and accumulation on the ground.)<br />
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But, sitting in here, looking at him through the (disgustingly dirty—we have kids and a gross dog, and my priorities don't involve constantly cleaning this) window, and seeing him out there reminded me of something. I like him. It sounds odd to say it out loud, but everyone knows you are supposed to love your spouse. You're called to love when you marry. It's biblical and stuff. I actually <i>like</i> him, though. A lot. Like, if I met him again right now and had never met him before, I'd still really like him. I'd be like, "That guy, Willis (or Andrew, or whatever his name would be that day)? I like him."<br /><br />When I met him in college, there was something about him that made me think, "This guy is 20-going-on-40, and he's such a dork," and I loved it. I'm such a flake, something in me craved the order I knew this guy would provide naturally (not by rule of law or whatever), but he is also so fun-loving. I can't help but to truly believe in divine intervention with this match. I couldn't have planned it better, myself.<br /><br />So many times, I pray that my kids will have this same connection and divine intervention. I know that things don't always happen they way we hope or want, but if connection happens, I hope it's like ours.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-58791186533125027002019-02-03T16:59:00.000-06:002019-02-03T16:59:08.661-06:00Why We Are Removing the Phrase "Play Date" from Our Lexicon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRp6bU0OHDtU2cFL-aIcQOtmkfzy0OQmqvqlVgwPpik8RFe-Q1UEJxD4v11qcfs8-gw3xYYLaid0T1mZTsG09FXIb4iswkOFG0VD0O25pPgL14Q-EVWeN_4tfPd-_Q04QWejTMu4reUrc/s1600/We+We+Are+Removing+the+Phrase+Play+Date.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRp6bU0OHDtU2cFL-aIcQOtmkfzy0OQmqvqlVgwPpik8RFe-Q1UEJxD4v11qcfs8-gw3xYYLaid0T1mZTsG09FXIb4iswkOFG0VD0O25pPgL14Q-EVWeN_4tfPd-_Q04QWejTMu4reUrc/s640/We+We+Are+Removing+the+Phrase+Play+Date.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Recently, I have found myself battling with whether or not I need to or should explain this out loud, but I think we've finally hit critical mass. It needs to be put out there in the universe.<br />
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It's possible that this is going to be unpopular, but as of last fall, we, as a family, have decided to remove the phrase "Play Date" from our lexicon. For the record, I am definining a "Play Date" as the planned activity of a kid going to a house or a kid coming to (and into) our house—not necessarily the definition of families getting together in a party setting or gathering with kids. That's different. I'm not sure if that's the true definition of "Play Date," but that is what it has morphed into in our world. It's just the basic act of a kid being over at our house or our kid(s) being at someone else's house.<br />
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There are a multitude of reasons for this conclusion, but I will lay out the most important ones.<br />
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It's too hard to manage. It's too hard to be fair to each of our (three) kids about it (Henry seems to get the most play date requests around here). It's too hard to be equitable to the play date participants (balancing work, school schedules, and multiple friend sets from each kid).<br /><br />
I don't know if this is your experience at all, but we started to see a pattern that one play date didn't necessarily satiate any kid—it only intensified the need for more activity, more play dates, more things that we need to do and <i>get on the schedule</i>. The more we do, the more we are expected to do. Enough is not enough. It cannot be sustained.<br />
<br />We (my husband and I) realized awhile back in our experience that parenthood is basically just a careful management of expectations. This is just part of that puzzle. We do a variety of other lame-looking things to navigate this, but we're just talking about one particular thing, here.<br />
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Our kids are at an age, now, where they are capable of managing their friendships outside of our involvement. Furthermore, and I recognize (and appreciate that) we are really lucky here, we do live in a neighborhood where, when it is nice outside, our kids can roam and go to parks and meet up with their local friends there. This is more challenging during these intense winter months (and, during the school year, when it seems like everyone goes to a different school in our neighborhood), but on warmer days, they still try to make it happen. At least during this time of year, they have school friends that they are interacting with and developing relationships with (although, I do wish there was more social time/recess available to them at school, which is a whole other blog topic for another time), too.<br />
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My husband and I grew up in an age where everyone was disconnected from constant and immediate contact, and we were responsible for managing our social interactions. Was it boring sometimes? Yes. It turns out that <a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/10/7-ways-boredom-can-be-goo_n_3055006.html">it's good for you to be bored</a>, though. We wish this type of personal growth (disguised as mysery) for our kids, too. They deserve that.<br />
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So, while we look like some weird, stand-offish jerks on the surface, we're actually just trying to cork the seals and ford this unpredictable stream. Hopefully, this mysery will have some company. Outside. At a park.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-33410598303226044922016-08-05T18:06:00.002-05:002016-08-05T18:19:38.117-05:007 Reflections on Today1. It's funny how there are people who feel that they own specific floor space in a Zumba class, and I'm always in it!? Even if I was there first. I'm not saying I dislike these people: they seem nice. But, this is real and weird. I can be in any particular spot in a room and not really care—I just prefer personal space.<br />
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2. If grocery shopping takes you Y amount of time on your own, when children are added to the mix, you take Y and multiply it by 2 for one child and add one more to the multiplier for each additional child. So, for example, for me, it's Y x 4. I spent half the day at Meijer today (with my children), and we all about died.<br />
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3. Need a job, anybody? Meijer in Portage needs more deli people. It wasn't posted, but that was my observation.<br />
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4. There was a mom at Meijer (at 12:35 p.m. today) at the checkout who had a screaming toddler and a laughing 10-month-old. I saw several people flee the line to avoid them, and I purposely went to that line. My kids entertained the 10-month-old (who was doing fine on his own because he thought his screaming brother was hilarious), and I said a couple of things to the mom that I thought I'd have liked to hear (from, clearly, a seasoned veteran with my whole crew there) like, "It's quite something to have one laughing while one is crying, isn't it? Talent!" and "Ooh. 12:35 p.m. It's about that time. I'm familiar with that. I've done that a few times."<br />
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She smiled in appreciation, and it's possible my kids drove her nuts. However, she did take a moment to tell us all to have a good day as she left. I think that's a good sign.<br />
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5. There was another mom at Meijer who was waiting with her son for Sandy while my kids were rudely monopolizing her (Sandy). Everett was mopping the floor with his body under Sandy (trying to get a penny!? and a disease!?). Nora found an extra penny and gave her newly purchased (with her own money) white stuffed tiger a ride on Sandy. I said the following things out loud in no particular order:<br />
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"Everett. Stop mopping under Sandy with your body. If you're trying to get a penny, it isn't worth it."<br />
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"Nora. There is a living, breathing boy over here who is waiting very patiently to ride Sandy while you give your stuffed animal a ride."<br />
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"Guys. Stop sticking your fingers in the moving parts of Sandy. That is unwise."<br />
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Then, I found out that Everett still hadn't taken his turn, and as I was losing my $#!+ about it, the other mom looked at me (fondly, I would say) and said, "Oh! Don't worry about it. He can go."<br />
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After that, she intimated that it's hilarious: the things that we find ourselves saying as parents and offered the "moving parts" comment as one of those things.<br />
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6. There are people in this world that are super angry all the time, and nothing will melt their icy hearts. As I was coming out with all my ducklings, Everett, who had grazed all the aisles of Meijer for random trash, had decided he wanted to throw out a couple of items before crossing the street. A woman in a large SUV appeared to be waiting for us to cross when Ev decided this, and I was too busy making sure nobody ran into the parking lot. Three seconds passed (while Ev delivered his trash to the receptacle), and this woman (in the SUV) hit the gas hard so as to make a racket, and as she drove by, she was shaking her head. My first instinct is to always think, "What a jerk." But, then, I remember: her life probably sucks if she's going to behave that way on purpose. (Not that I expected her to wait. It's just weird that she had to shake her head and be all huffy about us not crossing when she needed us to . . . when I have THREE kids that I am managing and a very large cart.)<br />
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7. Top three least favorite roads to travel in the whole world in ascending order:<br />
<ol>
<li>I65 south near Merrillville. </li>
<li>US30 in Merrillville.</li>
<li>Willowcreek/Crisman Road in Portage.</li>
</ol>
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BONUS ITEM: Dogs are gross.</div>
JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-62409353855134565362016-02-19T14:56:00.000-06:002016-02-19T14:56:42.558-06:00We Survived Disney, February 15-18, 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Well, we did it. We went to Disney. It was a brief trip—just Monday through Thursday morning. We packed a lot of action in that time with two days at the Magic Kingdom.</div>
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Here are some of my absolute favorite pics from the trip.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrnC5pgaWKCz9z1EQONErgaeoYd7UNZSSnKHP0K9EdsLqNzkefWIWfkw18vZA7dTwV-OTjeI8eZ_38Lp_w3KNk8fr37QdnYqLZM196LnShAC3-iAANUHZ8282PdxedBThaIJp4K_Mjxg/s1600/IMG_0015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrnC5pgaWKCz9z1EQONErgaeoYd7UNZSSnKHP0K9EdsLqNzkefWIWfkw18vZA7dTwV-OTjeI8eZ_38Lp_w3KNk8fr37QdnYqLZM196LnShAC3-iAANUHZ8282PdxedBThaIJp4K_Mjxg/s400/IMG_0015.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was our kids' first time ever flying! We chose Spirit Airlines.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrVh4hm561PXtEew69U_WRMI9aryo8_-SCtXXBShaoOQFvbbfp6y2v7N-KqLKLFcL06-2JMDT9ZlQgs8T4Jngl6IiKIDkCVGVCsmg7TafeRheQd48aftHz-2l7fMn16h_3zjco6nVDVQ/s1600/DSCN4002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrVh4hm561PXtEew69U_WRMI9aryo8_-SCtXXBShaoOQFvbbfp6y2v7N-KqLKLFcL06-2JMDT9ZlQgs8T4Jngl6IiKIDkCVGVCsmg7TafeRheQd48aftHz-2l7fMn16h_3zjco6nVDVQ/s400/DSCN4002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry, Ev, and Nora just moments after arriving at our resort, Port Orleans Riverside (our room ended up being at Alligator Bayou).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVY1S5_1wqih3m9ItqHqIQROiy3q-LutWrnEpSnhgwKiUmG0pTBppr0WTbrPWPkhNb0XOJku-l-awhlF-P3cr7lJk7EG5gontKmJcGOWUkojmj4I7h5HBGVabGYmYNmELTDFScj-5pc7w/s1600/DSCN4029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVY1S5_1wqih3m9ItqHqIQROiy3q-LutWrnEpSnhgwKiUmG0pTBppr0WTbrPWPkhNb0XOJku-l-awhlF-P3cr7lJk7EG5gontKmJcGOWUkojmj4I7h5HBGVabGYmYNmELTDFScj-5pc7w/s400/DSCN4029.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best photo ever from the teacups: our first ride at Disney.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYdPooQUEGBCtF4vNibSb_Z6556UNUHqSXKHjnYhJVVKp_MCI2IlxZVQVrKby0x5S8T-9zztoAYRCpwQKApsyg61vxgbLREZiPyoe5WryjqhpJ_x5jlYal1B81oaENQdroFZgI2YeCvg/s1600/20160216_124808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYdPooQUEGBCtF4vNibSb_Z6556UNUHqSXKHjnYhJVVKp_MCI2IlxZVQVrKby0x5S8T-9zztoAYRCpwQKApsyg61vxgbLREZiPyoe5WryjqhpJ_x5jlYal1B81oaENQdroFZgI2YeCvg/s400/20160216_124808.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of all the things we were worried that would freak out Ev (like Pirates of the Caribbean), he was most horrified by the Enchanted Tales with Belle when the magic mirror turned into a door. It took about half a day for him to recover.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IteSbdjxZnMGRO9bx6RgDdHsjRP69tD4bWPv1F5cPl318XZHaIVdbhtGhvRKM46cc-NI8Yr2IlD2mlrpOLfEn6l4Ocxp8x8yeDTzbJ25ZQdRkQlyxvQqMnO5-w8H_T68blmT9NvzT30/s1600/DSCN4069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IteSbdjxZnMGRO9bx6RgDdHsjRP69tD4bWPv1F5cPl318XZHaIVdbhtGhvRKM46cc-NI8Yr2IlD2mlrpOLfEn6l4Ocxp8x8yeDTzbJ25ZQdRkQlyxvQqMnO5-w8H_T68blmT9NvzT30/s400/DSCN4069.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misty moisty morning on our way to Cinderella's Royal Table breakfast.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHAGFnZs9K00E4jQOpm6p7ocnH-YWm312YWyJZJROWlclARZ-569y4N1j2ttUEVdWY__NihC0Ew_Gg1Eg1Rgg4JPbmmUmwTR2IwzufMHpcxQxiN2baPIAJ9Syip2n-fXz_Zr9s0HsFY0I/s1600/DSCN4064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHAGFnZs9K00E4jQOpm6p7ocnH-YWm312YWyJZJROWlclARZ-569y4N1j2ttUEVdWY__NihC0Ew_Gg1Eg1Rgg4JPbmmUmwTR2IwzufMHpcxQxiN2baPIAJ9Syip2n-fXz_Zr9s0HsFY0I/s400/DSCN4064.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best photo of the kids in front of the castle.</td></tr>
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Here is the <a href="https://goo.gl/photos/N5WXYskgZ6rtuu4h6">WHOLE album</a> shared via Google Photos.</div>
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Thanks to tips from several good, thoughtful pals, our short trip was eventful and efficient! The kids had a blast. In fact, Henry kind-of broke down on the way home saying he wanted to go back. Poor guy.</div>
JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-54664355113816642762015-06-22T12:59:00.001-05:002015-06-22T13:02:36.270-05:00Everett's Big Adventures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This guy has been no stranger to the ER or the doctor's office in his time. He's had stitches in his face. He's had his face glued before. He was there with us (briefly) when Henry got his concussion a couple months ago. That said, Everett has had a pretty rough June. The little guy managed to pick up some Lyme disease in the last couple of weeks.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWcUhQg-JerlnB-1UzG-OMAoGRjNHhCdQ0zeR8304dwE13rdbNGKkJxtX5_UIFNtBwgudhie4moQEd0k2pj1wSZVAXOBu2Ozpqa_mJYO1r1ExORnLefiZiFOOn6AtfCmmZ3SXQ5m4gVc/s1600/DSCN3946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWcUhQg-JerlnB-1UzG-OMAoGRjNHhCdQ0zeR8304dwE13rdbNGKkJxtX5_UIFNtBwgudhie4moQEd0k2pj1wSZVAXOBu2Ozpqa_mJYO1r1ExORnLefiZiFOOn6AtfCmmZ3SXQ5m4gVc/s320/DSCN3946.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BTW, this is what a bulls-eye rash looks like which is a clear indicator of Lyme disease.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Then, within just a week of Ev's diagnosis for Lyme, on Father's Day, we decided it'd be a great idea to ride bikes over to the Portage Marina (Marina Shores) and fish off the dock. Everett's getting to be really good at handling his little bike, and I was impressed with his ability to manage one of the wheel chair ramps when we got closer to the marina. Then, we reached another ramp that led down to where the boats are docked, and as we rode down this ramp, I quickly began to realize that the grade was more significant than I would have expected (being a wheelchair ramp heading toward a marina). Right at the moment that I realized this, Everett had finished the ramp and rounded the corner at the end of the ramp, and his momentum carried him (and his bike) right off the edge of the platform and into the dark, murky waters of the marina.</span></div>
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I've probably never been so scared in my whole life.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMP8BZ-7mmt4_2ssgehmZ9sSw2dkc4NeFzjGbWxnpu45Eyk5zepEmxCHAUWFbcH0QT6Cfnb2lCOdcJP_jE0KHsaiqz4qOyYZTV4Drx_cw70Mlm0uYqO7jXtCA7lRwk5mzUnSPZ18EsXk/s1600/DSCN3963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMP8BZ-7mmt4_2ssgehmZ9sSw2dkc4NeFzjGbWxnpu45Eyk5zepEmxCHAUWFbcH0QT6Cfnb2lCOdcJP_jE0KHsaiqz4qOyYZTV4Drx_cw70Mlm0uYqO7jXtCA7lRwk5mzUnSPZ18EsXk/s320/DSCN3963.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Luckily, Willis was able to leap from the platform to the dock (somewhere around 7 feet or so, I'd guess) so that he could reach down and grab Everett out of the water. I couldn't see Ev in the water when Willis got him, but he said that Everett was actually keeping his face above water on his own somehow (I'm thanking God for swim lessons and bike helmets right now). They keep the docks locked for security reasons, so there was no getting on the dock any other way.</div>
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When he came out, he cried for about 1.5 hours. For a few minutes, we were pretty confident his bike was gone (it disappeared under the water). Luckily, some boaters came over to help with a boat hook, and we were able to retrieve his bike. We did not go fishing. Ev has said he never wants to go fishing again.</div>
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Ev was also pretty upset that he lost a Croc (shoe). Also, he hurt his wrist somewhere in the process, so we had a hard time figuring out if we needed to get an x-ray for that with all the other crying he was doing about everything else.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willis doing some dadding. He described the rescue as his first "George Bailey" moment.</td></tr>
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I even drove Ev to the ER (on Father's Day) shortly after this happened to go get it x-rayed, but the ER was full of people with head injuries. Plus, Everett started to cheer up and be silly with me at the ER, so I ended up just leaving thinking that he must be okay after all.</div>
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Then, in the middle of the night, Everett complained about his arm again. So, this morning, when a friend offered to take my older two (the best), I ran him to the pediatrician's office (calling on the way). The lady that looked at Everett was the same nurse practitioner we used to see at our pediatrician's office in La Porte when we lived there, so it was neat to see her again. She gave us a brace for Ev's arm, and then, she sent us to the digital imaging department where Everett got his arm x-rayed.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpxpot-F2tofgmxY7RfeVzE1w77viMwKuviKchiYoqKj1UzmxJFz9y76O4HhSfyMfgknsKVXTtkqqtaQLhUmfkOsTcEjWgCScX2wjBp_dNvlXMJsflF41BVn776_Qw8oD91D4ujGUa9c/s1600/DSCN3970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpxpot-F2tofgmxY7RfeVzE1w77viMwKuviKchiYoqKj1UzmxJFz9y76O4HhSfyMfgknsKVXTtkqqtaQLhUmfkOsTcEjWgCScX2wjBp_dNvlXMJsflF41BVn776_Qw8oD91D4ujGUa9c/s320/DSCN3970.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's not a fan of the brace. Not even a little.</td></tr>
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As it turns out, there is a fracture in his wrist. And, I've been spending the day waiting to hear back from the orthopedic people and losing my mind. Everett keeps taking the brace off. I'm frustrated and impatient. Once we get some answers, I can get back to focusing on the fact that I'm just ecstatic that he's still here and breathing.<br />
<br />
Also, I wish I could thank the sweet lady who was in tears who offered her help when and after it happened. I don't know who she was, but I appreciated her. I didn't, however, much appreciate the staff of the marina who kind-of yelled at Nora and Henry because their (and our) bikes were in the way of their service ATV that they were driving on the platform. "Oh, hey. Yeah. Our kid just fell in here and almost died. Give us a sec to collect ourselves."<br />
<br />
It's been surreal.<br />
<br />
I guess it's time to call the ortho people again and ask them why the heck they haven't called back yet . . .JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-61213827163634909552015-06-11T08:17:00.001-05:002015-11-01T14:42:05.371-06:00Purdue Musical Organizations Meets The Hunger Games: 10 Years InDreams have eluded me for what seems like seven years, so I am still wondering why, today of all days, I woke up dreaming. Perhaps it's the amount of reflection that has been happening this week. (Last week, I had a 15 year high school reunion, and while we were nearby, we managed to sneak over to Purdue's campus with our kids.)<br />
<br />
This dream was unsettling, though, and, yet, comforting in places. I'll describe it, in short, as Purdue Musical Organizations (with the folks that were in it when I was) meets <i>The Hunger Games</i>.<br />
<br />
Several familiar faces (from the aforementioned PMO) met us (Willis and me) at a gathering place. We all laughed and enjoyed each other's company like time stood still since we had last seen each other. Then, we were all separated and shipped off on a really fast train to some facility that had some Starbucks-like features with undertones of corporate death. I realized, standing in this sterile place, that I had forgotten to plan ahead in any sort of fashion (bad shoes, clothes, no supplies, etc.). That's when I saw a local mom (present day) walk by with a concerned look on her face (not looking at me, just walking by), but she was clearly prepared and well-dressed for the occasion (which is hilarious because this lady is always so well-dressed and prepared).<br />
<br />
In all this, I realized I was separated from Willis, and I had left my phone in our room (when I told Willis this part, he was like, "OH! The HORROR!"). I was realizing I might never see him again, unless it was on the battlefield where he might have to kill me. I was carrying a knife that was given to me in transit (probably by Woody Harrelson) that had more than just two dimensions that I wasn't particularly thrilled about trying to pocket.<br />
<br />
Then, as I faced and looked out a panel of windows to realize that we were seated a tad lower than sea level, I saw some waves swell and crash over the retaining wall toward the windows. It was quite unsettling.<br />
<br />
Then, of course, I woke up in a total panic. As the fog wore off (which took awhile, by the way), my heart started to explode with gratitude. Gratitude for not being in that place. Gratitude for realizing that I am waking up with a house full of joy, and getting ready to sneak away (just for a bit) and celebrate our ten years of marriage. Gratitude for stupid dreams that help me keep perspective.<br />
<br />
I wonder if we'll always feel like our beginning days were just yesterday. We seem to age, but the memories sure do not.<br />
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<br />JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-45677889011876954512015-05-29T11:26:00.001-05:002016-02-06T09:26:49.013-06:00How I Got Melted Red Crayon Out of an Entire Load of Laundry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday, I opened up a dryer full of adult clothes (my husband's work shirts, pants, some of my shorts, a skirt I made, yadda) and discovered that they were all splattered in RED. After I praised God for my children not being in the house when I made this discovery (I may have gone on a sailor-styled cursing rant), I tried not to panic. And, also, cry. It took me until I had everything out of the dryer before I discovered a flattened piece of red generic crayon paper.<br />
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I did what any other modern mom would do, and left that pile of clothes on the floor and ran to Google. I saw so many different things. I laughed at every single one that said, "Use an iron and paper bags," because I was dealing with an ENTIRE load of laundry. Covered. In red. Addressing all those stains with an iron would take a month. And my sanity.<br />
<br />
So, after combining a few ideas from several different blog posts (and also what <a href="http://www.crayola.com/support/stain-tips/crayons-regular/crayons-regular-on-fabricsfresh-stainsheatset-stainsmelted/">Crayola</a> said to do about it—even though this crayon was an impostor), I came up with this concoction.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>1 cup of Borax (I used 20 Mule Team—is there any other kind?)</li>
<li>2 full scoops (to the top line) of Oxyclean</li>
<li>¼ cup of Dawn dish detergent</li>
<li>1 full cap (to the top line) of Tide laundry detergent</li>
</ul>
<br />
I dumped all those ingredients into the bottom of the washing machine. I threw all those clothes back in there.<br />
<br />
I turned on the water at my utility sink (next to my washer and dryer) to full blast hot and waited until it got hot. Then, I filled up the washing machine. My washing machine is a new, old-school top loader, and I was able to finagle it so that it would sit and soak after it filled. If I didn't have this, I was probably going to have to plug up the utility sink to do it in there.<br />
<br />
I let that sit overnight. Then, this morning, I ran the load through the full cycle (in the same water), and when I went to pull it out of the wash, it was as if it didn't even happen.<br />
<br />
I did see that a sport bra had a faint pink area on the inside, and a pair of my husband's shorts had a faint pink spot on the rear (but there were stains and holes in that sucker already, anyway). If I had tried again with those (to treat them), I'm sure it would have come out. I didn't even care at that point, and I knew those spots wouldn't cause more damage. So, I carried on.<br />
<br />
Also, the dryer didn't have any solid chunks in it, but it was a faint pink color. I used a Magic Eraser on the drum, and then, I got an already-ruined towel wet and ran it in there on hot afterwards. That took care of it.<br />
<br />
That's it! Don't cry. It'll be okay.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-36931462318236679762014-10-21T14:21:00.000-05:002014-10-22T06:46:28.111-05:00My Thoughtful Whistle-BlowerI have to share a snippet of what our life is like with our Henry.<br />
<br />
This morning, at the Fun Zone at our local Y, Henry was able to get a sucker (just a Dum Dum) out of the cauldron for being a well-behaved boy. He painstakingly (seriously) chose the cotton candy flavor. Then, just before we left, he said, "I am going to save this for Nora."<br />
<br />
Everybody's heart melted. Twice. Then, I watched him struggle during the car ride (internally and externally) about it because he didn't realize how long it would be until she got home (and how long he would have to stare at it/smell it/think about it).<br />
<br />
I explained to him that he is the sweetest boy for thinking of his sister and wanting to save that for her. I also mentioned that he needn't do that: that sucker was intended for him as a reward for his good behavior. I encouraged him to eat it himself as we have other suckers at home if the topic arose later.<br />
<br />
I watched (in the rear-view) as he began to eat it. Then, I watched as he wilted, feeling completely guilty and disappointed in himself for not saving it for his sister. I explained to him that he should not feel so sad since that sucker really was intended for him—it isn't as if he did something wrong.<br />
<br />
Still, he struggled. He still continues to struggle with his choice. I have a feeling he will blow the whistle on himself when Nora gets off the bus, even. I will likely see her get upset at him, and I will have to explain to her what a sweet brother he actually is (even though he's going to ruin it for himself by bothering to share his good, yet failed, intentions).<br />
<br />
What's interesting about all of this: he never does it for Everett. (Not that Everett even cares.) I also think it is possible that he is doing it just to please his sister—who, by the way, has been known to coerce Henry into letting her eat his desserts (and, when I catch this happening, I stop it—FYI).<br />
<br />
I have no idea how to even handle it. I understand the weight of the pressure he put on himself earlier. I just can't get him to realize that he's overdoing it. Maybe that'll just come with age. I don't know.<br />
<br />
I love that he wants to be so thoughtful and loving like that, but . . . dang. Sometimes his heart is too big.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-40929704381620241962014-08-08T08:27:00.000-05:002014-08-08T08:28:45.340-05:00Death!? Not Today!The kids and I were having a nice, calm morning in my bed—taking turns telling jokes. Then, we heard what sounded like furniture falling down stairs (only, we don't have stairs) coming down our hallway toward my bedroom. The only reason I didn't go and hide under the bed with the rest of the kids is because as the noise reached my room, I heard our dog yelp. He came into the room, seemingly unharmed but looking shamed.<br />
<br />
I ran down the hall to see what the heck he must've been stuck to in the hallway and saw nothing. Then, I heard the sound again. It was coming from Ev's room. I looked under the crib to see our cat with completely black eyes. Also, there was a paper Olive Garden bag that Willis had brought home from work last night with him. It all started to come together.<br />
<br />
After I let the kids give the cat some space, he finally came out from under the crib . . . with the paper bag still attached. He's free and OK, now, but I really wish I had a surveillance camera in the hallway to capture what the heck went down out there.<br />
<br />
We kind-of all thought we were going to die for a minute. But, no. Hilarity.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-85190257349552196402014-02-22T11:07:00.001-06:002014-02-22T11:11:52.096-06:00Keep Truckin'Clearly, I haven't taken much time to blog over the past year. There's been a lot happening, and it just hasn't been a priority. There was a time I would have felt sad about that, but I guess I have a better-placed priority list, now (since there's an absence of guilt).<br />
<br />
What's been going on? Just a few things.<br />
<ul>
<li>I became the web administrator for our town.</li>
<li>I helped the town rebuild <a href="http://ogdendunes.in.gov/">their website</a>.</li>
<li>My kids are still small enough to play in the water in the bathroom and make an extraordinary mess every day—and dump out all the shampoo. (I really thought we were past that, but I was mistaken.)</li>
<li>Nora started Kindergarten and became an adult, basically. I'm still absorbing that.</li>
<li>About 20% of my day involves answering questions about where specific toys are. Only about 1% of the time do I actually know the answer. Maybe less than that.</li>
<li>Everett went through a long and (somewhat still) messy potty efficiency process, but we're out of diapers! Whee!</li>
<li>Willi has been taxed (emotionally/physically) hard at work, and he's there a lot.</li>
<li>The roof fell in at his work during a blizzard (interstate-closed type of stuff <i>and</i> in Gary, Indiana, where they barely plow the roads on a good day) and caused MAJOR damage. He's lost some staff members while he's been there (various reasons). They were already understaffed. His heart hurts a lot day to day, and I can see it in his face.</li>
<li>Oh, yeah. I work. I still have my job. So, that.</li>
<li>We got buried in snow, so I spent a good portion of the winter shoveling the driveway. Then, we scored a free snow blower before the latest snow, which was SWEET.</li>
<li>Laundry. Dishes. Tripping on toys. Tripping on the dog. Tripping on kids. Trying to clean up the house occasionally. Fixing stuff that breaks (all the stuff breaks). Trying to get Henry to stop telling me he's starving by throwing food at him constantly.</li>
<li>Actually trying to have real (instead of via social media which was a large portion of my interactions with people while my kids were infants), social, interpersonal relationships/interactions.</li>
<li>I try to keep moving (which involves a membership at the Y) which serves many purposes: I get a boost of energy, I get a break, it gets my kids out of the house during the winter, and we get discounts on swim lessons (also happening).</li>
<li>Strep. Strep has been happening. There has been less barf-o-rama this year, though, which has been welcomed—well, at least with the kids. The dog did have a serious barf-o-rama incident on New Year's Eve when he ate an ENTIRE plate of cookies with LOTS of chocolate. That, by far, was probably the grossest thing I've cleaned up to date, and that is <i>actually</i> saying something.</li>
<li>Oh, and we're trying to be decent parents. So, that. Not sure if that's working yet.</li>
</ul>
So . . . there's an update.<br />
<br />
One day, we'll spend Saturday mornings like these drinking coffee, missing our children, and thinking about going cross country skiing or snow-shoeing or just a walk down to the lake to see how different it looks today. Or, going out to eat somewhere (cool/different). Or doing whatever we want . . . like visiting the children we're missing. Or nothing.<br />
<br />
It's not that right now is devoid of enjoyment, but it's definitely not a simple time right now—especially not for Willis. If it isn't a simple time for him, it isn't for me, either. In the meantime, we do what we can, the best we can. Just keep on . . . keep truckin'. Good stuff.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="480" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/1gzhwqlaEAI?start=79" width="640"></iframe>JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-6078817094704713332013-11-05T08:33:00.000-06:002013-11-05T08:33:48.011-06:00Don't StopMy morning started out with me still being half deaf. (For real. I still cannot hear out of my right ear right now from being sick. That sucker will not clear out.) All of the kids crawled into bed with me and stuck their cold feet onto my bare skin at different points. Then, Willis, from the kids' bathroom, said, "Well, Jenny, I hope you didn't like your makeup."<br />
<br />
When I asked him to, kindly (or maybe not), further explain, he said something like, "Everett just wanted his lizard to have a desert."<br />
<br />
I popped out of bed to find a pretty epic mess (involving a toy lizard and my powdered makeup) that took probably 35 minutes to clean up. Also, Everett used my green concealer stick to make a faux hawk on his own head. He was particularly proud of that, and I guess he should have been. It <i>was</i> well done. It took about four washes with soap in the bath tub before I just gave up on getting it out of his hair.<br />
<br />
It's mornings like this that I wish I could see the hilarity of it at the moment that it is happening, but I'm just not that cool. I <i>usually</i> calm down while we wait for the bus in the car at the bus stop, but we were running so late (and the kids were so absolutely insane), that the calm just didn't come.<br />
<br />
After the boys and I got back to the house, and after Henry wore me down about how much he is STARVING (we seriously just had breakfast that involved scrambled eggs, people), I ended up giving him a Pop Tart. While I was transferring said Pop Tart from the toaster to the table, I heard Henry singing the beginning of this song (he's like a happy, chirping bird when he knows he's about to eat again).<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/jlAgHt92lqE" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
And, that's about when the calm came. And, I finally laughed.<br />
<br />
So . . . let's do this day. I've got stuff to do.<br />
<br />
Also, I have to go buy some more cheap makeup. (BTW, this is why I don't buy expensive makeup or shampoo or, well, anything.)JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-28556497577913719452013-10-22T14:57:00.000-05:002013-10-22T15:19:39.318-05:00That One GuyTen years ago, November 1st, Willis planted a smooch on me in the kitchen of my college apartment on Wood Street in West Lafayette and promptly walked out the back door. Prior to that moment, I knew he was someone I always wanted near me, but I remember the way my mind (and heart) raced when I realized he liked me just the way I had hoped.<br />
<br />
What ensued after that was just bliss. Mostly. Well, there were some sub-par days. After we were engaged in July of 2004, I hated not knowing where my life was headed (career-wise). I graduated that August, and Willis was still in school for another year. I had a really awful job situation that year, and it was really hard. (In fact, I freaked Willis out pretty badly when I walked out of that first job near the holidays.) We planned a wedding on a tiny budget. I think some of my family was still in shock at our "short" dating prior to engagement period (eight months, if you were counting), and we could sense that.<br />
<br />
Then, the wedding day came. It rained. I wrecked my car (totaled it, even, which sounds more horrific than it was. My car was not worth much). I fell down some stairs (before the wedding—my shoes were wet). The hotel lost our room reservation. But . . .<br />
<br />
My friend, <a href="http://www.bethanyrobison.blogspot.com/">Bethany</a>, rescued me from my car accident and took me to my hair/makeup appointment (and desperately tried to get me to think happy thoughts so I wouldn't cry my makeup off). Our friends and family came together to help us throw a sweet (yet, terribly sweaty) party. There was music. There was dancing. It was actually a pretty sweet day when you minus all the negative things. Believe it or not, it was actually easy to forget all those bad things.<br />
<br />
<table 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="http://the.browns.home.comcast.net/~the.browns/20050612.005/KN005011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://the.browns.home.comcast.net/~the.browns/20050612.005/KN005011.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 11, 2005—Happy to be alive. And also married to this guy.</td></tr>
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Then, after a honeymoon on a houseboat in Kentucky, we moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Lebanon, Indiana. I worked for a start-up newspaper called The Daily Sun. He was a warehouse guy in Fishers for G.W. Berkheimer. I was on a schedule where I would sleep for about four hours at a time and head into the office twice a day. I forget the time frame, but not long after we moved in, Willis got offered a purchasing job at G.W. Berkheimer's corporate office. He started driving two hours to and from work (Lebanon to Portage) after that. When the newspaper announced that a new law was passed to allow unlimited (and capped pay) overtime, I realized we had to leave Lebanon.<br />
<br />
So, we moved to an apartment in Valparaiso (after only living in Lebanon for three months). We gained a cat (he followed us home on our last night in Lebanon, believe it or not). I got a job as an in-house graphic designer for G.W. Berkheimer. We carpooled to work. We learned (after spending the holidays with family and falling horribly ill) that we would NEVER have one bathroom again.<br />
<br />
We bought a house in La Porte just before the housing market crashed (worst time to buy). We worked our butts off on it putting in some sweat equity (well, more sweat than equity). We got a puppy. He ate some of our stuff (including five remote controls and a brand new pair of running shoes). We got buried in snow a few times.<br />
<br />
We had our three kids there. I said that like, "Whoop! There they are, and we did that."<br />
<br />
Nope. They may have all been about 22 months apart, but they each came with ridiculously long, difficult labors through which Willis coached me (and <i>saw</i> things that can't be unseen). The last one didn't even want to come out . . . ever. Some of our kids didn't like to sleep. One of them cried A LOT—it turned out that he had ear infections . . . and so did I (cried a lot AND had ear infections). Every winter has had at least one barforama since these kids started arriving. One of the kids even ended up in the hospital in January of 2012 for four days with complications from RSV (even though all three kids had RSV).<br />
<br />
We laughed there. We cried there. We found our church home there.<i> We shaped our life there.</i><br />
<br />
Then, Willis got the opportunity to work at Berkheimer's Gary branch.<br />
<br />
After the first week of that commute, I remember seeing the look on his face and knowing in the pit of my soul that we needed to move. And then, we proceeded to have the longest slog of ridiculousness (in selling our La Porte house/buying our current house) that most people have ever seen.<br />
<br />
And now, we are settled into our "new" home. It's been about 18 months since we moved here. While I am finding myself coming into an age of comfort and more clarity that I'll attribute to friendships, our faith, our community, consistency, and more sleep, I'm watching Willis get up nearly every day and go into work (I say nearly every day because he works most Saturdays, too). He is managing a branch that barely has enough staff. (One of his dear staff members was in an accident this summer and hasn't been able to come back to work.) I've watched him just be this man that leads people (without realizing it himself), and he does it well. He comes home and cooks dinner for all of us—when he probably hasn't eaten a<i> thing </i>all day. Sometimes, he's cooking in the midst of kids that are FREAKING OUT because I've just worked all day (and had to ignore them to meet a deadline), too. Then, I'll just be standing there, stunned, wondering what the heck happened to the whole day.<br />
<br />
He never complains about any of it. I can see in his countenance that he is struggling through it sometimes, but he never says anything out loud about it. I know that he'll be annoyed that it (any hint of frustration) even shows, but I'm the only person who can read it (accurately).<br />
<br />
What I've told him before, and what he doesn't seem to realize, is that him not being able to hide that from me is a quality that I happen to like about him. I think a lot of people think he's stoic and boring (due to this honed skill and his perfect hair), but I know that he isn't. Not even. In fact, he's hilarious. He's smarter than I am. He's kinder than I am. He is better at putting his belief into practice than I am. He's a better planner than I am. He's my human calculator, dictionary, and map (and people wonder why I don't need a smart phone). He's not above changing diapers, holding a child, or just being an engaging dad. He always does the right thing. He always knows the right thing to say (or not to say). He's considered all the sides to all the issues. He answers the phone like a professional all the time (see? Hilarious). He's more patient with animals than I am. He's more patient than I am in general. He has taught me that not everything has to be done right this second like I think it does (valuable lesson, by the way).<br />
<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/AVvXsEielMVGtQbLTBPopCuKwWxfzHYNvNU6Kaeo3oE_vS8jnM6jcOIdluIxwOhm8YroVgiaVSCuzFV08lAnsM5IMHw8NVMu6-faCPL_k1KJuTB58q6Lkz3iOYuLMXPjr0QiN2r2zvD7rBeAu3I/s1600/Jenny-&-Willis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielMVGtQbLTBPopCuKwWxfzHYNvNU6Kaeo3oE_vS8jnM6jcOIdluIxwOhm8YroVgiaVSCuzFV08lAnsM5IMHw8NVMu6-faCPL_k1KJuTB58q6Lkz3iOYuLMXPjr0QiN2r2zvD7rBeAu3I/s640/Jenny-&-Willis.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are at Nicole (Angi) Kaeding's graduation party about nine years ago. Photo by Christine Angi.</td></tr>
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Here we are, ten years later. Here I am, looking at our life, and I still feel like we're just getting started. There's still more to know about this guy. There's still more to experience with this guy. And, while things aren't as simple or as fun as we'd like them to be right now, I'd still rather be right here than anywhere—with this guy.<br />
<br />
He's<i> still</i> that one guy.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-33787637996080272912013-10-04T14:28:00.000-05:002013-10-04T14:31:14.017-05:00Mommy GuiltNow that I have had minute to sit down and rehash the day, I am thinking back on my waking moments this morning. Nora crawled into bed with me before I was even remotely ready to wake up (and before dawn). She immediately started talking at full volume, nonstop.<br />
<br />
I'm still not a morning person, even though I haven't seen the back side of 8 a.m. in I don't know how long. So, I didn't really welcome it warmly. In retrospect, I feel a little bad about that.<br />
<br />
Here's why: about ten minutes after Nora came in, Willis came into our room to turn on the light (my signal to get up—his ability to make sure he's wearing matching socks, etc.). Everett came running in with him. Everett hopped up on the bed with a huge grin on his face, and said, "Hi, Mama."<br />
<br />
I smiled and said, "Hi, buddy."<br />
<br />
Nora said, "Oh. You don't smile at me like that, Mom."<br />
<br />
Dang it.<br />
<br />
I did mention that she came in to greet me in the dark. So, I suggested that maybe she couldn't see it. (Even though I <i>know</i> that she knows I wasn't smiling.)<br />
<br />
Poor kid. I wish I could show her that I totally used to smile at her like that when she was two . . .<br />
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And, I still wish I was a morning person.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-b-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn2/q84/s720x720/1382178_10102912551844688_1697435174_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://scontent-b-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn2/q84/s720x720/1382178_10102912551844688_1697435174_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She loves me so much she even drew this for me so that I can remember she loves me when she's at school. And I can't even light up for her when she comes to snuggle in the morning. Darn it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Here's another sad thought. Henry was in the room, too, when all this was happening (he came in a little before Willis and Everett in the dark, still). He probably watched all of this happen, and didn't voice any of his feelings on the topic. I'll bet he has some. Poor guy.<br><br>
Also, I won't go into great detail about the fact that after Everett climbed up on the bed, I realized that he was covered in poo. (His own.) So, that abruptly ended snuggle time and began laundry and disinfecting time . . .JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-84778303087861048252013-10-01T11:34:00.003-05:002013-10-01T12:01:22.719-05:00"No, Mommy."So . . . here's what I'm dealin' with.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="720" src="https://www.facebook.com/video/embed?video_id=10102901418246508" width="700"></iframe>JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-56443917459884094672013-09-20T13:25:00.003-05:002013-09-20T13:25:46.796-05:00Poor Mr. CaterpillarI think it was a week ago that Willi came home from work with a fist-full of black-eyed susans for me. I put them in a vase that we got as a wedding gift, and sat them in the middle of our table. Nora was particularly thrilled to watch this exchange, I think.<br />
<br />
That evening (or maybe even the next day), we realized that there was a caterpillar living/eating on one of the flower heads, covered in pollen. I got the brilliant idea that I could keep this caterpillar in a jar (with holes) and some foliage, and we (mostly, the kids) could watch his transformation.<br />
<br />
I put the flower he was nibbling on in a quart-sized jar, and I poked holes in some plastic wrap to cover it. The flower didn't last long. So, I added some lettuce, hoping that would sustain him.<br />
<br />
This morning, while we were eating breakfast, I discovered that Mr. Caterpillar had probably passed sometime yesterday, unnoticed. I felt terrible.<br />
<br />
Why did I think I could take this little being and hold him in captivity just so we could watch him? I'm already keeping five other little beings (including the cat and dog) alive on a daily basis. Why did I think I could add another?<br />
<br />
Also, what do caterpillars eat? 'Cause it isn't lettuce, I guess.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-41862174072403407192013-09-19T16:38:00.000-05:002013-09-19T16:38:14.665-05:00Broke HouseAs I have been laying Everett down on the changing table to change his diaper, he has been putting his hands in the shape of a triangle and saying, "Mommy! Wook! A house!"<br />
<br />
Then, he pulls his hands apart and goes, "Uh, oh! Broke house!"<br />
<br />
I have no idea where that came from, but it cracks me up how clear it is.JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-48333492511260173062013-09-04T13:51:00.000-05:002013-09-04T13:51:03.712-05:00This Parenting Job is HardNora's been in Kindergarten for two weeks. Typing that is so weird.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today, I was trying to make sandwiches for two screaming, exhausted boys at about 12:15, when the phone rang. It was the school nurse calling. Nora had bumped her head at recess (hard) and was really upset in the clinic. I asked, "Is she okay?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"She doesn't have a cut or anything, but she has a pretty big goose egg," the nurse said.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I stood there blinking for what felt like an entire minute.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Um. What do I need to do?" I eventually asked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Well, Nora really needs her mommy," is what I heard. She may have really said that.<br /><br />"Do I need to come get her?" I asked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Well . . . if you just want to pop in and hug her, you could do that. She will probably be okay once she gets back to class, but if you wanted to come get her, I would excuse the absence," she said.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My jaw dropped open as I looked at my two little boys, mopping the floor with their bodies, who desperately needed naps. There was no flippin' way I was going to be able to throw them in the car just to go comfort her. I knew it'd make it worse, too. If I went in there, she was going to come home with me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then, she let Nora talk to me for a minute. Nora begged for me to come "just for a minute." I tried to tell her that the boys were about to take a nap, and I just couldn't. I told her I was sorry she was hurting. (It was awful, by the way.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When the nurse got back on the line, something took over, and it was like someone else was talking. "Look. I can't really go in there just to give her a hug. I think it'll make it worse. If she still struggles when you send her back to class, let me know. I will find a way to come get her."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's something a parent would say. That's weird.</div>
JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-22158003148354500302013-07-25T16:54:00.000-05:002013-07-25T16:54:37.017-05:00Blue Eyes Sinking with My HeartOur sweet neighbor across the street asked us if we'd like to come over and swim in her pool today. She had asked us to come last year, but the weather would never cooperate with the timing. Things worked out today, so we went.<br />
<br />
For most of the visit, Everett was too scared to really get into the water. Nora and Henry were in the entire time. Henry was in a life jacket, and he was a lot more comfortable than he ever has been in a pool. Nora started out in her life jacket and quickly moved on to be without it—shocking me with her swimming skills.<br />
<br />
As our time was waning, Everett suddenly became a little more comfortable. So, I lingered a little longer than I'd have probably really liked—just because he was finally enjoying it. When it was time to go, and as I was wrapping things up (in conversation) with our neighbor, out of the corner of my eye, I saw flopping. Immediately, I gasped, ran, and hopped into the pool. As I reached out my arms, I saw two huge, bright blue eyes looking at me as they sunk down into the water. I grabbed him out, fearful that I was too late.<br />
<br />
The moment the water rushed off his face, little Everett blurted out, "Go! Want go!"<br />
<br />
He didn't even cough. Our neighbor said, "That means he was holding his breath that whole time!"<br />
<br />
Oh, thank God.<br />
<br />
I don't even know how he ended up under the water: he had been staying out of it. There was no splash. He must've willingly walked down the steps and lost his footing . . . so quietly.<br />
<br />
At the end of each day, as I'm falling asleep, I find myself saying, "Everybody is here. Everybody is asleep. Everybody is OK. Thank you, God, for getting us through another day."JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-20388997307342063792013-01-13T06:17:00.000-06:002013-09-13T16:54:40.519-05:00Another One of Those Sleepless Nights<p>Last night was possibly the worst in the top two or three worst nights of sleep we've ever had as a family. It was so unbelievable, in fact, that I had sit down and try to remember what happened and when. I want to be able to recall this stuff when I start sleeping through the night again one day. I'm pretty sure I'll look back on it and think, "How did we survive!?"</p> <ul> <li>10 p.m.: I'm laying down, Everett starts crying. I grab him, give him some Tylenol (because I think he has a sore throat), sit down with him at the computer for about a half hour, then, try to lay him down. He starts to cry on the way down, so I just bring him to bed with me. He sleeps on my face.</li> <li>10:30-45ish p.m.: Willis wakes up and goes, "Is he serious?" because Everett is squirming ALL over us. And fussing. He gets up with him and goes to the couch.</li> <li>11:30ish p.m.: Willis comes back into bed, followed by a dog that sounds like he's going to barf. He says, "I just let him out, and I had to chase him to get him back into the house. Everett went down, though . . . for now." Then, he let the dog back outside because the dog was FLIPPING out, screaming, and gagging. Willis laid down and said, "I feel like that, too, but you don't see me flipping out like that." I said, "You feel nauseous!?"</li> <li>11:45-11:50 p.m.: I wake up, remembering that the dog is outside, and I yell for him to come in. Luckily, he does, and he's quiet. Finally.</li> <li>Midnight: I wake up (somehow, I slept for a few minutes) to an alarm going off in one of the kids' rooms. I fumble around and figure out that it is Henry's. I shut it off and go back to bed.</li> <li>1:30 a.m.: Everett wakes screaming again. I hop up, grab him, give him some Motrin, and try to sleep on the couch with him. He flops around so much that I'm afraid he's going to land on his head on the floor. I eventually realize that he is struggling a bit to breathe. So, I get up and give him a breathing treatment. I sit up with him through that and for awhile afterward to make sure he's OK and sleeping.</li> <li>2:15-30 a.m.: I put Ev to bed, and I go back to bed. The cat has made himself comfortable where my legs go and refuses to move for the remainder of the night.</li> <li>4 a.m.: We hear Nora turn her music on in her room. At first, it's really loud, and then, we can hear her turn it down. Willis gets up and goes in there to find out that she's probably not slept a wink the whole night and had no intention of going back to bed.</li> <li>6 a.m.: The alarm goes off for me to get up and start getting ready for church. Willis let me make the call as to whether we'd go or not. I said a prayer that went something like, "What do we do?" Then, almost immediately, I heard a hack from the next room (Everett). I rolled over.</li> <li>7 a.m.: Nora walks into our room, all chatty like she had never been asleep. Willis tells her to go watch TV, and she does. Henry comes out maybe a half hour later. He watches TV briefly before Willis gets up with the kids.</li> <li>Almost 9 a.m.: I get up, but I could have slept until noon.</li> </ul>JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-1757115158233683582012-12-03T09:27:00.000-06:002013-09-13T16:54:40.525-05:00Having Kids is Hilarious<p>After school today, Nora asked me to draw her a Santa hat so she could cut it out and write a letter to Santa on it. I fully expected her to ask for something for Christmas in this letter, but, no. It was a prep-letter for when she plans to see him in person this Sunday. Check it out. (She had actually tried to write the letter herself, but she wanted me to translate it for her over the top of what she wrote.)<br /><br /> <img style="width:575px;" src="http://x81.xanga.com/edcf90f031231284215103/m226750866.jpg" alt="Nora's Letter to Santa 2012057" /><br />"I love you, Santa, but please don't 'Ho Ho' in my face. Thanks, Nora."</p> <p>I'm pretty sure she did this because we watched <em>A Christmas Story</em> last night. She seemed a bit taken aback that a kid would actually freak out in Santa's lap. So, to prevent that sort of incident for herself, she's taking precautions.</p> <p>I'm pretty sure she's Willi's daughter. I am pretty sure I've never thought that far ahead, like, ever.</p>JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-47344673610890316282012-10-26T13:17:00.000-05:002013-09-13T16:54:40.531-05:00Terrible and Beautiful<p>Last night, I took the new computer back that we had bought over the weekend (there was an, um, issue with Best Buy that got resolved—another story). Nora had gone to be with a friend, so I had just Henry and Everett with me. Everett was a 15-month-old disaster at Best Buy, which is pretty standard. (I have a four-year-old, and I can say, with confidence, that the hardest age is just walking until fully talking.) <br /><br /> The whole time we were at Best Buy (it took forever, which was unexpected, but not surprising), Henry kept reminding me that I had said that we could go to "Benard's." <br /><br /> I told him that we have to wait until we're all done, and if he wasn't going to listen to me, we couldn't go. So, he did his best. He just laid down on the floor of Best Buy. At this point in my motherhood, I just let that happen. I probably got judged, but people can go fly a kite. <br /><br /> We left Best Buy, Henry reminded me about "Benard's," and I decided that he had behaved well enough to go (and I could strap Ev into a cart this time). The thing about "Benard's" is that they have ONE cart that is kid-friendly. It has a car on the front, and Henry asks me every day at least 86 times if we can go to "Benard's that has the yellow car." <br /><br /> I'm not even kidding about that. <br /><br /> So, we got to "Benard's," and we spotted the cart. As I herded my two boys into the store, two, slightly older boys darted into the store and headed straight for the cart. Henry went running after them saying, "Nooo!" <br /><br /> My heart sank . . . before Henry even said anything. I watched (almost outside myself) as I heard these little boys basically tell him "tough." <br /><br /> Henry had the hugest tears, and his cries were so full of anguish. He just doesn't get out much, darn it. <br /><br /> Anyway, what could I do? I just started to try to comfort him, and I said, "Sorry, buddy. We just missed it. Darn it." <br /><br /> Oh, it was painful. I about cried, too, honestly. <br /><br /> Luckily, over his cries, I barely heard the mother of the boys yelling, "You know what, guys? You need to let those little boys ride that car." <br /><br /> She actually walked over there and made them get off. I think she hated doing it, and I felt bad that she felt she had to do it (and, yet, that's honestly what I would have done had I been her). I couldn't help but to be pissed off at "Benard's" for only ever having ONE of those STUPID CARTS at EVERY "Benard's" STORE. <br /><br /> I told her "thank you," but it might have been lost on her. I made Henry say "thank you" to the boys. Believe it or not, the boys actually seemed to be OK with parting with the car once he said that. <br /><br /> It was terrible and beautiful all at once. Life is hard. You know it? Jeez. <br /><br /> <img src="http://x27.xanga.com/a00e0a0166135283956885/b226521101.jpg" alt="" width="575" /></p>JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6639403416908046075.post-76648606516189246822012-09-26T07:06:00.000-05:002013-09-13T16:54:40.537-05:00Henry's Upsided<p>Just in the last few weeks, Henry has really started to connect some synapses in his brain or something. He makes so much more sense all of a sudden, and I've found that I'm not spending most of my mornings ripping my hair out with him. It's a welcomed change. He's starting to understand quite a bit, and he's actually starting to be really sweet and helpful.</p> <p>One of the things that he says lately that I do not want to forget: when he gets excited about something (like when we say we're going to go out to eat at "the car place"), he always gasps, opens his eyes wide, and says, "I be so upsided!"</p> <p>It makes me laugh every single time.</p>JennyDillBrownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15896677932975278070noreply@blogger.com0