tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72720195542687130852024-02-19T06:42:14.776-08:00Cinderella DutyBeckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-32927067726126728742016-04-05T15:32:00.000-07:002016-05-22T17:58:47.986-07:00I Do Stand-Up Comedy!2016 is my year. It's my year to do <i>whuteverthehell</i> I want. <i>Whuteverthehell!</i> So, I chose stand-up comedy. Whuuuuut???<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me!</td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a>I don't know. I just wanted to. I've always wanted to. But, as a Mormon, I worried it wasn't becoming of a Christlike mother to do comedy. After all, I was supposed to avoid loud laughing and, well, that's comedy clubs.<br />
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Instead, I watched stand-up comedy on YouTube and Netflix. My secret obsession was Ellen. Sure, she was a lesbian and I knew that wasn't cool in the Mormon world, but she was just so relatable and <i>clean</i>. Jim Gaffigan was hilarious. Brian Regan was OK.<br />
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My favorite was Jerry Seinfeld's "I'm Telling You for the Last Time." My buddies in college had the DVD. We'd watch it over and over and over in our off-the-grid hangout that we affectionately called, Spare House. Because Mormon college. Because<i> clean</i>. Man—I wanted to be a comic so bad. But, I was a woman and needed to be a meek, humble mother. Ugh. <i>Whuteverrrr</i> (sorry, I already set the precedent).<br />
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The problem is, I'm so wound up right now. Having just left the Mormon church, I'm struggling with loss of community, identity and friendship. My step-dad, the only one I confided everything to, passed away in March. My marriage is a legal union of two people trying desperately not to terrify and scar their three innocent children.<br />
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That makes comedy really hard. And really lonely. And perfect timing.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-46958526350304136522016-01-03T17:18:00.000-08:002016-05-22T18:02:48.694-07:00Why I'm Quitting Stay-At-Home-Mom<div>
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Standing near the produce at the Food Lion grocery store when I was eight, my mom promised me, "If you go to college, I'll pay for every cent." Deal.</div>
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And now, I'm standing in front of my life choices, watching them play out in slow motion. What the hell have I done?</div>
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Fortunately, I went to college and earned a BS in Communications with a minor in music. Unfortunately, I was a full-believing Mormon and that meant I was expected to stay home to raise my children. The Mormon church says you have a choice, but they mostly teach that being a SAHM gives your children the best chance to avoid sin, return to God and live with you forever. That's a lot of pressure. (And now I sound nuts. But this was all I knew—I was raised Mormon.)</div>
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It wasn't just the Mormon church delivering this message. Sociologists, Baby Center and Dr. Laura all praised the efforts and results yielded by stay-at-home moms. These children were more well-adjusted. These children were more confident. These children were more successful in life. And, most importantly, these children wouldn't risk abuse or neglect that can sometimes occur in childcare settings (some of which I experienced myself growing up in at-home childcare).</div>
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I now have three children. A few months ago, I studied and realized the Mormon beliefs don't hold a candle to the mounds of historical evidence and documents available today, most of which the Mormon church owns but brushes under the rug. (I'm still a little pissed, to be honest.) And I'm staring at my babies realizing, I wouldn't have chosen this—yet.</div>
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I would have chosen to secure my career first, family second. But for many, family never comes. And I already have one. I did it a little backwards but I have a feeling I scored the most valuable thing first. </div>
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My youngest is still a little younger than I'd like for daycare—she's almost 2. And I don't <i>want</i> her in daycare all day. But, jeez, I'm an awful mom. The depression of being home all day—feeling useless, not connecting with adults—it's paralyzing to me. I envy women who love it.</div>
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And though I'm a little off track career-wise, the good news is, now, I don't have to worry if I will ever have kids. Now, I don't have to worry about the eternal consequences of working. Now, what I do have to worry about is whether or not my degree is still viable.</div>
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Back to work for this lady. I miss it!</div>
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Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-77389093952956123092015-12-09T19:50:00.000-08:002016-05-22T19:51:56.346-07:00I Quit Homeschooling"My oldest is really advanced." The elementary principle rolled his eyes at me. "Every parent thinks that," he said. "I know, but, just test her," I replied.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://assets.rebelcircus.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/zrmvf-fam1.jpg">Source</a></td></tr>
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The Gifted & Talented district coordinator recommended she skip kindergarten and be placed in the advanced 1st grade program.<br />
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Wow. But also, not wow.<br />
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She began speaking at 8 months and used clear sentences by 18 months. Friends would gasp, "I can't believe I'm having a real conversation with a 2-year-old!"<br />
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So, she attended the first grade advanced program. But, I was scared. I was worried she would eventually fall behind and that she wouldn't drive cars and date as soon as her classmates.<br />
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I was afraid of Common Core math curricula. I didn't know anything about it. But, other parents were terrified so I became terrified. And Sage Testing...<i>*insert ghost sounds here*</i>. Big, bad Sage Testing. Again, I didn't know anything specific—just that the women in my Mormon community felt all of this was very Big Brother-ish. And that's scary.<br />
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The other Mormon moms believed all of this "bad stuff" was Satan trying to ruin our children through the Federal Government, mandated testing, and liberal public schools. We needed to protect our kids.<br />
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My husband and I started looking at homeschooling options. I was pregnant with baby number 3, but I was willing to do anything for my kids. And my husband really believed the depth we (I) could provide our daughter on certain subjects would far exceed what should would get in public school.<br />
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So, terrified and untrained, I took this brilliant daughter out of school. And then the sinking feeling that I was about to truly ruin my kid set in.<br />
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We started that 2nd grade school year with a very strict schedule. We all loved it, to be honest. Everyone started the day with prayer and scripture. We had breakfast, math, reading, playtime and chores. We had afternoon lessons on geography and science, followed by snack and more chores. The house had never been cleaner. My daughter had my full attention. My toddler son was accidentally pushed to the side.<br />
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I met with other homeschool moms. Some wore tense, anxious masks. Others seemed incredibly relaxed. Many laughed knowingly and said, "you'll figure it out—it's all trial and error." A majority of the women supported some form or another of "unschooling," which is basically not schooling. The idea is pretty much to just let your kids learn on their own when they're ready. I ran into a few kids who, at the ages of 8, 9, and 10 couldn't read. I'm sure they will figure it out eventually. This just wasn't <i>my</i> way.<br />
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Growing up, education was a big deal in my home. My mom was always in college. She's currently finishing her doctoral thesis. (Come on, Mom. You can do it!) Every year in school, if I wasn't being pulled out for an advanced writing or math, I was enrolled in honors or AP classes. My mother is a public school teacher, for heaven's sake. So, naturally, I have high, but realistic, academic expectations for my kids.<br />
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During the course of this year as a homeschooler, I researched Common Core methods and Sage testing. I'm gonna say this: Common Core isn't that bad. Is it what we grew up with? Not exactly. But, actually, yes. It teaches the same things in a different order so that every concept is interconnected. It's a GOOD THING.<br />
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But, after the excitement of the first few months wore off, I saw my outgoing daughter turn very dark and become very lonely. It broke my heart.<br />
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And after I had that baby, I had never felt so deeply depressed and lonely in my life. And remember that toddler son? He was still tippy-toeing around, trying to sneak under my arm for cuddles while I grimaced in pain from nursing the new baby.<br />
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It was too much. I was spread too thin. I was breathing but barely sleeping.<br />
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The following summer, I reluctantly enrolled the girl in school. I was still scared. She had to be tested again to gain entry into the gifted program again. I was terrified she wouldn't know enough math or write well enough. But damnit if she isn't the quickest kid you've ever met. She took care of her own shit. Thank goodness. Lord knows I couldn't.<br />
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She is in 3rd grade now and has been accepted for the 4th grade advanced program, too. She's a year younger but you'd never know it. She's so happy and I'm relieved.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-34997513452413275132013-03-01T08:30:00.001-08:002013-03-01T08:30:50.926-08:00Dissolved dreams afflict moms.I'm not the only one! Remembering my<a href="http://cinderelladuty.blogspot.com/2013/02/mom-wheres-your-fun-self.html"> last post</a>, here's a fantastic follow-up on moms pursuing dreams, written by Nicole Carpenter, a <a href="http://www.ksl.com/">KSL</a> Contributor:<br />
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"I believe there is a silent epidemic of dissolved dreams afflicting women who have put many dreams on hold to be a wife and mother...Those dreams don’t truly go away because they are a <span style="font-size: large;">part of who we are</span>, a part of who we are meant to be. They will weigh heavy on your mind, or offer a burning sensation in your heart, and you should believe because all dreams are real."</blockquote>
<a href="http://www.ksl.com/?sid=24208725&nid=1009&title=how-pursuing-your-own-dreams-can-help-your-children&fm=home_page&s_cid=queue-18">Continue reading</a> this moving article.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">My dream fulfilled: circus acrobat!</span></td></tr>
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Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-32887639492544950492013-02-27T05:00:00.000-08:002013-02-27T08:25:07.860-08:00Mom, where's your fun self?The fun, daring part of me was lost and buried when my new identity became "Mom."<br />
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As a young, naïve mom, I expected myself to find complete satisfaction in life by cooking, cleaning and tending to my sweet babies 24/7, all between the walls of my little home. Like so many other moms, I thought it was selfish to do things by myself and for myself. Have you ever felt this way?<br />
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After 4 years of full-time, serious motherhood, I wasn't vibrant or vivacious anymore. I wasn't excited or interesting.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Painting ceramics without kids at Color Me Mine with my sis-in-law.</span></td></tr>
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I mean, I used to be fun! What happened to that girl?!<br />
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Back in high school, a teacher gave me the nickname, Barbie Becky. While I'd like to think it was because I was a blond, voluptuous babe with full lips <span style="font-size: x-small;">(please laugh with me)</span>, it was because I was always excited to be participating in a million new activities.<br />
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Why did I bury that girl when I became a mom? Can't the two coexist? Can't I be a fun girl <span style="font-size: large;">while</span> being a mom?<br />
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The answer is <span style="font-size: large;">YES!</span></div>
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But, how could I get back to my old, exciting ways? Where was that version of Becky? I thought back to a time when I was fun and in love with life—college.</div>
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What did I love to do in college?</div>
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-Dance</div>
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-Paint</div>
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-Play guitar</div>
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-Sing</div>
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-Hike</div>
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-Make friends laugh</div>
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-Try new things</div>
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This was the place to start. I mean, if this stuff brought me joy only a few years ago, shouldn't I still be interested? So, I chose one thing—guitar—and tried it. I still loved it! I picked another—dance—and tried it. I loved that, too!<br />
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I even reverted back to one of my childhood joys: crayons and coloring books. I was shocked to realize I still love it and I'm kinda killer at it now. The years have been kind to my artistic eye, my friends. I revel in beating my kids in our coloring contests. You should try it! And hang your artwork on the fridge. It's still satisfying.</div>
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In the last year, I have learned that I love and am good at Zumba, teaching a local group of ladies Pilates/Yoga every week, sewing clothes for my kids and myself, block printing and letterpress printing, sketching in pencil, writing and reading novels.</div>
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I have given myself permission, and even dared myself, to try new things, even if that means getting a babysitter. Because my kids like having an interesting mom. They need to see me live. It shows them that life doesn't end at 22, but that it continues forever. And, I'm glad to say that the variety in my life helps me appreciate my role as a mom even more.</div>
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Have you forgotten your fun self? If so, what did you enjoy years ago, even as a small child? Are you willing to try those things again? Seriously—coloring—do it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Finished product after firing. Take that, 5-year-old Becky!</span></td></tr>
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P.S. This post was an excuse to show off my cute butter dish...</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-7577265599294823722013-02-25T05:00:00.000-08:002013-02-25T05:00:03.839-08:00Dear husbandDear husband,<br />
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Remember the other night when we had a little fight?<br />
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You said, "You should get the wok really hot before you add the vegetables so they fry quickly instead of steaming."<i> And what I heard was, "Please don't screw up my dinner again because I really think you're a crappy cook."</i> And so I snapped, "If you don't like the way I cook, you can do it yourself!" And then you coaxed, "Sweetie, I didn't mean..." And I retorted, "Yeah, well that's what it sounded like." And then you turned around and walked out of the room.<br />
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Yeah. Sorry for that.<br />
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I wasn't trying to be offended. But, I guess I also wasn't trying not to be offended.<br />
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And when I apologized, you gave me a hug, kissed the top of my head and said, "Don't worry about it, sweetie. I forgive you."<br />
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And women think they're superior.<br />
<br />
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Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-26295251829992003102013-02-22T05:00:00.000-08:002013-02-22T09:07:29.280-08:00When good ideas punch me in the face.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The kids get in the pantry. They scale the walls, stuffing their fat cheeks with crackers, raisins and nuts while I slave over dinner at the hot stove. And then they don't eat their dinner. And it drives me crazy. And it has to stop.<br />
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Enter: Shower-curtain rod.<br />
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Pure genius. Not so easy to install & remove. But, in a pinch it does the job. Until I decide to whip open the pantry door in search of...<br />
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WHAM!<br />
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I'm lying on the floor holding my throbbing face. I look up. The pantry is open. The shower-curtain rod is lying next to me. Dang it! I'm such a freakin' idiot! Who does that?! And then I cry.<br />
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Lesson: Don't try to keep kids out of the pantry. Karma.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-79376358725345496282013-02-20T14:10:00.000-08:002013-02-20T14:10:09.237-08:00What if we moved?I kinda hate the name of my blog. I really, really don't like Disney Princesses. I didn't mean to name it after a princess. It just kinda happened.<br />
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So, what would you think about moving?<br />
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I have a new blog I've been working on. I'll still write about this domestic stuff, but I want to add tutorials and talk about fashion and art and life, not that I'm particularly awesome at those things. I'm just interested. And I want to write about more interests.<br />
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This blog, Cinderella Duty, would be re-directed to the new one.<br />
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So, what do you think? Would you still be my friend and visit from time-to-time?Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-40553684308361619892013-02-20T13:17:00.001-08:002013-02-20T13:23:49.820-08:00Zoloft Withdrawals: Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If my doctor had told me when I was in her office, slumped in a chair holding my 3-month-old boy, that Zoloft HAD withdrawal symptoms, I wouldn't have taken it.<br />
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And I would have only survived the following year by breathing, eating and sleeping. I mean, the fact was, my hormones caused me to have intense Post-Partum Depression. There's no denying that.<br />
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So, do I regret taking Zoloft? Absolutely not. It gave my brain a boost and helped override the post-partum & nursing hormones that left me mentally & emotionally dead.<br />
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Around the time the boy turned 2, I felt my mind fighting for control, whispering, pleading to come back to life. Zoloft at this point just made me ridiculously drowsy. So, I talked with my doctor and we decided it was time to be done with it, thank goodness. I HATE taking medicine in general anyway.<br />
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Since my <a href="http://cinderelladuty.blogspot.com/2013/02/weaning-off-zoloft-sucks.html">last post</a> on weaning off Zoloft, I lowered my dose to 25mg for about a week, until I felt stabilized and healthy. Last Saturday, I stopped taking Zoloft completely.<br />
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I've been <span style="font-size: large;">off Zoloft for 5 days</span> now. There are definite pros & cons.<br />
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What stinks? Yesterday. It was definitely the worst day so far. I had no appetite. Every time I shifted weight, I had these electrical zaps to the brain, which just made me dizzy for a moment. None of it hurts. It's just annoying if I pay attention. I found that if I just kept moving, I barely noticed my physical symptoms.<br />
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Here are some more symptoms I'm dealing with:<br />
A. I'm super tense. I'll notice that I'm holding all of my muscles tightly. So, I take a lot of deep breaths and try to relax. Warm baths at night with a few drops of lavender oil help calm my body so I can fall asleep.<br />
2. Bowels. I kinda hate this topic, so I'm gonna leave it there. Message me if you want more info, in which case, I'm going to interrogate to make sure you don't just have some weird fetish with, well, you know.<br />
D. Cotton-head. It feels like my brain is stuffed full of cotton. Totally relatable, right? Ha. But, that's the only way to describe it.<br />
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What's better? TONS!!!! Holy crap, <span style="font-size: x-large;">energy</span>! Welcome back to my life. Interest. Motivation. I love you, too. And, night sweats are gone! Yeah, super gross, but it totally happened after I got up to the max dose of 200mg. Every night. Talk about ruining a good night's sleep. On the up side, I'm regular about changing my sheets, finally. Haha. Gross, again.<br />
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I've been getting pretty impatient with these withdrawals. After tons of research on internet forums, I'd almost come to the sad conclusion that it's not possible to wean off of Zoloft. I mean, people who had only been on 50mg for 6 months would give up after 4 days. It was really discouraging. I've struggled to find anyone who records their entire weaning experience to have it end in success.<br />
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So, that's why I'm recording this. Maybe I can help someone else know what to expect. I'm pretty hardcore, so, yeah, I won't be giving up. I want my body back. I want my mind back. I want my life back.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-83625083615744934262013-02-04T12:06:00.000-08:002013-02-20T14:10:39.982-08:00Crock Pot love.Crock Pots were, no doubt, invented by members of the Heavenly Host. They require only 5 minutes to prep and allow 0 minutes to worry about dinner at 5:43 pm. So, why on earth don't I use this thing more?!<br />
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Because I don't want to worry about it at 12:26 pm either.</div>
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Well, Friday, I decided to be nice to myself and use the sense my mama gave me. At 1:31 pm, I dumped 4 frozen pork chops, a quartered onion, a can of cream of mushroom soup, and a can of chicken broth into the Crock Pot. I doused it all with salt, pepper and garlic powder, turned it on high and walked away until dinner time.</div>
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It smelled so good! I whipped up some Jasmine rice, a quick gravy with the juices from the pork, a can of green beans and we feasted on a warm, simple meal.<br />
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So my fam doesn't have to eat this every week, what are your quick Crock Pot recipes?</div>
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Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-54638737990152908932013-02-04T06:00:00.000-08:002016-05-22T18:02:07.836-07:00Weaning off Zoloft sucks.<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://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikezR4ZY2DACtwjV0iP2rOh-Zuck22vywcsD5lN-zsCD7-UqVkTHb4HyZlNsFFYpUUGbYZRT3WC1sBu5Vp2ocP64trogubchLOY9MlSGui4GOCND1WJinHF2GdELROg3blxwTPyODEmheN/s1600/Zoloft_bottles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikezR4ZY2DACtwjV0iP2rOh-Zuck22vywcsD5lN-zsCD7-UqVkTHb4HyZlNsFFYpUUGbYZRT3WC1sBu5Vp2ocP64trogubchLOY9MlSGui4GOCND1WJinHF2GdELROg3blxwTPyODEmheN/s200/Zoloft_bottles.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Zoloft_bottles.jpg">Image Source</a></td></tr>
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Brain zaps. Migraines. Vertigo. Memory loss. Sudden anger. Digestive issues (ahem). If you've ever had withdrawal symptoms from going off Zoloft (Sertraline), you know what I'm talking about.<br />
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I started taking Zoloft about 4 months after I had my boy because of severe post-partum depression and post-partum anxiety. My body was chemically thrown into the stratosphere after his birth. Nursing him until he was 1yo just sustained the issues.<br />
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He's 2 now and I can tell my mind and body are finally close to recovery. At this point, Zoloft is causing more harm than good. It makes my mind feel so clouded and hazy and leaves me constantly exhausted, wanting to sleep each day away.<br />
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So, for the last 2 months, with my doctor's supervision, I've been weaning myself off of the stuff. Every 2 weeks, I lower my dose by 50mg, which may not seem like much,<br />
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but <span style="font-size: large;">holy crap</span>!<br />
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I had no idea how ingrained this drug was in my system! It's kinda freaky.<br />
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And at the same time, though, as I've decreased meds, my energy has sky-rocketed. My motivation has increased. My mind seems sharper, clearer. This is proof to me that I was ready to be done with this crap.<br />
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It took about 6 weeks to get down to a 50mg dose and then I had to take a break. The withdrawal symptoms just got too intense. For about 3 weeks, I've been holding steady at that dose. Yesterday, I cut back to 25mg and am already feeling severe side-effects. Makes me feel like I'll never get off these meds.<br />
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But, I will. I know I will. It'll be uncomfortable, which I'm cool with. I'm just so excited to be me!<br />
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<br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-40767389371816484362013-01-29T10:46:00.001-08:002013-02-04T12:07:42.222-08:00Kids say it how it is.As I am snoozin' in bed this morning, the toddler yells from his crib, "Mommy! Mommy, no more sleepin'! Mommy! Get up!" And I yell back, "I'm NOT sleeping!" Why do I feel like I have to defend myself to a 2 year old? Because he's right and I hate it.<br />
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So, I peel myself from my warm blankets, stumble into the hall, bracing myself on the doorway into his room, and heave him from his crib. I rush back to the hall and, just as I'm diving midair toward my bed, he cries, "Mommy, no! Eat!" "Oh, but we have to cuddle first," I coax as I nestle into the blankets.<br />
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He knows I'm stalling.<br />
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"Mommy make dutch babies, pleeeeease!" He pushes on my legs. "Mommy make dutch babies!" He grabs my hand. "Mommy, eeeeat! Make dutch babies!" He pulls on my fingers and slides onto the floor, still tugging. "Help mommy out bed."<br />
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At this point, I'm feeling pretty pathetic, totally called-out by the boy.<br />
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So, I go into the kitchen and make the kid some dang dutch babies, which are German pancakes if you're wondering. I made syrup, too (recipes below). Now I'm feeling like supermom. My kids are so lucky to have me. I'm so cool for making fresh syrup. And I served fruit. I'm the best.<br />
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As we're finishing our gourmet breakfast, I rub my belly and see 11:04 on the clock. I stretch my arms, sigh and say to my 4-year-old girl, "I need to take a shower." "It's not Sunday, though," she replies.<br />
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Recipes to impress the kids (or not):</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Dutch Babies</u></span></div>
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4 TB butter (not margarine, for heaven's sake)</div>
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6 eggs</div>
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1 C flour</div>
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1 C sugar</div>
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1/4 tsp salt</div>
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Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cut up butter into 9x13 dish. Place dish with butter in oven while it preheats; remove from oven when butter is melted and beginning to brown. Meanwhile, whisk all other ingredients. Pour egg mixture over melted butter in dish and bake for 16-20 min until puffed and edges are golden brown.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Maple Syrup</u></span> (from my Mom-in-law)</div>
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In saucepan over med-high heat, combine:</div>
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1 1/2 C white sugar</div>
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1/2 C brown sugar</div>
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1/2 C corn syrup (oh no! death is upon us!)</div>
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1 C water</div>
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Turn up heat and bring to boil, stirring constantly. After sugars are dissolved (abt 30 sec - 1 min), turn off heat. Stir in:</div>
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1 tsp vanilla</div>
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1 tsp Mapleine (or any brand imitation maple flavoring)</div>
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Serve! Store extra in a sealed container in fridge and reheat in microwave for next time.</div>
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*I usually double the batch and keep in a mason jar in the fridge. You can reheat/cool as often as needed since there's nothing perishable in it (none of us have died yet).</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-50680761198500972272013-01-28T11:51:00.001-08:002013-01-28T11:58:43.823-08:00Mom Exhibit: I bought a house!My hiatus has an excuse. But, that's all it is. In reality, I was starting to feel owned by blogging.<br />
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But for real, I bought a house. I saw my dream house on the internet and put an offer on it the next day. I wasn't looking to buy because renting really is the safest bet 100% of the time.<br />
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So here I am in my new home. It's pretty and pretty awesome. When I moved in, I thought, "I'll always keep this kitchen clean! It's so big!"<br />
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I'll let you guess how long that lasted.<br />
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No, but the truth is, it varies between mostly clean and pretty dirty. I haven't quite gotten to "health hazard," but we're close today. The good new is that the kitchen is big enough that I still have room to prep food when it's at full mess capacity.<br />
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And I thought I was a changed woman! Oh well. Whatev. This is life and it's a good one.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-67608651457724309602013-01-28T11:24:00.001-08:002013-01-28T11:52:21.114-08:00Thinking CleanSo, remember that breakthrough I had a month ago? The one <a href="http://cinderelladuty.blogspot.com/2012/04/mom-on-strike-goes-to-therapy.html">here</a> when I realized I didn't like having a trashed house? Well, I want to show you what I've come up with.<br />
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In the past year, I've had many eye-opening experiences in my search for balance in my life. There are two lessons I learned that have stuck with me and have been key in helping me be a more relaxed, happier homemaker. </div>
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<li>Maintain the mess (read about that breakthrough <a href="http://cinderelladuty.blogspot.com/2011/12/put-down-your-toilet-wands-mom-exhibit.html">here</a>).</li>
<li>Want to clean (read about that breakthrough <a href="http://cinderelladuty.blogspot.com/2012/04/mom-on-strike-goes-to-therapy.html">here</a>).</li>
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I started rethinking my definition of "clean" in the kitchen and dining room, since they are the heart of the house. 'Cause if they're out of order, mom's out of order.<br />
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So, let's start with "Maintain the mess." Stuff piling up on the kitchen counter is inevitable. Dirtying dishes is inevitable. Crumbs on the table are inevitable. So, what absolutely is the bare minimum that must be done in order for the kitchen and dining room to function?</div>
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The dishes must be done as they get dirty because we all know they just accumulate into a rotting, ceramic pile of Mt. Fuji eruption. The table must be 98% clear of stuff so we can sit down to eat as soon as food is ready. Otherwise, I'm overwhelmed by the extra work of cleaning the table AND making the meals. I really think that's the bare minimum for me. That way I can cook and serve meals quickly and easily. The dishwasher must be run when it's full or mostly full and emptied as soon as it's ready and I have time. This way, I always have the clean dishes I need and don't have to stop to wash the strainer. It also gives me a place to put those dirty dishes.</div>
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So, what are the extra things that need to be done? Wiping the counters & table, sweeping and mopping the floor, clearing all the miscellaneous junk off the counter, vacuuming the carpet in the dining room (who seriously puts carpet there?!). These things don't have to be done for the kitchen to function, even though I may want them done. These are the messes I can maintain. They are inevitable and I should expect them. I'll do them when I can, but shouldn't expect myself to do them on a daily basis while I have little ones at home.</div>
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The second way of thinking, wanting to clean, has still been working for me. I used to loathe walking in the kitchen, standing in front of the sink, letting out a huge exhale as I wipe my forehead and start sorting the "fragrant" dishes. That's what I'd think about when I thought, "Ugh, I haaaave to do the dishes."</div>
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But now, I'm training myself to think "No, I <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">want</span> to do the dishes." And then, I give myself reasons why I want to. I remember how doing the dishes means I can enjoy a mostly-empty sink every morning. I remember that it means I always have the utensils I need to make quick meals. I think of how I feel so proud of myself when I do them.</div>
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These two changes in thought are becoming more and more natural as I keep them in mind throughout the day. I only expect myself to do the bare minimums each day in the kitchen and dining room. And if I have time for some of those extra things, I do a few, thus maintaining the mess so it doesn't swallow me whole.</div>
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I'm proud of myself for keeping my home running and not giving up. And, I'm proud of you for always wanting to be a better person. This world is still full to the brim with beautiful people. That's a happy thought.</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-38179918437508152722012-05-18T14:14:00.000-07:002012-05-18T22:12:28.119-07:00Does your husband clean? (Revised)<blockquote>
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<i>Dear Cinderella,</i><i><br /></i><i> Let's discuss gender rules. Why is it that my husband spouts how he isn't one of those 1960's husbands who feels its soley the wife's duty to clean, and yet there's only about once a month it occurs to him that he, too, is responsible for the task of keeping our home clean?</i><i><br /></i><i> Pointing out this fact is dangerous and usually ignites a fight which will generally end in one extra day of effort from Prince Charming to place his pants somewhere other than the back of my dining room chair.</i><i><br /></i><i> I have a good man. He is hard-working. He is honest, kind and a great father to my children. However, there are times I wonder if I'm alone in my desire for him to help me clean. Many nights, I'll wait for him to sleep before I begin, because cleaning while he merely sits on the couch reading or watching TV generally makes me just more bitter. Am I alone? Am I having a wave of crazy irrationality and need to step back?</i></blockquote>
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<i>—The Scullery Maid</i></blockquote>
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Dear Sculley,<br />
<br />
Please excuse me, but I am revising my previous* answer to your question. My husband and I talked this evening and I realized my initial response didn't account for his view of our situation.<br />
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So, I think the only way to truly describe how we resolved it, is to bring him in on this one.<br />
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Let me first say that from my perspective, I'd beaten this topic into the ground. I had come at my man from every angle, begging for help around the house. I tried being kind and sweet. I cried. I got angry. I tried to ignore it. Nothing had any lasting change. I would always end up sucking it up and cleaning by myself, feeling alone, forgotten and resentful.<br />
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However, that's only my perspective. My husband's is entirely opposite. So, here is our conversation from tonight, illustrating how "I got him" to help me at home.<br />
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<i><u>Me:</u> From my perspective, during the first 3 years together, I was mainly responsible for housework. I wanted you to help more. When I'd ask for help, you seemed to get irritated. If you did help with the dishes, it was often with, what seemed to me, a bad attitude, like you felt put-out.</i><br />
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<i><b><u>Him:</u> Sometimes I did feel put-out by having to clean. I was going to school and work all day and then doing homework at night. So, coming home and having chores to do just felt like more work than I could handle.</b></i><br />
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<i><u>Me:</u> A few years later, after we were done with school and you were working 9-5, why didn't you help more around the house?</i><br />
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<i><b><u>Him:</u> Three elements played into that:</b></i><br />
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<ol>
<li><i><b>Not noticing. I never had the conscious thought, "Oh, the sink's full of dirty dishes. I should wash them."</b></i></li>
<li><i><b>Not understanding what you meant when you said, "I need help around the house." You'd say it. I'd think I understood it. Come to find out, what I was doing wasn't what you wanted me to do.</b></i></li>
<li><i><b>Not getting credit for the things I <u>was</u> doing, since they weren't the things you were expecting me to do. You'd say, "You don't do anything around the house," and I'd think, "I <u>do</u> help out." My efforts felt like they were in vain.</b></i></li>
</ol>
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<i><u>Me:</u> You finally seemed to change after we started marriage counseling. What caused that change? What helped you finally understand how to help me?</i><br />
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<b><i><u>Him</u>: I remember having a conversation with our counselor and expressing frustration about feeling like I couldn't win. In the past, every time we'd talk about you needing more help at home, you'd always change the expectation. The goal was always being moved. So, even if I was doing what you'd asked, it would change and I would come up short again. </i><i>Our counselor then asked you to commit to a set of goals, to define what you meant by "helping around the house" and stick with it so I could win.</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><u>Me:</u> Yeah, that was eye-opening for me. I didn't realize I kept changing my cleaning expectations for you. So, here is what I defined as "helping around the house."</i><br />
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<ol>
<li><i>When you get home from work, be mentally present: no iPhone or iPad. Either help with dinner, clean off the table, play with the kids or pick up the living room. Just be an active, contributing member of the family. You get off work at 5 and I don't get off until the kids are in bed. So, let's split the effort and make it easier on me.</i></li>
<li><i>After dinner, if I made the entire meal, clean up. Rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Put the food away. Wash any pots and pans used to cook the meal. Wipe down the counters. If you cooked, I'll clean up. If we both cooked, we both clean up.</i></li>
<li><i>Help get the kids ready and into bed.</i></li>
</ol>
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<i>Of course, there's flexibility in all of this. But, this is generally what I need help with: cleaning up from dinner and getting the kids in bed.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><b>Him: You spelled out what you meant by "helping around the house" and stuck to it. Then, I knew how to win. You also started recognizing me a lot more for my work, which encouraged me to help more.</b></i><br />
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Both of us internalized our personal lessons and began changing together. He started helping more because he knew the expectation; it was easy for him to win. I started praising him and letting him know he was winning. That encouraged him to continue to help in the ways I'd asked.<br />
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In the end, both of us had to change together. It wasn't just him. It wasn't just me. It was us...well, me more than him. Without a mediator, a counselor, I wouldn't have been able to see where I needed to improve and adjust. I wouldn't have been able to get my husband on my team.<br />
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How about you other women? Have you and your husband found a good balance with helping around the home? What did you do to get there?<br />
<br />
Your friend,<br />
Cinderella Becky<br />
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<i>If you have a question for our readers & I, send it to cinderelladuty@gmail.com.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Image source: <a href="http://maryloudriedger2.wordpress.com/2011/10/28/housework/">http://maryloudriedger2.wordpress.com/2011/10/28/housework/</a></span><br />
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*In case you are curious, here's my first response to The Scullery Maid. It's crazy how even after the fact, I didn't realize that I was the one who changed until talking with my husband tonight!<br />
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<i>Dear Sculley, </i><br />
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<i>You are NOT alone. Can we just say "my first 5 years of marriage?!"</i></div>
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<i>I, too, have an insanely cool man. He is way too intelligent for his own good, playful with the kids, hilarious and responsible. However, his threshold for cleanliness was far from mine. He didn't take much initiative to help tidy our home. That left me feeling over-worked and alone...like Cinderella...like you.</i></div>
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<i>I tried asking for his help in every way I could think of. I asked nicely. I cried. I got angry. I tried getting over it. I even, on one hormonal occasion, emptied all of his drawers and hangers, throwing every article of his clothing on the bedroom floor hoping he'd then see and appreciate how much I do for him.</i></div>
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<i>Each of these methods worked, in the sense that he'd pick up after himself and help with dishes for the next two days. After that, we were right back to me doing pretty much everything. And it's too much work and pressure for one person.</i></div>
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<i>Talking to one another wasn't getting the message across. We needed a mediator. So, I got desperate and off we went to marriage counseling.</i></div>
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<i>Our counselor helped soften my perspective of him. I learned that when he comes home from work, he might think, "Wow, this place is trashed." But, that's as far as it goes. His thought process doesn't go straight to, "I should fix it." Instead, it goes to talking with me, playing with the kids and having a brain break. I learned that he's not careless, lazy and intentionally leaving the work for me.</i></div>
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<i>What did he learn? A lot. I was able to explain that when he does nothing about the dirty dishes, they default to me. When he leaves his clothes strewn about, picking them up defaults to me. By not choosing to act, he is essentially choosing for me to do all of the work.</i></div>
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<i>Even though I'd said it hundreds of times at home, he heard me this time and felt bad that he was letting all of this fall in my lap. But, there was another key piece that helped him fully understand what I needed.</i></div>
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<i>Love languages.</i></div>
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<i>His love language is physical touch. Mine is service (i.e. helping clean the house). We realized that we could both have what we want, which is to feel loved. So, here's the equation that changed everything:</i></div>
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<i>husband folds laundry = wife feels loved = wife gives him hugs & kisses all over his cute little face = husband feels loved</i></div>
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<i>...And on and on this equation goes in a beautiful cycle of rainbows and butterflies.</i></div>
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<i>Once he realized how burdened I felt and that the above cycle is an eternal truth, he made a complete change. He's been going strong for about 6 months now. It's changed me, too. I feel a huge weight off my shoulders. I don't feel alone anymore. I feel like I have a PARTNER, teammate and caring friend. And, I also go easy on him when he doesn't notice the mess.</i></div>
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<i>So, Sculley, I'm sure if your man truly understood how you are feeling, he'd feel really terrible and help you. And if you've talked to him and he didn't seem to get it, try marriage counseling. You know how you'll tell him ten times that he needs a haircut and he doesn't believe it until someone else says it? It's kinda like that. Sometimes, it takes an outsider to open our minds. There are also a lot of good marriage books out there (but you <u>both</u> have to read them). I'm not a big reader, so I can't suggest any specific titles.</i><br />
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<i>Your friend,</i><br />
<i>Cinderella Becky</i></div>
</div>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-65652000359776386282012-05-02T10:54:00.000-07:002012-05-10T14:28:42.757-07:00Are you on the BAGwagon?So, yesterday on <a href="http://pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a>, I stumbled upon a tutorial for reusable grocery bags. And then I rolled my eyes and thought, "Hey, hipsters, where do you put your trash?"<br />
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Here's the deal. I don't use reusable grocery bags for two reasons.<br />
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1. I'd have no trash bags at home. What would I use to tie up poopy diapers? Where would I put the rotten food when I clean out my fridge? I'd have to go back to the store and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">purchase</span> plastic bags instead of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">recycling</span> my store bags.<br />
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2. I hate the planet. Well, not really. I just hate this extreme green movement and that a huge majority of companies cater to it. I hate that it's perceived as "cool," with people following blindly in their plaid flannel shirts and poor posture. It's absolutely ridiculous and extreme.<br />
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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/AVvXsEiPSFGle15ffdKPP7YmKuORBo2dU_Nc9-TFH0hAqyKA3cUig1A0Tgc9JJyqdUfc-IDBiKirmWwAjLSuBtFt2BecEzEXzr8aOqJACB3fip2JNKZKC7WziuVuKxoNApBwn2QUs08U9vSq8rFc/s1600/050212_plasticbagsfence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSFGle15ffdKPP7YmKuORBo2dU_Nc9-TFH0hAqyKA3cUig1A0Tgc9JJyqdUfc-IDBiKirmWwAjLSuBtFt2BecEzEXzr8aOqJACB3fip2JNKZKC7WziuVuKxoNApBwn2QUs08U9vSq8rFc/s1600/050212_plasticbagsfence.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*litter: grocery bags, styrofoam cups, newspapers, food wrapping, plastic utensils, other crap</td></tr>
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The thing that infuriates me is that some US cities have even banned plastic bags! Why? Because plastic bags = litter. Because if some people litter, we will restrict the rights of all. Does that sound fair and "American?"<br />
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I get the litter thing. I do. Growing up on the East Coast in the Chesapeake Bay watershed, we were drilled all through grade school about the dangers of litter in the waterways. But, that's the problem: litter, not plastic bags.<br />
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I just hate that government can ban things like plastic bags instead of addressing the cause of the problem. Why not put all that effort into campaigns to educate people? Why not encourage bag recycling?<br />
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Here's an example of the problem, laid out in Wikipedia's article, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plastic_shopping_bag">Plastic Shopping Bags</a>. In January 2010, Washington DC instituted a five-cent tax on plastic bags, which consequently decreased "consumption from 22.5 million to 3 million bags in the first month alone." The result? "A 2011 study...found that the District of Columbia’s five-cent bag tax had a disproportionate impact on the city’s poor and cost the city over 100 jobs."<br />
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That same <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plastic_shopping_bag">article</a> states that "all types of plastic shopping bags can be recycled into new bags where effective collection schemes exist." It continues to explain that in the year 2007 alone, even though the United States only had a 7% rate of plastic bag recycling, it equaled more than 800,000,000 pounds of bags and plastic film being recycled. And here's the zinger. For each ton of plastic bags that's recycled, it saves the energy equivalent of 11 barrels of oil. Um, HELLO people who are freaking out about energy consumption! Aren't you the same ones who are banning plastic bags?!<br />
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Banning those bags may seem noble and heroic to some, but it's naive. It's scooping water out of a sinking boat instead of patching the hole. This plastic bag issue is limited in it's scope, not addressing the entire issue, not acknowledging the results from every side. Talk about being a blind follower.<br />
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Oh, and the pic above is pretty shocking, huh? Well, here's some news for ya. It was Photoshopped. Look at the large white bag on the far right. See how the fence grid is three times larger than the actual fence behind it? How many more can you find? This is fear and sensationalism at it's best. Don't fall for it.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">*<a href="http://cawrecycles.org/whats_new/recycling_news/may10_bagupdate">Image source</a></span>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-1003222755634015572012-04-26T22:58:00.002-07:002012-05-10T14:38:10.754-07:00Mom on strike goes to therapy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I went on strike two months ago. I was on strike against the Homemaking Union. We have no rights, no freedoms, no pay, no one standing up for us making sure our work isn’t ruined.<br />
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I, like many of you, was so exhausted from constantly redoing housework that I tried so hard to do that was constantly being undone. It’s seriously like chasing your tail. And since I’m an intelligent woman, I finally admitted I wasn’t ever going to catch it. So I said, “Screw it.”<br />
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<u>From that moment forward</u>, I only did housework when there were no more spoons or plastic spoons or sporks, when there were no more kid clothes with food I could just scratch off real quick, when the skids in the loo were trying to eat me. And when I was finally forced to clean, I drug my feet, only giving in because it was live or die. I loathed every moment of work. And for meals, my only goal was “digestible” as I carelessly threw scraps together for meals, forcing my family to eat way too many tortillas and black beans.<br />
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And then I had an appointment with my therapist. “I wash my hands of it.” I said. “There’s no point to cleaning other than driving me to insanity.” She asked what motivated me to do housework. “I do it when I have no other choice, when I have to, when my hands are tied.” “No, when your mind is tied and so you think your hands are tied,” she interjected. I paused. “I know I say it’s ok that I have a messy house, but I’m really just trying to convince myself. I guess I’m not actually OK with it.” “I know you’re not OK with it,” she said.<br />
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Validation. I’m <span style="font-size: large;">not OK</span> with my messy house.<br />
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We talked laundry. “Is there any part of it you enjoy?” I imagined the process for a moment. “I guess I mildly, mildly, <u>miiiildly</u> enjoy folding because I usually watch a show while I do it and that takes my mind off it a bit. Oh, and, this is probably kinda weird, but, I like watching the clothes agitate. It gives me a little rush of joy, seeing them get all clean in the soapy water.” My chest warmed for an instant as I imagine the wash cycle. Freak.<br />
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“So, your motivation to clean is that you have to?” “Yes.” “What if you wanted to?”<br />
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<i>*Cricket*Cricket*</i><br />
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If I wanted to what? <span style="font-size: large;"><i>Clean?!</i> Bahahaha!</span><br />
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My therapist asked, "What do you want your home to be for your family? What are your goals?" "I want it to be a safe, cozy place where my kids, all of us, can put up our feet and get away from daily life. I want it to be clean and organized, I really do. Isn’t there a saying, ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness’ or something like that…?”<br />
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She asked, “Could those goals be your basic motivation? Could they drive you to want clean your home,” Yeeeeah, I’d have to think about it.<br />
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The next day, I experimented. How can I get myself to <span style="font-size: large;">want</span> to do the laundry? What is my ultimate goal for my family and their clothes?<br />
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I want my kids to be able to open their drawers and feel comfort from having fresh, folded options. I want to be able to find clean outfits quickly and <u>matching</u> socks without having to dig through baskets. So, I dared myself to replace my thoughts. “No, I don’t <u>haaaave</u> to do the laundry. I <span style="font-size: large;">want</span> to do the laundry,” (even though I still didn’t actually feeeel that way—mind over matter, you know).<br />
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So, I went about the business, milking every last ounce of enjoyment from the work for positive reinforcement. I indulged in watching each load agitate for a moment before closing the lid. I let myself sniff and hug the warm towels as they came out of the dryer. And while I folded, I rewarded myself by listening to an awesome podcast on my iPhone, <a href="http://www.pri.org/selected-shorts.html">“Selected Shorts” from Public Radio International</a>.<br />
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And you know what? <span style="font-size: large;">I LIKED IT!</span> It’s so much easier to find motivation when I have realistic goals and when there are perks to the work. So, when I see the laundry piling up, I remember my motivation. I remember that I’m doing it for my kids and me, for the luxury of clean, folded clothes in drawers. I remember that, while it will be undone, the bigger outcome isn’t undone. Aaaand, I remember the wash cycle.<br />
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I've been using this process with everything for the past 2 weeks. Just this morning, I beheld the shower in all it's soap-scum glory and thought, “Ugh, I have to clean it. Wait. No. <span style="font-size: large;">I <u>want</u> to clean the shower.</span>” Because cleaning the shower means my family can bathe in a fresh place and feel clean.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I want to do the dishes.</span> Because having a clean kitchen settles my mind and makes me feel good about myself. It makes the whole house feel clean. It lets me walk in there and just get cookin without having to clear the crap first.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I want to vacuum the floors.</span> Because it protects me from the embarrassment of unexpected guests. It means less food for spiders and other human-eating bugs. It means my kids aren’t constantly wiping the bottom of their foot on top of their other foot.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I want to put away the folded laundry.</span> Because it just feels so nice to open drawers full of clean, folded clothes. It makes me excited to get dressed for the day because I have choices.<br />
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But, with all of this, my therapist reminded me that I still need to have realistic expectations for what “clean” means for me. But don't worry—my bar is lower, much lower. It’s easily attainable. More on that to come. Pictures anyone? You know it!<br />
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So, I've just realized why housework was just chasing my tail before. My goal was to have all the laundry done and stay done. That's ridiculous unless we are nudists, which, thank goodness we aren't! Why on earth did I ever have such an unrealistic goal?<br />
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What are your current goals for housework? What do you want the finished chores to mean for you and your family? Are these attainable goals? Is there room for adjustment and for new healthy, realistic ones? Let me know where you're at with this!<br />
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Holla.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-37330705687254688562012-04-03T07:39:00.000-07:002012-04-03T07:39:41.524-07:00Kids should be raised by wolvesDo your little ones play outside every day? Were you raised by wolves like me?<br />
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According to an <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/health/2012/04/03/too-few-kids-getting-outdoors-with-mom-or-dad/">article</a> I read this morning on ABC News, only 49% of preschool kids play outside with parents at least once each day.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingIt3KKYFwosXRk4lR_92YKhNeJTx0HuqAqXr-j8ttwJKkWFRWi0He9O9m4IOUQu-rbZMDCKob7Mp1GldnD__cd0kGXKdY7NkxfdtjxpSjN9bZFEH_coUXYDblwGHcan80kBsw6SqUCss/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingIt3KKYFwosXRk4lR_92YKhNeJTx0HuqAqXr-j8ttwJKkWFRWi0He9O9m4IOUQu-rbZMDCKob7Mp1GldnD__cd0kGXKdY7NkxfdtjxpSjN9bZFEH_coUXYDblwGHcan80kBsw6SqUCss/s400/photo-1.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm the homely child on the left.</td></tr>
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When I was a kid, all I had to play with was a 2'x4' and a rake.<br />
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No, but for real.<br />
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I grew up on the wooded East Coast in a quiet, secluded neighborhood. My Dad really wanted us to grow all of our food and have plenty of land to protect us from the neighbors. You think I'm joking, but he was paranoid.<br />
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All year round, Mom would say, "Go outside and play." We'd rake pathways through the dense trees, clearing walkways and large openings. These were our houses with hallways and plenty of room for imagination. It was soooooo fun. Even to this day, I want to go play house in the woods.<br />
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We made a "gymnastics center" from a hammock, 2'x4' and some logs in one of those clearings. Our neighbor had a small man-made pond where we'd "fish," trying our luck at catching "Bubba," the giant bass none of us had ever seen but <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">knew</span> was real. I was secretly thankful no one ever caught him because I was terrified of wet, slimy creatures. And all summer long, we'd go shoe-less so we could have tough feet like Pocahontas.<br />
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We'd play until dusk when Mom would holler at the top of her lungs for us to come home. What would my neighbors say if I did that today? Haha. They'd probably call the cops. I guess I'd just have to text my kid instead.<br />
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All of my best childhood memories are set in the woods. I want that for my kids. But, things are so different now.<br />
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I am one of the lucky few with a back yard. But, it's sparse. The kids get bored in about 5 seconds and sunburnt in 4, whining to come back inside. There's nothing to explore except dead grass, weeds, a few rose bushes and one of those metal play-sets with only three legs on the ground at any one given time. First world problems, eh?<br />
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But, despite all that, the question still remains: Am I encouraging my kids to be active outdoors?<br />
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I'm scared the answer is no. Of course, this could be a new, awesome part of my momming life. Imagine resting outside under an umbrella reading my favorite book while the kids are forced to play together...Mmmmm...<br />
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I am setting a goal for my family: at least 30 minutes of outdoor play per day. I'm not big on giving myself additional tasks to complete each day, but this one is so important for the kiddos. Bring on the wolves.<br />
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So, what do you think? How often do your kids get outdoors? How do you keep them entertained in the wild?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2FF8db8J7Efdw-EurB8Uoq8sBTsNvyC8EUrr-VQA_TE-d4P_9qjeQFMSWO8sTv5rRA-maPmsxRYAKdvQrSbwuxXwJT5qSli6d-D0M5HJ2SNXRWtsjuLmDV2VM5jLGgTr4pteux4tsxfm/s1600/040312_giantseabass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2FF8db8J7Efdw-EurB8Uoq8sBTsNvyC8EUrr-VQA_TE-d4P_9qjeQFMSWO8sTv5rRA-maPmsxRYAKdvQrSbwuxXwJT5qSli6d-D0M5HJ2SNXRWtsjuLmDV2VM5jLGgTr4pteux4tsxfm/s200/040312_giantseabass.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bubba!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Image source: <a href="http://www.oceanlight.com/spotlight.php?img=14000">Giant Sea Bass</a>, </span><br />
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</div>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-1673532198426987822012-03-27T16:02:00.005-07:002012-03-27T16:32:14.749-07:00Buried aliveToday, the walls around me are caving in. I want to cry. My chest is tight.<br />
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I try so hard to be kind, thoughtful, forgiving, compassionate and mostly, nonjudgmental. I really am a good person with a very open heart.</div>
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It crushes me, though, when someone sees my messy, chaotic home. It feels like my home is seen as a direct reflection of my character; that when it's filthy, it must mean I'm a slob; that when it's in shambles, it means I'm not caring for my kids.</div>
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Today, I am so overwhelmed by all of it. No one sees my hard work. They don't see how patient I am to my kids behind closed doors. They don't see me pouring my heart into teaching my daughter to be respectful and kind. They don't see me moving furniture and making barricades so the little boy doesn't climb, fall of the furniture and get another knot on his head. They don't feel my extreme embarrassment when they see my trashed car full of toys, jackets, socks, shoes, breadcrumbs.</div>
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I'm very hard on myself for not being able to keep my crap together. I'm ashamed when you can see my shortcomings so obviously just by looking at my floors and kitchen sink.</div>
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My work is invisible. It's enough to drive me to insanity. Even on my best days, when I really spent the ENTIRE day cleaning, my home still looks trashed by 8 pm. Those who stop by look down upon my obvious incapabilities and laziness.</div>
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I'm just so tired of the fight. What's the point? What is the point in putting forth so much effort for zero outcome and zero credit? What is the point of maintaining a mess? I really don't understand what I'm supposed to learn from all of this.</div>
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The past month, I finally gave up. I gave up trying to keep the laundry clean, folded, socks matched. I gave up vacuuming. I stopped putting the toys away. I stopped cleaning the bedrooms. I felt helpless, like there was absolutely no point to maintaining a mess alone. Even on my best days, I couldn't keep the home clean and tidy for surprise guests.</div>
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I wish there was some beautiful, visible product of my dedication to my family to offset my constant reminder that I'm failing at a clean home.</div>
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I know I can't truly give up. The home would definitely be condemned. Giving up isn't an option. I just wish there was some daily reward for all of my hard work, a gold star or verbal recognition, like at school or work.</div>
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But, alas, it's just me and the SOS pad. And that gets stinky every day.<br />
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I need some help, advice, encouragement. What keeps you motivated? How do you balance cleaning and playing with the kids?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pbhgh1TI83XiW6i1MKHg1D1xLnNcuDLI5sLw5HFx3fAgmUy3T2gG00wtj9rOiYWWQKIjdsdz8rcovEp9GisfeFzwCjeBc3oPXP-zZ9Jf-rgXqSnsZAUatusgdodZIuj1Z3zEJ9RofJDF/s1600/032712_givingupquote.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pbhgh1TI83XiW6i1MKHg1D1xLnNcuDLI5sLw5HFx3fAgmUy3T2gG00wtj9rOiYWWQKIjdsdz8rcovEp9GisfeFzwCjeBc3oPXP-zZ9Jf-rgXqSnsZAUatusgdodZIuj1Z3zEJ9RofJDF/s400/032712_givingupquote.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-23853301297225127752012-03-19T10:55:00.000-07:002012-03-19T11:24:48.892-07:00The evening rush<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Acbiyl_oYxseInFhoJ-xx2j6DCGaxp78C9iG_NK9eqf6mlBiUJ7XbtpqC9NVIqacoJvLps4q3pC2iXD78-d6ryxhtKbCLBuhJWxwBEsU3-v-QA2qUQvzE8O_yvpb1PBbOv1Fr_j_hWmt/s1600/031912_siskids.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Acbiyl_oYxseInFhoJ-xx2j6DCGaxp78C9iG_NK9eqf6mlBiUJ7XbtpqC9NVIqacoJvLps4q3pC2iXD78-d6ryxhtKbCLBuhJWxwBEsU3-v-QA2qUQvzE8O_yvpb1PBbOv1Fr_j_hWmt/s640/031912_siskids.png" width="640" /></a>Evenings are intense. Working moms are exhausted but want time with their kids. Stay-at-home moms are worn out and want silence.<br />
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My sisters are the perfect examples. My little sister is a single, working mom. My older sister is a stay-at-home mom for her two kids and our little sister's two kids. They are both busy and over-worked 24/7. And on top that, they LIVE together.<br />
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So, obviously their time is precious. Both need breaks in the evening and have been struggling to make it work. Making dinner is a tiring chore and cleaning up is even worse. The working sister wants to spend time with her kids but is dragging by then. The SAH sister wants time to herself and a quiet house.<br />
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We all want those things! So, here's a re-make of our evening schedules to maximize quality time with the kids and free time with ourselves:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">1. Fast food</span><br />
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Award yourself with up to an hour of free time on week nights by making quick, healthy meals. Save the meatloaf and roasted chicken for Sunday, when you're more likely to have the time and patience. Instead, on week nights, boil some pasta, warm your fav sauce, steam frozen veggies in the microwave and you've got a decent meal in 15 minutes. If you want to be extra fancy, spread butter & a little garlic salt on some bread and toast it in the oven on "broil." The goal is to get nourishing food in their bellies, not impress a 5-year-old with your asparagus soufflé.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2. Paper is your friend</span><br />
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Want to save yourself another hour of free time after those quick meals? Trade the china for some good old American paper plates and plastic forks. Your kids don't give a crap if they eat off ceramic. What they do care about is their mom's happiness. 'Cause when momma's unhappy, ain't nobody happy. I'm serious. And the time you save will make you serious. A break in the evening is worth the $2.50 for a package of cheap-o plates.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">3. Quality time = 15 minutes</span><br />
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Directly after dinner, dedicate 15 minutes to playing actively with your kids. It will make their entire day. Tickle-attack them, wrestle on the floor, play hide-and-seek, play go-fish. 15 minutes of quality time with mom is better than a whole day of just being in the same house as a busy mom. For you working ladies, this is important to understand. You may feel guilt because you can't be around during the day. But, your kids will never feel forgotten or alone if you actively play with them each night after dinner. 15 minutes will turn their world around and remind them that "Mom loves me."<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">4. To bed, I said</span><br />
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After playtime, straight to the tub. This gives them another 10-15 minutes with you, even if you're just sitting on the toilet watching them play. It's comforting and reassuring to have you nearby. And then, straight to bed. Don't pass go or collect $200. First one in bed gets to choose the bedtime story. Most of my friends and I have an 8 pm bedtime. During the week, make that time (or whatever time you choose) a religion. Because after 8 pm, it's all your time. It's your time to check Facebook, watch your favorite TV shows on Hulu, text friends and just chill.<br />
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My point is, a good mom is not defined by the complexity of the meals she makes or what material the food is served on. A good mom prioritizes, uses her time wisely and minimizes stress in her life so she can be a better mom. Don't force yourself to fit a certain "mom mold." Make momming work for you, whatever that looks like.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-24996985626990082042012-03-14T09:47:00.000-07:002012-03-14T10:02:08.931-07:00Mom Exhibit: Another mom fights the dust<i>I'm not alone! My girl, Deb, sent me this email the other night and I just about peed my pants. Let's give a shout-out to our newest <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mom Exhibit </span>contributor. I <u>know</u> she'll feel welcome here!</i><br />
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My name is Deborah — and I am the mother of a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">messy house</span>.<br />
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For 6 years, my family and I lived in a fabulous neighborhood. I was surrounded by amazing people, and yet...I can count on my left hand the number of people I ever invited <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">IN</span>to my house. And I know of only ONE person whom I ever felt 100% at ease with just "dropping" by at any time.</div>
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I am not a naturally organized person. I would LOVE to be, but I just am not. It's taken me several years to come to terms with the fact that I may never be. I spent 5 years absolutely certain that no other mom struggled the way I did to keep my kids from decorating my house in Easter grass, sprinkles, flour and bits of styrofoam — man do I hate that packing material. It seemed every other house had a place for everything, while my house was exploding in clutter. Their homes smelled of lemon and Clorox and a fun Scentsy. Mine was usually a mixture of a hidden diaper, funky sink gunk and laundry that had sat in the washer far too long. What was I missing? Why couldn't I keep up?</div>
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Then, after 3 years of friendship, a dear friend <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">finally let me into her world</span> and showed me that I was not alone. She started letting me in despite the condition of her home. Instead of waiting for the end of cleaning day to have us over, we were let in on ordinary days when there was a good chance cereal was trailed from one room to the next.</div>
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Her house looked <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">JUST.LIKE.MINE.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqhH34WaYlwOYN-yNN5_VxgTP32ofWAJQQ9SvAhBI4gToE-mVcRHRAO6kaRiInX6yy5b7UdCw_6vtlWqpukhaeohuYtd7A57p76PHGiyWzrNiUs8Pt7wxLPnOpfXs27e3EQS833s9idGK/s1600/kitchen+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqhH34WaYlwOYN-yNN5_VxgTP32ofWAJQQ9SvAhBI4gToE-mVcRHRAO6kaRiInX6yy5b7UdCw_6vtlWqpukhaeohuYtd7A57p76PHGiyWzrNiUs8Pt7wxLPnOpfXs27e3EQS833s9idGK/s640/kitchen+collage.jpg" width="640" /></a>She showed me that she fought just as hard as I did in the war of kids vs. home. And although she won far more battles than I ever have, she had many times where she too lost. I LOVED being in her home. It felt safe. It felt normal. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I felt normal</span>. Instead of sitting in her perfect home worrying what she may think seeing my sticky floors and stained counter tops, I was able to sit back on her couch and <i>breathe</i>. <br />
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My husband and I moved last summer, and shortly after, I met Becky. OK, so we had met before, as she moved into my old neighborhood a good YEAR before I moved out, but I actually got to know Becky. Why? Because I was now living with family and was no longer in the position where I could HOST a play date. So the fear of having to invite her over to my inevitable mess was gone...and thus, I was more open to meeting her. However, I was amazed by her and the world she immediately opened to me.<br />
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Once again, I found that I am not alone. She shared my war stories. 2 hours of attempting to do dishes, only to find that the rest of the house is in shambles, but HEY there will be clean forks for dinner. Showering daily is overrated, and yoga pants are acceptable attire 24 hours a day.<br />
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Now that I had <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">TWO allies</span>, I allowed myself to relax. I decided to really live by the mantra, "If you'd like to see me, stop by anytime. If you'd like to see my house, please make an appointment." It has been liberating, and has allowed me to make many new friends. And let's be honest, as an adult female making new friends is no easy task. The anxiety from the mere idea of having to meet new people pretty much gives me hives. <br />
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In November, our family welcomed TWO new babies. If I thought keeping up with 2 kids was trying, I had no idea the battle of 4. Let's not discuss laundry. The babies are only 3 months old, and I already feel the added pressure and burden of keeping the chaos in check around here.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyOtztHWAZ8OL5mvfTdyCwL3ZDRaOuyai0E4ccK7kVEbsNia8QJU2uUV6WrZP-VVY8LR1PrVEO-HxXiBCkaSjrJHsnvlKJJV1iT4-hQTrvr86g8XgfWEq-ewDiq_WdRrowPjvLZt5CoxE/s1600/livingroom+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyOtztHWAZ8OL5mvfTdyCwL3ZDRaOuyai0E4ccK7kVEbsNia8QJU2uUV6WrZP-VVY8LR1PrVEO-HxXiBCkaSjrJHsnvlKJJV1iT4-hQTrvr86g8XgfWEq-ewDiq_WdRrowPjvLZt5CoxE/s400/livingroom+collage.jpg" width="202" /></a><br />
I spent the better part of this week working on my home. Two of the days this week, I only had 3 kids — the 3 that take a nap for the better part of the afternoon at that — and still, by the end of the night, I still was working on my "after" status for the home, "after" meaning the cleaning I get done only <u>after</u> the kids are in bed. I had to ask myself, what exactly is my "after" expectation? What level am I trying to achieve here?<br />
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And so today, I decided THIS IS IT. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">THIS IS MY AFTER</span>.<br />
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It's not going to be the same as Becky's or yours. My "after" isn't going to be out of a magazine. There are still going to be internet routers sitting on my counter, neatly stacked out of child's reach for Chris to configure when he gets home. It is certain that a stuffed animal <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(or five)</span> will be found somewhere in my room. A laundry basket will have some item of clothing in it and the back door will have smudgy hand prints. And day after day, I will make my best attempt to bust out the Clorox Clean-Up and wipe the counters, vacuum the carpets and dream of the day when snapping my fingers will put everything in its place.<br />
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But for today, this is what my house is at its best, because I have 4 amazing kids. (Two of which spend a good hour or two in the afternoon being babysat by "Netflix" while I attempt to nurse my twins down for a nap so that I can survive until Chris gets home at 7:30pm.) <br />
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I want to thank the women in my life who have let me know it's "OK" to say:<br />
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--I'm only picking up these trains 3 times today and then....I'm done. <br />
--Who wants cereal for dinner?<br />
--I'll shower tomorrow (or the next day).<br />
--Let's go to the park — the sink smells and I'm not ready to face it.<br />
--We have the entire set to that McDonald's Happy Meal giveaway.<br />
--Uh, just smell it. I think that laundry basket was clean.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqpS53ff9uZ2lGZB6ONqC3Eb5BYyG949tcfRn_GvJ2l93Na8I4alb1lop3iahxPvRxZX1c1YA5XnRmwCXegQfrpGWwgn9jRYjP3AAXkBCJabRugKbNSsDdumOVJxpeBXBlJDy0o8u4tdI/s1600/laundry+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqpS53ff9uZ2lGZB6ONqC3Eb5BYyG949tcfRn_GvJ2l93Na8I4alb1lop3iahxPvRxZX1c1YA5XnRmwCXegQfrpGWwgn9jRYjP3AAXkBCJabRugKbNSsDdumOVJxpeBXBlJDy0o8u4tdI/s640/laundry+collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Also, I want to thank my friends and mother and mother-in-law and family who have come to my rescue when I'm losing the war. They have suited up for battle, and lent their efforts to my home.<br />
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It used to really embarrass me that I'd need help here, but you know what...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">we all need help</span>. Sometimes, cleaning the same toys and clothes over and over is just TOO much. If there's anything the last year has taught me, it's to not be afraid to let others in now and then when you're feeling overwhelmed. I think we should swap houses every few months just to mix things up. It's so much easier for me to wash your counter tops than it is to wipe mine. I don't look at yours every day. I haven't folded that shirt 100 times and it doesn't bother me to put this puzzle together, because I haven't done it 5 times already this afternoon.<br />
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It's time we as women allow each other to be human. So I challenge you to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">join the Mom Exhibit</span> and put your home on display. If putting pictures online is too big of a step, start by inviting someone over, and leave the dishes in the sink.</div>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-60658251718480054172012-03-10T11:37:00.000-08:002012-03-10T11:37:31.388-08:00Quit while you're ahead...or behindWhy, why, why does my house look and smell like the county dump every single Monday morning? I'll tell ya why—I don't have time to clean on the weekend.<br />
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So, imagine how good I felt about myself as I started cleaning the kitchen this morning! While I'm at it, the boy makes a stinky in his diaper. I get that cleaned up. Back to the dishes. He screams at me for food, "Maaaaaahhhh!" I quiet him with a squeezable applesauce and a sippee cup of milk. Back to the dishes. He climbs in the dishwasher and flings knives, cups and bowls onto the floor. I put up the baby gate. Back to the dishes. He douses the carpet with milk. Bahhh! I clean it up and get back to the dishes. He grabs the bag of veggie chips off the table and dumps them all over the floor. The girl helps pick them up. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Back</span> to the dishes. After getting all of that under control, I'm feeling confident and happy. I walk in the living room...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzYti9KCrIStnYug5__2RkHE0VMTx7SYUJWXh3cqalS3Hf8l88TJ0zbZFe-xyz_i15a6zngLNyHJKLfz7JOBGKyGeBF_M8sA0QPkK-p9_WYEqm5Xi23Y6si5OjqE1gUwccvwZDrw1ev82/s1600/IMG_0769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzYti9KCrIStnYug5__2RkHE0VMTx7SYUJWXh3cqalS3Hf8l88TJ0zbZFe-xyz_i15a6zngLNyHJKLfz7JOBGKyGeBF_M8sA0QPkK-p9_WYEqm5Xi23Y6si5OjqE1gUwccvwZDrw1ev82/s640/IMG_0769.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Oh brother. The kitchen's not done, but whatever. I'm done.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-435385690918338182012-03-09T06:30:00.003-08:002012-03-09T06:43:36.770-08:00Great news, literally!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ52TewLqB3KabSs8qztHLPhpl1zn1cKrjXODTx_IiuY2tpkyqu76YsoEcC4OsHufNmEfrW3pD6kxpRFa6s84JJDbLpZsjCHj3AYlHxun16Wv3bWlstTXFikC_i8_3rnMvWhKHtrqSBCO/s1600/Photo+on+3-9-12+at+7.38+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ52TewLqB3KabSs8qztHLPhpl1zn1cKrjXODTx_IiuY2tpkyqu76YsoEcC4OsHufNmEfrW3pD6kxpRFa6s84JJDbLpZsjCHj3AYlHxun16Wv3bWlstTXFikC_i8_3rnMvWhKHtrqSBCO/s320/Photo+on+3-9-12+at+7.38+AM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, in all my morning freakiness.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Best news, everrrrr! My first article was published in the <a href="http://www.deseretnews.com/article/865551845/Are-you-settling-for-your-marriage.html">Deseret News</a> this very morning!!!! AAAHHHHH!!!!<br />
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I'm seriously freaking out, so excited. Elated, really! I'm restraining myself right now from having an exclamation storm all up in this page.<br />
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I've been pretty bummed because it's taken a long time for it to be published. Just yesterday I was mulling over the idea of emailing the publisher to ask if there was a scheduled date yet.<br />
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But here it is, friends, this glorious day! I actually hear a bird chirping outside right now. Ah, the birth of spring and best article in the universe...on the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">same </span>day. Who knew?!<br />
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No, but for real. Will you take a peek? Pretty please? Here it is, <a href="http://www.deseretnews.com/article/865551845/Are-you-settling-for-your-marriage.html">best article in the universe</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-60893946498392336632012-02-07T14:16:00.000-08:002012-02-07T14:16:24.703-08:00You invigorate me: Mom Exhibit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxmDrwSBR-ScC_wXa6wnVlHIKb84XSGY7H8el6RkqZZT-3kVTupU2WhkemTJejUfUiqX74t6vYnew6RHZrDcWWFXRS5Al1bfnfKsTEKUZ3uWvsAA9IdeSe_3spds44wGYrtUb7vFbmslH/s1600/IMG_0597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxmDrwSBR-ScC_wXa6wnVlHIKb84XSGY7H8el6RkqZZT-3kVTupU2WhkemTJejUfUiqX74t6vYnew6RHZrDcWWFXRS5Al1bfnfKsTEKUZ3uWvsAA9IdeSe_3spds44wGYrtUb7vFbmslH/s640/IMG_0597.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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See this? Ahhh. Clean and peaceful...until the kids wake up.<br />
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Last week, I spent 3 whole days cleaning the house. That's all I did—bathrooms, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, deep-cleaning the stove, you name it. And you know why?<br />
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Because people were coming to visit, of course.<br />
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The important thing is that I did it and I am proud of myself. I've been trying so hard to keep it up, though it seems like I'm going to lose pretty soon. I'm just glad I captured it in a photo, so I can remember this glorious, remarkable moment in my life.<br />
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Clean house, you invigorate me and I love you. "Hug, hug, kiss, kiss, hug, hug, big kiss, little hug, kiss, kiss, little kiss." -Nacho LibreBeckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7272019554268713085.post-13541193238632762832012-02-02T18:13:00.000-08:002012-02-02T18:13:11.489-08:00Yes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWHDzobjxQrj3wBmqGY6mFMT5ljUWGzixhUjhfft-BDqMPDgx5W_tcIxzbqk7iuZ0GlxFT0sMoo35CNIqNjNkni7fHKbjB4lf97eoeb_WqJqO8RmBWGuuhZH2rhtDDE1aScWd9vUZqvP5/s1600/thishousewasclean.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWHDzobjxQrj3wBmqGY6mFMT5ljUWGzixhUjhfft-BDqMPDgx5W_tcIxzbqk7iuZ0GlxFT0sMoo35CNIqNjNkni7fHKbjB4lf97eoeb_WqJqO8RmBWGuuhZH2rhtDDE1aScWd9vUZqvP5/s320/thishousewasclean.png" width="320" /></a></div>
I need this...only in a different, not so Halloween-ish font.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909707154628608504noreply@blogger.com3