tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-276946752024-03-23T10:44:35.551-07:00Mothering NatureA few musings of a homeschooling, crafting, neurotic, organic loving and, most of all, kiddo adoring mommy...Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.comBlogger618125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-50727766051802807312012-11-20T23:49:00.001-08:002012-11-20T23:49:23.959-08:00I find myself in ridiculous situations where I need an ear, a shoulder, a heart that loves me. I look inside myself at times and worry that the eyes looking back at me are those of a monster....not the features of a lost, confused and alone soul who longs to have someone to look back at me and smile at what they see.<br />
I miss you. I miss who you saw when you looked at me. I long to hear your laughter at my ceaseless, worried chatter. I crave your breath on my neck and your assurances that everything is okay and that at least, you, you know my heart is filled with love....bumbling and clumsy love.<br />
I am so far from perfect and from knowing what and who I should/could be at this "adult" stage in my life, it is frightening. Rarely do people admit just how lost and unconfident/unknowledgeable they are as adults that I worry I should be somehow doing this differently....if it were possible. I am frozen as an awkward and inept youth....yet stuck in an aged and seemingly "grown-up" body.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-28363964236994415662012-07-20T22:28:00.000-07:002012-07-20T22:28:01.659-07:00my spunky little Bean turns TEN!Liv turned 10 a couple of weeks ago. 10. Ten. TEN!<br />
Ten seems so bloody much older than nine. Is it the double digits? Is it that she has grown 2.5 cm in two months? Is it that she seems to be losing all her teeth all at once? Is it that she refers to items, incidents and experiences as "epic" and "oh. wow." (the latter seems to be used as a negative expression while "epic" is used to express that fabulousness of something).<br />
She is beginning to understand how to get something to go "her" way by using positive means rather than yelling, pouting or whining.....But for old time sake, she pulls them out so I don't have a chance to reminisce very often.<br />
She is still as smiley and loving as always; she remains a kid who loves to curl up on my lap or will smile broadly and run into my arms when I pick her up from school. I love our cuddles. I adore the smell of her warm hair pressed against my chin as she rests. I love that she still wants to be held.<br />
Unfortunately, this year she has truly struggled with anxiety and its' effects. She seems to be making headway and we certainly have been working hard on trying to react with logic and less emotion....but her fears still sometimes cause her to react with instinct...<br />
Her long, scrawny legs and caramel colour hair hint at what she'll look like in a few years. It gives me pause to notice that her chubby little cheeks and round little belly are melting away into some larger, more mature looking kid.<br />
Liv still loves to wear her own style. She'll wear an outfit until it is worn out or is replaced by a new, more desired item of clothing. She is beginning to wear my shirts and sweaters....they're huge on her, but she wears them as tunics or dresses.<br />
More and more, Liv can keep up with me when I take go for a walk or run across the yard. She is coordinated like I have never been. She wants to take Irish Dancing again and archery and piano and.....She has so many interests and abilities. And she astonishes me with the ease in which she picks them up when she is enjoying herself.<br />
So now, as I stare at her sleep (not in a creepy way, I promise) I think of the amazing kid she is and has been and the strong, capable, creative, spunky woman she will one be....It's a bittersweet realization to know that every birthday, every accomplishment, every giggle, every breath brings us closer to a day when she will fly away from me on her ruby coloured wings....And I will be without the constant love from my "Bean".<br />
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I love you, Beaner. Always and the whole pie.<br />
<br />Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-83811134160297806352012-06-18T04:46:00.002-07:002012-06-18T04:46:27.421-07:00nights like theseI hate these nights. Lack of sleep. Worry. Sadness. No one to talk to. Reflection on all I have done wrong or could have done better. Self-character annihilation. <br />
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I worry about dear friends and how they are....Where they are. And what I could do or have done to improve or hinder their well being. I turn these thoughts over and over in my mind like a beach comber inspecting a stone. The thoughts make me sick and sad. I want to turn back time and notice what I didn't before...I want to change my selfish or thoughtless ways. I want to declare how important their friendship and love is to me.<br />
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I lay in bed and turn the light on...and then off. And then on again...Somehow imagining that my hearing becomes increased with the increase in light...Listening for a bear to return to claim another hen...And then feeling guilty that the bear has been set up for failure by having livestock on the edge of a forest. It is doing what it does naturally...find food. So I lay in bed inspecting a electric fence manual hoping that I can install it without injuring myself or others and that some of the sadness I feel for the bear will be assuaged by the erecting of this deterrence.
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I toss and turn replaying our "Father's Day". Although we talked of Jeff a lot and missed him palpably, fixing fencing and coops, visiting my own dad and generally getting through the day took precedence. I don't feel that I honoured his memory or his love for the kids or their love for him. Liv missed her dad and all he represented visibly. Briar was much more oblivious as he had spent the day with my mom and her friend. But my heart aches for both of them tonight as I think of all I should have done and have done in the past to allow them to demonstrate their love or loss. It's times like this that I wonder how Jeff would do it differently had I been the one who died. And it's nights like this that I recall his joy in his daughter's spunky intelligence and his pride in his son's thought-filled actions. I still miss him terribly four years later. I still wish he were here to whisper to in the night about all these fears, guilty and melancholy thoughts. It's his hands that I long to hold and his arms that my body misses around its' waist.<br />
<br />
I know that lack of sleep adds fuel to these ruminations. I am aware that the darkness of night amplifies all the darkness of these thoughts. I can hear the birds beginning to sing for morning heralding the beginning of a new day....but still the sadness seeps through. Tomorrow is a new day. If I can just get through the next few hours...the morning light, the sounds of little ones stirring in their bed and the scent of coffee will make it easier again.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-75260628091943255812012-05-28T18:24:00.006-07:002012-07-20T22:31:37.654-07:00Happy birthday to my monkey....Tomorrow is my sweet little Briar's SIXTH birthday. I cannot believe how much he's grown and how much joy and love he has brought to my life. He is such a funny and thought-filled little guy. His questions never cease to amaze me from his sleepy, "Mama, do horses have uvulas?" to his "If the Earth is round, why doesn't the ocean pour off the bottom?" <br />
Walking with Briar reminds me so much of his daddy. It's slow. Painstakingly slow. He doesn't walk. He meanders. He inspects. He climbs. He pokes. He collects. By the end of a walk, my pockets are FILLED with small pieces of metal, heart-shaped rocks, feathers, and live bugs. His hands are filthy and grasping an assortment of twigs and objects too large for my pockets. <br />
Briar gives hugs and kisses like no one I know. His hugs are big, heart-felt embraces that could very likely pop the head off of someone too frail to know his strength or if I have failed to warn him that he must be gentle with the recipient of his love. His kisses are so soft and gentle that it is surprising to me that the same person can deliver such forceful hugs. <br />
Although he and his sister can fight like they are two warring countries, if he is hurt or scared, she is often the first he seeks out. At night, they rarely sleep apart and I often am brought to tears as I watch them sleep with arms gently draped over the other's neck gently breathing into their sibling's face. <br />
<br />
Today as I asked him a few questions about his past year and what will happen when he turns six (he no longer has to take the animal name swimming lessons he is so offended by - turtle, duck, etc. He has graduated to the numbered lessons), I was struck my the desire to record these desires, dreams and musings. I hope to remember to do this for both of them the night before each birthday and see how these thoughts change or stay the same in the coming years.<br />
<br />
I/he wrote:<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN">The Night before My _6th_ Birthday:<br />
<br />
Name: ________Briar________ Date: ____May 28th, 2012_______<br />
<br />
Height: __125.5cm____Weight: ___27.4kg____<br />
<br />
My favourite colour:___orange___________<br />
<br />
My favourite food: ____cake___<br />
<br />
My favourite animal: ____deer________<br />
<br />
My best friend/s: __Camille, Yaya (Liv), Rainen and Mommy______<br />
<br />
My favourite event in the past year: __My birthday party_______________________<br />
<br />
<br />
If I could do anything during my day, I would: _ride my skateboard_______________<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When I grow up, I want to live (where): _not where big frogs or snake-fish live_______<br />
<br />
<br />
When I grow up, I want to be: ____in the Coast Guard or a mechanic__________________<br />
<br />
<br />
In the coming year, I hope to: ____build a treefort.<br />
<br />
</span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-45808024801527149412012-04-22T19:44:00.002-07:002012-04-22T19:44:30.733-07:00Hi.I'm not sure if you're there....We're still here.<br />
I've stopped writing for Widow's Voice so I no longer have an outlet into which I pour my....thoughts. I can say that after an extended hiatus. I miss it. I miss reaching out and letting my thoughts blowing where they may...and knowing that someone hears me - happy or sad. I am heard.<br />
So if you are willing to hear me, I am back. I will update and write when I can. I will pour my thoughts and ideas and the happenings around our little home into this place and reach out to any of you who still look into our little place on the web.<br />
I've missed you.<br />
XOXOJackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-21196776675204042702011-07-19T00:27:00.000-07:002011-07-19T00:41:01.358-07:00100 things to come....Yes, I have been away from this space for far too long. I am, as always, rushing around like a chicken after a beetle and can't seem to keep up. But life is relatively good. The kids are happy and curious. I don't have time to stew and we plug along. <div>I manage to find joy in silly little things and was inspired tonight when I googled "things for kids to do on a road trip" brought me from a list of car games....One click to a link on the page brought me out of curiousity to "how to survive in prison" and then on to "how to survive a high fall". Next was "The life of Viking Women" and then "<a href="http://www.essortment.com/100-things-happy-about-36380.html">100 things to be happy about</a>". </div><div>I vaguely glanced at the list until I got to #74. "Glueing Things". Five minutes later and I am still giggling. Was this person running out of items for their list or did they truly enjoy the act of using a sticky substance to adhere to items together? Or were they running out of things for the list? I will never know but it reminded me of lists I have made in the past of things I like/dislike. </div><div>I suppose these lists were a form of identification for me as a teen. I was motivated to make these lists for the same reasons that I was motivated to do those quizzes in teen magazines. To find out who I was and to mark that identity in some way.</div><div>Now, in my mid-thirties, I feel that I have a real grasp of "who" I am most of the time, but I still like to remind myself and have moments with myself where I say, "Wow! That's true! I really dislike that texture....I suppose that is why I am not so fond of potatoes..." Agreeing with myself somehow gives me pleasure.</div><div>So for the next few days, as long as I don't forget or get swept up in the tide of all the things that must be done/fed/walked/worked, I am going to create my own list of "100 things to be happy about". I'll let you know if I discover if the writer of the first list was truly a lover of stickiness or merely a glue sniffer....</div><div><br /></div><div>#1. Making lists.</div><div><br /></div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-14643643896270687032011-06-23T20:55:00.000-07:002011-06-23T21:27:27.432-07:00strength<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlAstwpEtg-bJd0HrE2Q5ndLQNR_T1sfQMjmHKxcr79CclcptX5CTKgGt_C9rPB_g1mjF9Tvlh2_mTYhFl2JKwjH8qoqrIG1N2PjhFL7VdJ2Fd3BlsWFmLeLik5KtA74HPnY/s1600/39679975_TEjed3lj_c.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlAstwpEtg-bJd0HrE2Q5ndLQNR_T1sfQMjmHKxcr79CclcptX5CTKgGt_C9rPB_g1mjF9Tvlh2_mTYhFl2JKwjH8qoqrIG1N2PjhFL7VdJ2Fd3BlsWFmLeLik5KtA74HPnY/s320/39679975_TEjed3lj_c.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621630715938553522" /></a>I have read a variety of quotes with a similar message. I think anyone who has dealt with trauma, loss or tragedy has come face-to-face with this choice. I also think that, at times, we have all chosen each one of the three options. I just hope that as we all get further from the moment that provoked this epiphany, we manage to choose to let this event strengthen us. To grow instead of be wilted. To swim, not sink. There is no need for one life to be wasted for the sole reason that one life was lost.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-49568662395637841842011-05-02T07:57:00.000-07:002011-05-02T15:17:44.161-07:00community<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sfVrS5-ViCjZn8PTa1xborRGsGIwSA9uOildhkyp_Jd3ueY-ughBq4fgJfVM8nK2Zmhwau2gAUIcAwU1ygg1GCwSKGE_I7d-qZ9vo_aLF1TY4gxvw4ps0TzMe_Oyxp3J1fc/s1600/hands.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 212px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602134293835576738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sfVrS5-ViCjZn8PTa1xborRGsGIwSA9uOildhkyp_Jd3ueY-ughBq4fgJfVM8nK2Zmhwau2gAUIcAwU1ygg1GCwSKGE_I7d-qZ9vo_aLF1TY4gxvw4ps0TzMe_Oyxp3J1fc/s320/hands.jpg" /></a><br />The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt.<br />- Frederick Buechner<br /><br />I have a dear friend who is in such dire straights at the moment that I feel humbled by my moaning over firewood and the like. Out of respect for her privacy, I won't go into the details of her issues at this time.<br /><br />If you feel you are able to help her, please read her <a href="http://www.maehegirl.blogspot.com/">blog</a> and see if there is anything you can do.<br /><br />I can assure you that she is a wonderful and kind-heartened human-being who has shared and helped me and my children in the past.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-29646684155365371422011-04-14T16:29:00.000-07:002011-04-22T17:11:17.608-07:00fabric kanzashi flowersA friend of mine has a four year old daughter who has a white plumeria flower barrette that I secretly covet. I imagine what I'd where it with - a tan, a strapless sundress and my pair of orange leather flip-flops. I have searched for ideas to make my very own substitute for this much loved hair accessory.<br />During my hunt, I discovered <a href="http://www.kyopro.kufs.ac.jp/dp/dp01.nsf/b7eb328e75d9627a49256feb00103b33/4269824e8da4cc174925760000113593!OpenDocument">Kanzashi</a> flowers. Although the ones I have discovered a far from the traditional Kanzashi worn by Geishas, they are truly awesome!<br />After showing Liv some of the photos of them online, she and I decided to give our hands a try at this type of art.<br />Although there are a tonne of tutorials out there, we are adding yet another to the abundant craftiness.....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9p4FEuxg4qi6WlFROwKIQOtQXDhcIX9jQ8dV6CmrRYLtEVu3DfXsMmdhd7Ge7Opkb2SODmDwYxTnV3NcdJnU1TEBwDeqVx9DN0blzE_bCsDcySdNfGVLVpDpVmzWOZLynVgM/s1600/054.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595669616818368002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9p4FEuxg4qi6WlFROwKIQOtQXDhcIX9jQ8dV6CmrRYLtEVu3DfXsMmdhd7Ge7Opkb2SODmDwYxTnV3NcdJnU1TEBwDeqVx9DN0blzE_bCsDcySdNfGVLVpDpVmzWOZLynVgM/s320/054.JPG" /></a> Materials:<br />8 squares of fabric (we used 10 cm X 10 cm pieces found in fat quarters)<br />A needle and thread<br />Button for the centre<br />Glue gun<br />Alligator clip<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj314s3mDASMp804k_pqPdAOtvRwQqjpo1Bz38RXlpdl85NlUenloeLw5s5hYrRI0ZaVODiADAGH8lnofhxax0j0uQWIxOOnkH0yAjpqSOk-SRdqjvO1mdlT5JeMH0XNoES_Dc/s1600/022.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595665976456348530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj314s3mDASMp804k_pqPdAOtvRwQqjpo1Bz38RXlpdl85NlUenloeLw5s5hYrRI0ZaVODiADAGH8lnofhxax0j0uQWIxOOnkH0yAjpqSOk-SRdqjvO1mdlT5JeMH0XNoES_Dc/s320/022.JPG" /></a> 1. Fold one piece of fabric in half diagonally.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_Cybc81KJAj6522dd37QPGUX8vB8o8CwI6IqkldrL-coUG1SLw-loEwjdkapaglYzHjFUXGzmnHiqNVI4j_QFmwhbKxmfTGGerhMfUw32wtb2ObMnnEdalf42BDUyBwq3J0/s1600/024.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595665967837859106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_Cybc81KJAj6522dd37QPGUX8vB8o8CwI6IqkldrL-coUG1SLw-loEwjdkapaglYzHjFUXGzmnHiqNVI4j_QFmwhbKxmfTGGerhMfUw32wtb2ObMnnEdalf42BDUyBwq3J0/s320/024.JPG" /></a> 2. Fold it in half yet again.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-gUdqMwWE338xVufgGeeZRqIj8gw-2Qs4OqqBYiGSW28yXK-EC8fAqXrk_cDBMx00j4uqFM2kK7SkTG25_YNnaI65CLBAs2PW7b_zychDt12rgZ-Emq1v58q98N7v3o6IL0/s1600/025.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595665961734729058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-gUdqMwWE338xVufgGeeZRqIj8gw-2Qs4OqqBYiGSW28yXK-EC8fAqXrk_cDBMx00j4uqFM2kK7SkTG25_YNnaI65CLBAs2PW7b_zychDt12rgZ-Emq1v58q98N7v3o6IL0/s320/025.JPG" /></a>3. And again.....<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUMy8S3XIlzNPWCl0Ca0NcbYlP4u_wemtod6vkuOojlZRNr7c9FSNUvP5MLcHKf7AQTY42GJr_4P3ku2HkRqlWBOoMhnLDIi-NT-oeCYZVKdudWdf6ZIQH_59mQ8QC1IqnKQ/s1600/027.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595665959299332322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUMy8S3XIlzNPWCl0Ca0NcbYlP4u_wemtod6vkuOojlZRNr7c9FSNUvP5MLcHKf7AQTY42GJr_4P3ku2HkRqlWBOoMhnLDIi-NT-oeCYZVKdudWdf6ZIQH_59mQ8QC1IqnKQ/s320/027.JPG" /></a> 4. Bear with me, this part is a bit hard to explain in words....Fold the two sides of the fabric down as if you are folding a paper airplane....<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMA_l8qYpnhD-B2pacujz0EaytHp8v9TDKn_AOF7nhh-KnX9Owz4NQy8a2sEiZcUQzpxIrGhBUs0PSwmwgWIqIJ18nPtiWM_IFiCHi_XDWg9_vTqBnciynBlvx30fT1OaEcs/s1600/028.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595632930857953266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMA_l8qYpnhD-B2pacujz0EaytHp8v9TDKn_AOF7nhh-KnX9Owz4NQy8a2sEiZcUQzpxIrGhBUs0PSwmwgWIqIJ18nPtiWM_IFiCHi_XDWg9_vTqBnciynBlvx30fT1OaEcs/s320/028.JPG" /></a> Get it?? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiJ4zDf45rvKpc0iG7qehIEnlvx0hbXq37T4ihcLFaKz7840-pghQRDFG4Iszb-cAbjQxqd8Y4gjbsX-ZblzkQ3GWVZa5YX81ozjdwNsFrsX6IJBJRp7gAfK9xjd9I7ixGhY/s1600/029.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595632923592140354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiJ4zDf45rvKpc0iG7qehIEnlvx0hbXq37T4ihcLFaKz7840-pghQRDFG4Iszb-cAbjQxqd8Y4gjbsX-ZblzkQ3GWVZa5YX81ozjdwNsFrsX6IJBJRp7gAfK9xjd9I7ixGhY/s320/029.JPG" /></a>It should look like this on the other side.... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTNfZfnn9sFji-URvWGeBdpSW6XquHAgS71j9EIMghgsM6RFh_gPFAw0Hgz9rB_s4DScb4E30dbLbEWglZYKrGxQ58fhyzGZgX-vEHWADRczgrrdkXjjhiAFQ3lrkXkhVX_A/s1600/030.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595632915531609586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTNfZfnn9sFji-URvWGeBdpSW6XquHAgS71j9EIMghgsM6RFh_gPFAw0Hgz9rB_s4DScb4E30dbLbEWglZYKrGxQ58fhyzGZgX-vEHWADRczgrrdkXjjhiAFQ3lrkXkhVX_A/s320/030.JPG" /></a>5. Push your needle through the side making sure to pierce all pieces of fabric so it will hold together once they are all strung on.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UFfbWWFhjEkXMiz9InIJy-WYERMpgNSHwlzx-tYolxGt7EHQYqhBPr4KK0Ll5k1MX6PpZS5kOT2axKtotEJJ_ascZAB_4aXZy_UPuxq6zBO_GU_LB6Uwh-CH_RGCshd5GpQ/s1600/031.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595632912654803810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UFfbWWFhjEkXMiz9InIJy-WYERMpgNSHwlzx-tYolxGt7EHQYqhBPr4KK0Ll5k1MX6PpZS5kOT2axKtotEJJ_ascZAB_4aXZy_UPuxq6zBO_GU_LB6Uwh-CH_RGCshd5GpQ/s320/031.JPG" /></a>6. Repeat this seven more times and add them to the thread.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoErs3XYZc-xPCcwZMDi_3X_AYGdwjO3lrllBhCCFvfnnOGHa7zPD3oV8kZI21PDDVLyJcpxKbhJeqNrKnheQOEQcXl8HvPgnG7F8jAeD2we5nSU682vY5TP0DR4ftTV4niGE/s1600/032.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595602194957014914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoErs3XYZc-xPCcwZMDi_3X_AYGdwjO3lrllBhCCFvfnnOGHa7zPD3oV8kZI21PDDVLyJcpxKbhJeqNrKnheQOEQcXl8HvPgnG7F8jAeD2we5nSU682vY5TP0DR4ftTV4niGE/s320/032.JPG" /></a> **Do NOT knot between each one as you want them to be able to slide along as you position them correctly at the end!!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRE1ZL8iFJKnquYnRwU9FQKkH5e4B4MZ0y5jZV0KunHJfaPhz7yiVr0813XigBhAxKZxWPCobzYu6FdgsyVPxJXAhnfzKd1xGNycJWpwUYdStKGAv2baoqnDBuNXGNv3qLjI/s1600/033.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595602191324493058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRE1ZL8iFJKnquYnRwU9FQKkH5e4B4MZ0y5jZV0KunHJfaPhz7yiVr0813XigBhAxKZxWPCobzYu6FdgsyVPxJXAhnfzKd1xGNycJWpwUYdStKGAv2baoqnDBuNXGNv3qLjI/s320/033.JPG" /></a> 7. Once they are all on, your thread gently making sure to not snap it and push through the first "petal" once again so that they arrange themselves in a circle.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFu80wGb9-DeLqvK30TGCcqRT9K7KjhmeQHI6G7hqPHS4EvAmNrzoPin91_GMzLbqpTtMbbUwkK6kYlx_4VxfOsio_qNGaNKjZV41gccWpyxDKDCbsWs2FyLH01tZyWomtT4/s1600/034.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595602181130661314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFu80wGb9-DeLqvK30TGCcqRT9K7KjhmeQHI6G7hqPHS4EvAmNrzoPin91_GMzLbqpTtMbbUwkK6kYlx_4VxfOsio_qNGaNKjZV41gccWpyxDKDCbsWs2FyLH01tZyWomtT4/s320/034.JPG" /></a> 8. Once secured, put all the points together.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EscEMiBm3bO5YjHyH55jYdXk1xHZ3qat86coyxvYRLufXUmdurglbskH8LhPoTB2vVOB8fVbnVBTlrhlpzPpji2-qEXTgFKhL8sX6bV8paw6fp_IAd28SahE478yrCj3-JU/s1600/035.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595602178584181410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EscEMiBm3bO5YjHyH55jYdXk1xHZ3qat86coyxvYRLufXUmdurglbskH8LhPoTB2vVOB8fVbnVBTlrhlpzPpji2-qEXTgFKhL8sX6bV8paw6fp_IAd28SahE478yrCj3-JU/s320/035.JPG" /></a>9. Using very sharp scissors, cut the rough ends off.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHe58LMsUpdbnSorb0RgDTO7occyXSDaTL3sxoDAyNnOw7iWhNi5MK-2yPKL0xQrgSCqYcakZO-99Tq4VED0fLeUD3T5jeb8xezUho5XRlx6iU2_5z3io0s9RWquMnwELqBQ/s1600/037.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595594096915853250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHe58LMsUpdbnSorb0RgDTO7occyXSDaTL3sxoDAyNnOw7iWhNi5MK-2yPKL0xQrgSCqYcakZO-99Tq4VED0fLeUD3T5jeb8xezUho5XRlx6iU2_5z3io0s9RWquMnwELqBQ/s320/037.JPG" /></a>It should look like this.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rQjcato7gsFcBiZlaB4Zx8qjFBM8xCzfhkJHmo5T_zEluZz1EJg9Lm40UWAW-PcRALsULTSSV6ICgQ2iu0acLKrRMV_7QTAJJhqs-AVOmb2PkVwj4CwP8VUtIgvg5u87xOA/s1600/038.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595594090326849394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rQjcato7gsFcBiZlaB4Zx8qjFBM8xCzfhkJHmo5T_zEluZz1EJg9Lm40UWAW-PcRALsULTSSV6ICgQ2iu0acLKrRMV_7QTAJJhqs-AVOmb2PkVwj4CwP8VUtIgvg5u87xOA/s320/038.JPG" /></a> 10. Rearrange the petals in a circle and ensure their proper spacing.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8UrD6t-kXiAL2u1Mg_PYT6yo3HsVMfJCfo5N-Lqe4GQDfuXzoQJsA8F0ntefu94hHsl_I-VHmHaiOvX01xVxlysr83w8IC-vw7DsFiKXQWQbTlemMfiivWHpyJVxVuaFkGs/s1600/039.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595594083944909698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8UrD6t-kXiAL2u1Mg_PYT6yo3HsVMfJCfo5N-Lqe4GQDfuXzoQJsA8F0ntefu94hHsl_I-VHmHaiOvX01xVxlysr83w8IC-vw7DsFiKXQWQbTlemMfiivWHpyJVxVuaFkGs/s320/039.JPG" /></a>It should look similar to this.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoAxMNlbHJRAhklrXuIT9Rsi_Se9yibaGE-ZI-i2syUtGhVr2Gg1yZcrSvN7sOa_VAYX6YVb-Knz_pbUA9Dow2NTmn9gBL-smiGqUzTkd7HmeXG_Co3VDWlBejlB-6PApuuk/s1600/040.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595594075223554850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoAxMNlbHJRAhklrXuIT9Rsi_Se9yibaGE-ZI-i2syUtGhVr2Gg1yZcrSvN7sOa_VAYX6YVb-Knz_pbUA9Dow2NTmn9gBL-smiGqUzTkd7HmeXG_Co3VDWlBejlB-6PApuuk/s320/040.JPG" /></a> 11. Pick out the button/s you want to decorate the centre of the flower.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-TMM3SJmkYOFvaeJ_G-WaWZH5lg-yTIWZH20M6FP2ySl4OMhnZ-l7TM6itY5LqBFogJ2Bbj4XluEIxdxfvWsGoJ7sEVb4LrRev9qq6atgE2FWzx0J5yQZvbcbiIbdZpXlBE/s1600/043.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595592119484743778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-TMM3SJmkYOFvaeJ_G-WaWZH5lg-yTIWZH20M6FP2ySl4OMhnZ-l7TM6itY5LqBFogJ2Bbj4XluEIxdxfvWsGoJ7sEVb4LrRev9qq6atgE2FWzx0J5yQZvbcbiIbdZpXlBE/s320/043.JPG" /></a>12. Using your glue gun, make sure you get glue on each petal nearest the centre. You want to make sure that they are all secured by the glue.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOTiSASbxQpA9cfSnE3k-EFCEjvMe0oMzqRFuV_NGBDvwvcJWBVDTkXEA8lDNXWssDFLNb1ni9p_zCisglBu-EOUiGKvzo-yrXS31XvihTPnqZtmQ8WYnypr_AqsokYquXINg/s1600/044.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595592113457675618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOTiSASbxQpA9cfSnE3k-EFCEjvMe0oMzqRFuV_NGBDvwvcJWBVDTkXEA8lDNXWssDFLNb1ni9p_zCisglBu-EOUiGKvzo-yrXS31XvihTPnqZtmQ8WYnypr_AqsokYquXINg/s320/044.JPG" /></a> 13. Squish the button on. Large buttons work best!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNQtOiujBgS0udMD8tiQs93Y4imRTg9d3kUZ35a8UQ0ThksugL-cDHUVoWYP5kJRjYV4T3SIm2tjTNp5G06gV2jKD-E2E_rqRO-Ske7MB4OjcEF2WSVssr1G_W0RcYQInidNY/s1600/045.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595592103415195298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNQtOiujBgS0udMD8tiQs93Y4imRTg9d3kUZ35a8UQ0ThksugL-cDHUVoWYP5kJRjYV4T3SIm2tjTNp5G06gV2jKD-E2E_rqRO-Ske7MB4OjcEF2WSVssr1G_W0RcYQInidNY/s320/045.JPG" /></a> 14. You can actually attach the flower to almost anything - a hairband, a hair elastic, a purse, a shirt, etc. But we decided to attach it to the alligator clip. This allows for versatility because once on the alligator clip, you can clip it to any of these things are remove it to attach elsewhere later on.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwzfff3FJdQGBW-EeHuJmo5cedi4Qjhf-aru6Nrncy3FhAeJZvEh9_k6khyFZOqFrkJF-5UOH-P_eRxqXY_AOeVD98DZI1iOWRkJ9cFIJVFbvY_knwoQRteCvi5Q5P0wg1tM/s1600/047.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595592101523470530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwzfff3FJdQGBW-EeHuJmo5cedi4Qjhf-aru6Nrncy3FhAeJZvEh9_k6khyFZOqFrkJF-5UOH-P_eRxqXY_AOeVD98DZI1iOWRkJ9cFIJVFbvY_knwoQRteCvi5Q5P0wg1tM/s320/047.JPG" /></a> 15. Using plenty of glue, again try to make sure you touch each petal to ensure that it doesn't fall apart later on.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXoI0kXg783Jd5pM_ba5KWfjjaoawdaS40uUs7djISHNRKxp_2AelSintW_F4t_Olu01O0nE_SwHelORsBjt9-W6UMwawjAu0jB_Lkk7KRemniJH_ng0h1yeP7bTawBR594Y/s1600/049.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595587047021978514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXoI0kXg783Jd5pM_ba5KWfjjaoawdaS40uUs7djISHNRKxp_2AelSintW_F4t_Olu01O0nE_SwHelORsBjt9-W6UMwawjAu0jB_Lkk7KRemniJH_ng0h1yeP7bTawBR594Y/s320/049.JPG" /></a> 16. Stick the alligator clip to it. **We stuck a piece of cardstock in between the alligator's "mouth" to make sure that any extra glue wouldn't stick it shut.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHfSbVWaJvDU3Ql-ZOn2834yGAfock5wdQK4PbilTvXm8a9bz47_KxJTmKHId1r-4iqdw-F0hU7cyO1U0yUlWANv16bBNOwxvqnpH5jhK8aL2UgGyXQa3HYSUvix3qyODsg8/s1600/051.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595587041315096722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHfSbVWaJvDU3Ql-ZOn2834yGAfock5wdQK4PbilTvXm8a9bz47_KxJTmKHId1r-4iqdw-F0hU7cyO1U0yUlWANv16bBNOwxvqnpH5jhK8aL2UgGyXQa3HYSUvix3qyODsg8/s320/051.JPG" /></a> 17. Once it has cooled and hardened, remove the cardstock and <em>VOILA</em>! A little piece of decorative hair heaven!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6D8EIxxIpKmFB7ukJW2sEX5dS8SLznwAXAjIZu8V6Qi4Nv6SKa-PHvG64BT-rtQQHYh_jfV4ZXbZenvFsKwQnLxHaRL60Rxel1E7GemyMvIX6C5oERAnWqoNBqaN-yohk_uY/s1600/053.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595587031384188418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6D8EIxxIpKmFB7ukJW2sEX5dS8SLznwAXAjIZu8V6Qi4Nv6SKa-PHvG64BT-rtQQHYh_jfV4ZXbZenvFsKwQnLxHaRL60Rxel1E7GemyMvIX6C5oERAnWqoNBqaN-yohk_uY/s320/053.JPG" /></a> Although these look quite difficult, they are crazy easy. Liv and her friend really enjoyed making them and have been wearing them since. I would NOT hesitate to make them again. They took about 30 minutes to make with the girls. I am sure an adult who had made them before could bang on off in 15 minutes or so. SO fun!!!!!!!!!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLtGQ6M3eBEzkMU7YCKWF2urMsVfYHP0gkl6cuT3B6r3n_TkwKjazsOl2THG16_xuS45ImJvF9Uf-CcfdQ9Fm4vQhWjh07WceBsNc_shIVwyUElDCpf5ze4yY5Sq-FhK5V7g/s1600/090.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595587030711468850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLtGQ6M3eBEzkMU7YCKWF2urMsVfYHP0gkl6cuT3B6r3n_TkwKjazsOl2THG16_xuS45ImJvF9Uf-CcfdQ9Fm4vQhWjh07WceBsNc_shIVwyUElDCpf5ze4yY5Sq-FhK5V7g/s320/090.JPG" /></a>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-26029456360547362762011-04-01T05:00:00.000-07:002011-04-01T05:00:04.902-07:00<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5__6idLjiNN0JVRqWJ-IBTnimXxTcJ_N-FIdHh0YjygZCrJ4aw8FkMEJtgeV8H7Up48_jDccu8oQx1yAvgKdwPNM2tBxHThPUbeNKdLc1ia5L4s01lahbeTH9ZBTmCDx9Po/s1600/2008-1-11recordplayer.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590491051052133042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5__6idLjiNN0JVRqWJ-IBTnimXxTcJ_N-FIdHh0YjygZCrJ4aw8FkMEJtgeV8H7Up48_jDccu8oQx1yAvgKdwPNM2tBxHThPUbeNKdLc1ia5L4s01lahbeTH9ZBTmCDx9Po/s320/2008-1-11recordplayer.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">Photo from</span><a href="http://www.unplggd.com/unplggd/good-questions/good-questions-broken-record-player-040134"><span style="font-size:78%;"> here...</span></a></div>Sometimes this whole 'widow' thing gets old. Like the chorus of an unhappy song that gets stuck in your head and keeps you awake. Over and over the words repeat singing those same lines again and again. You try to not pay attention. Try to forget the words. Try to listen to a new song. But your little brain has it so deeply embedded it can't be persuaded to "hear" something else. I get tired of being a widow. I get sick of talking about it. I get annoyed with writing about it. I am over thinking about it. But still it sticks. Stuck in the groove. Firmly planted on repeat. I'd love a new reality. To have something new to think about. A new conversation that didn't ultimately, and at times embarassingly, come around to the fact that my husband is dead. I want to be over it. I am sick of it. I don't want to think about it, breathe it, speak it or feel it. It's old.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-26966638332523269842011-03-31T23:11:00.000-07:002011-03-31T23:17:11.299-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFltrK4PbK9NIU3vRKL65CisvFk_FOwlkO-0ZbsWVjUJFV1oKlh_UUunwsjTLZos3JjdVt2UgE_necGxlhYPomI_WObx80WWNtTtaCU-8OLjDbit7b3-OSPjN2mYkf76LaE_s/s1600/175.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFltrK4PbK9NIU3vRKL65CisvFk_FOwlkO-0ZbsWVjUJFV1oKlh_UUunwsjTLZos3JjdVt2UgE_necGxlhYPomI_WObx80WWNtTtaCU-8OLjDbit7b3-OSPjN2mYkf76LaE_s/s320/175.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590495308411546674" /></a><br />Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets. <br />Arthur MillerJackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-4871366343655726152011-03-25T05:00:00.000-07:002011-03-25T05:00:12.922-07:00three<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnp8gFBTT76soZEK-hBW6EJCI1bcMgsMwt-wvaEUXWprZBvb4N8QP8f0_BbihP-S0ospRUXGRQSsTxHJ1bVIIIpslaOGWNw3KL1fbB8hTDCtoWqPdSVqqMIP5o99-ouSKD2JA/s1600/Untitled.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 212px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587881096387709714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnp8gFBTT76soZEK-hBW6EJCI1bcMgsMwt-wvaEUXWprZBvb4N8QP8f0_BbihP-S0ospRUXGRQSsTxHJ1bVIIIpslaOGWNw3KL1fbB8hTDCtoWqPdSVqqMIP5o99-ouSKD2JA/s320/Untitled.jpg" /></a><br /><div>This morning will mark three years since I've held your warm hand. Heard your snores. Felt safe knowing I was yours.</div><br /><div>My life doesn't stop today as it did three years ago....although I partially wish it would. There are appoinments to be attended, childcare to sort out and errands to run. </div><br /><div>I'd like to lay in my bed and think of only you. To keen quietly and close my eyes to the empty side of our bed. </div><br /><div>But I am terrified that by allowing myself to sink into the grief that still runs so deeply through my heart, I will fall back into that pit of loss. The dark and scary place where time <em>does</em> stop and all I feel is the loss of you. </div><br /><div>So I fill my day. To the brim. </div><br /><div>I <em>will</em> take the kids to the beach with our notes for you attached to helium balloons. I'll barely allow myself that hour to let the sadness sink in...I need to keep my heart up and my eyes sharp for my little ones. </div><br /><div>When this tradition is fulfilled I will begin running again. Focusing on dinner and bathtime. Fingernail clipping and playing referee to intermittent sibling discord.</div><br /><div>But after the night has brought quiet and our two children rest, I'll truly feel the loss of you. I'll remember that first night without you. The enormity of the loss. The confusion and unbelievability found in your death. I will cry out for you. I will hold the last dirty shirt of yours close and attempt to smell the long lost scent of you. I will wonder at the ability of others who naively went about their day unaware of this day's significance. And I will miss you as fiercely as I did that first day. </div><br /><div>I love you, Jeffrey, with all my heart. I miss you still. And I don't think I can, or will, ever stop. </div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-35789902356770162252011-03-16T08:10:00.000-07:002011-03-16T08:11:05.065-07:00Happy birthday Baby Pumpkin<iframe height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pALWIj9ketA?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="425" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><br />Today is Jeff's birthday. He'd be 49. <br />We'll be planting a blueberry bush and having blueberry pie in his honour today....<br />I wish he were here to sing this song. One of his favourites....He LOVED to sing it at karaoke. Yes, he loved karaoke. I can still see his left leg slightly bent moving to the music as he sang so hard into the microphone.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-39513540901635902012011-03-09T20:52:00.000-08:002011-03-09T21:20:53.429-08:00enough is enoughI admit it. I am depressed. Clinically, situationally, whatever anyone wants to diagnose me as. Depressed.<br /><br />It sucks. Brutally, royally sucks....And for some reason, I am embarrassed. I don't know if I am humiliated by the weakness that this affliction shows or by the possibility that I am "unfixable" or broken.<br /><br />After the birth of Briar, I was prescribed antidepressants and attended meetings with a therapist who dealt with post-partum depression. I had been feeling "normal" for quite sometime and had been working with the doctor as I was weaned off the meds.....Then Jeff "bought the farm" (SO sick of using "died", "passed", "left us", etc. I don't think he'd mind if I used more colourful euphemisms...especially if they make me giggle...). His abrupt departure meant the end to my declining medication. I have stayed at the dose I was then. A bloody high dose.<br /><br />I have been at a point a few times since he "went belly up" where I thought I could resume the lowering of my meds. But since we've moved, that phenomenon has halted all together.<br /><br />I don't know what has changed aside from working outside the home, Liv attending school, not having my sister or Marnie close by, and the <em>much</em> higher living expenses....Okay, I suppose a lot of shit has changed.<br /><br />There are truly wonderful things about being here....the beach, the community, the cooler weather....<br /><br />But I want my garden and my crafts. I want to hang with my kiddos. I want time to sit in the chicken yard and gaze at the "Girlz". I want to again focus on my photography and sewing dresses.<br /><br />But that time has passed and I have to move on.<br /><br />I keep focusing on the negative when I should just suck that shit up and move on. I DO NOT want to feel this way. Sad, pathetic, useless, needy.<br /><br />So I am forcing myself to pull up these bloody itchy socks and face this "Depression Dude" with a sneer on my lips while flipping the bird in his ugly mug.<br /><br />I have an appointment with my beloved therapist who has agreed to take me on again. I will not allow myself to wallow in the negative (for every bloody issue on my list, I am going to force myself to write something.....happy) and I am making myself go back to my <a href="http://littlechandlerfamily.blogspot.com/search?q=one+good+thing&updated-max=2008-04-04T22%3A12%3A00-07%3A00&max-results=20">one-good-thing </a>exercise. I don't have the time to do this....But I need to make the time, because I think I am going insane.<br /><br />I am realizing that it's a damn good thing that I keep this blog. It has chronicled this insidious spiral downward while I was unaware of its' happening. But last night, I sat here and read my posts from the last few months.....and, dude, it was a depressing read.<br /><br />So wish me luck, I am going to push off from the bottom and attempt to head back up to the surface.<br /><br />Thank you for all your support, my blogosphere buddies. You rock.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzUJhlY5VLLMl1m9eRWrHDPnm1vTk3E37XxiqWVlDqleM4Y84gYDu75v79Dhlgl7b2nK8SbYl5sd6wphyphenhyphenj8tJL0aBwY48Pw0624znbuAa4N-txMT0bSaZo12mC4lqybl8OKc/s1600/046.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582316725146108562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzUJhlY5VLLMl1m9eRWrHDPnm1vTk3E37XxiqWVlDqleM4Y84gYDu75v79Dhlgl7b2nK8SbYl5sd6wphyphenhyphenj8tJL0aBwY48Pw0624znbuAa4N-txMT0bSaZo12mC4lqybl8OKc/s320/046.JPG" /></a>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-47715755570000238332011-03-03T14:32:00.001-08:002011-03-03T14:51:19.129-08:00guiltAs the three year anniversary of Jeff's death begins to weigh heavily upon my shoulders, I have been feeling down. All the "small" issues in my life (cracked windshield, accessible childcare, household maintenance, etc.) have become like slivers in my socks. It is impossible to move without their omnipresent reminders and the need to deal with them. At times, I feel as if I could be buried by a thousand little things.<br />But when I trip, I have you, my community, that reaches back to me and offers to cushion my fall. It feels so very wonderful to know that you are there. Thinking of us. Offering to help.<br />But it also makes me worry and feel extreme guilt for my pathetic and sad thoughts. It makes me wonder if I am just a sissy. It makes me think, "Come on, Jackie. Pull up your socks! It can't be that bad and, really, you have it better than many others out there in your shoes. Yes, you are having trouble affording the deductible to replace your windshield - but you HAVE a car!"<br />It's times like these that I am humbled by my life. Humbled by the kindness of stranger/friends. And I am torn. Do I accept help? Or do I take my own advice and "pull up my socks"?<br />All I know is that I am tired. I am sick of worrying. I am overwhelmed by always feeling overwhelmed. And now, I want to know, is it just me? Or is it an overwhelming situation? Am I not alone in feeling distraught, lonely and exhausted? Is the appropriate reaction to soldier on with my eyes to the ground? Or is it okay to hold my head up and cry out?....Even three years after being widowed?....and is it normal to feel guilt for the thought of considering to accept help?Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-84264489988910551492011-02-23T10:00:00.000-08:002011-03-27T09:37:04.825-07:00blackness<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKMTf-69qNkDX8iYNBRpCAGqASZQqmcO1kf-3Y3Igt95xRfVdlE2sRgsjtmToFl6tezgQiYI0JXNrmMM4yxJ9wkr6r2_47UT7R_hr4metUVEOx4HThQzs7mVv_Uk4z0Vdvb2A/s1600/DarkForest.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576958487907847170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKMTf-69qNkDX8iYNBRpCAGqASZQqmcO1kf-3Y3Igt95xRfVdlE2sRgsjtmToFl6tezgQiYI0JXNrmMM4yxJ9wkr6r2_47UT7R_hr4metUVEOx4HThQzs7mVv_Uk4z0Vdvb2A/s320/DarkForest.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">Photo from <a href="http://s405.photobucket.com/albums/pp140/RayquazaDarkness/?action=view&current=DarkForest.jpg&mediafilter=images">here....</a></span></div><br /><br /><div>I'm struggling. Mentally, emotionally, financially. So I sit and don't write...Actually, I sit and play tetris hoping to forget all the other obligations that continue to flow into our home and spill onto my already overflowing "to-do" whiteboard. </div><br /><div>I hate writing about it. I loathe talking about it. But it bubbles forth from my mouth amid tears of frustration and sadness when someone offers the seemingly innocuous platitude, "How are you?". So I try to stay away from others in an effort to not infect them with my black mood. I wear my "happy mask" at work. I attempt to tire myself to the point of unconciousness at night or else I lay and marinate myself in the pathetic thoughts that fill my head. </div><br /><div>When I do sleep, I repeatedly dream of Jeff dying in a variety of ways. Always, though, he dies. And always, I fail to save him though I try frantically. </div><br /><div>It's been almost three years. I thought I'd be well-immersed into a new life by now. A new page. A fresh start...But I think I am possibly worse off than I was a year into this bloody journey. </div><br /><div>I remember receiving an email from a widow who was farther down the path than I was. I was at about ten months post-Jeff. She was at three years. She told me that she was doing worse at three years than she had been that first year. I had sworn that this would not happen to me. I was horrified at the thought. The idea that my grief would not subside in a linear and concrete fashion was absurd. </div><br /><div>But now...Now I find myself stuck in this place. Alone. Broke. Overwhelmed. </div><br /><div>I was at ten months as well. But somehow, the fresh tragedy and trauma of it had my naive little mind searching for all the hope it could muster. I sussed out any amount of beauty through photography, silence and my children. </div><br /><div>Now, life is so busy I can barely focus. "Real life" has fallen into the void that was made and filled it with gusto. I have more to do, accomplish and defeat than I have ever before. I am doing three people's amount of work - raising children, keeping a home filled with a dog, cat and chickens, work to pay for all the necessities....and not managing to make those ends meet. In fact, the ends are often so far apart that I begin to wonder if they are from the same cord. </div><br /><div>To supply wood for our woodstove, I have worked out a deal with guy who sells wood - I will go after work on the weekends and chop wood for him. The kids will have to come as I can't afford childcare. All areas of my life seem to be inundated with all these extra obligations in order to creatively patch together some form of relatively rudimentary existence. </div><br /><div>I miss Jeff and all he represents so fucking terribly that I am sure I am exhausting my "talk-about-it-whenever-you-need-to card" with my friends. I know that I should be at the point where I am no longer comparing my life "before" to my life "after". But when I am down....It is so hard to forget the fact that life was once so different. </div><br /><div>I need to work on smiling. Remembering to see the silver linings. I attempt to drill it into my head and even write <a href="http://widowsvoice-sslf.blogspot.com/2011/02/pretty-panty-problems.html">crap</a> about how it's not so bad....But it's just hot air. It is bad. It sucks. And I am fucking sick of it. I want to lay down and give up. <br /><br />**I just want to clear something up as I worry that I didn't explain how thankful I am/was that the firewood guy had accepted my offer of chopping wood in exchange for "free" firewood. He has a family to provide for as well and I don't want it ever to seem that I feel that because I am a widow with two little ones I am exempt from having to pay my way though life. It was so very kind that he accepted my offer. As it turns out, my father paid for a cord of firewood for me saving me the time and effort of having to spend the weekend chopping. I felt truly supported by my small community when I asked if "firewood guy" would let me work for wood. </div><br /><div></div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-17462361207062896562011-01-28T05:00:00.000-08:002011-01-28T05:00:01.980-08:00safety freak<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirz-8ek0ugfRWtWzkQakl62hL9ou412msrBck-Cuw004GSMhgxOS8vKAVgZxaj9w72RO_4sW_2JPW89EEakmnI36LtxY_hWvgefrEkAcJk6naw7hrkN13C1hjG7Z_ummFrLOY/s1600/safety-man.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 223px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567127315659207138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirz-8ek0ugfRWtWzkQakl62hL9ou412msrBck-Cuw004GSMhgxOS8vKAVgZxaj9w72RO_4sW_2JPW89EEakmnI36LtxY_hWvgefrEkAcJk6naw7hrkN13C1hjG7Z_ummFrLOY/s320/safety-man.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">Photo from </span><a href="http://rds.yahoo.com/_ylt=A0WTf2xfaEJNc0wA6wv2FAx./SIG=12hqab7f0/EXP=1296284127/**http%3a//www.hkgroup.com/about-us/safety-gear-requirements.aspx"><span style="font-size:78%;">here</span></a></div><br />My minivan has a back-up beeper installed and I never fail to safety goggles when required.<br />I realize that teenagers at the bus stop snicker as I stride by sporting my safety vest covered in all its' reflective glory and a red light flashing out a constant reminder of the whereabouts of my hindend. <br />And in the past, I would have worried that this safety gear would identify me as a complete dork. A safety freak. Now I see it as protecting my kids.<br />By wearing this protective paraphernalia, I am hopefully preventing the possibility of creating two little orphans.<br />I am terrified of leaving them alone in the world. Without Daddy....and then without Mommy.<br />I have stopped short of wearing bubble wrap beneath my clothing. But I do get my flu shot and wear a helmet when riding my bike. For my kids. I'll do it because they do still need me.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-48395919992774057382011-01-21T05:00:00.000-08:002011-01-21T12:37:36.163-08:00who you were<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnmFXxEdpEq7F6FyP75xdXpZ9D0zpfKgQoRMfork-Fk8e26LKwr8xl4RjC8smCjynEjNamO35h-TWN1p30jFzHWmFkhc7EMD685wOcL5hLJZeQh2ZDALXWINzX-cYAjMc8Tg/s1600/n679345173_1569110_9641.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564517885175741042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnmFXxEdpEq7F6FyP75xdXpZ9D0zpfKgQoRMfork-Fk8e26LKwr8xl4RjC8smCjynEjNamO35h-TWN1p30jFzHWmFkhc7EMD685wOcL5hLJZeQh2ZDALXWINzX-cYAjMc8Tg/s320/n679345173_1569110_9641.jpg" /></a><br />Some of the fishing companies that Jeff had worked for would provide jackets for the crew with their name embroidered on the shoulder. Once when asked what Jeff wanted marked on his sleeve (he had a plethora of nicknames that could of been used in his name's stead), he had remarked, "Just Jeff". When his coat arrived with "Just Jeff" scribed upon the arm, he had thought it was ruined. I had thought it described him perfectly.<br />Recently, I have noticed that the person who Jeff <em>was</em> and who Jeff is now <em>imagined to be</em> has shifted. I feel that I alone (aside from his mother and sister) can remember him with his real faults <em>and</em> with his true strengths<em>.</em> To others, he has become an icon.<br />I've heard him described as a 'Viking'. I've heard another express that he thought Jeff would have loved playing a Wii. When telling a dear friend how Liv had a MASSIVE temper tantrum and that I had (in the heat of the battle) told her that her father would have<em><strong> not</strong></em> stood for her hitting and kicking me, the friend said, "Oh yes, he would have. He was a sucker when it came to her."<br />I understand that the phenomenon that occurs when someone has died - they become someone in many people's eyes that they actually weren't while they breathed. But it angers me. I find myself correcting other's opinions, recollections and estimations of Jeff's personality. At times, the listener wants to stubbornly hold onto their new 'version' of Jeff. They argue with me, "I know Jeff would have given Briar a toy gun!"<br />But they're wrong.<br />He was huge, tall and strong. He could be crushingly terrifying - but he wasn't a warrior....at least not once he was old enough to have some sense. Jeff hated video games and thought they were a waste of time. Although Liv had Jeff in her pocket, he believed that children must treat their mothers with respect and kindness and at times, he was annoyingly intolerant of her childish ways. Jeff did hunt. He had guns. But he swore that they were <em>not</em> toys and that he would teach both of our children the proper use of these tools.<br />I am amazed and resentful that some people believe that they knew him like I did. I despise the image that they have created. I want to remember him as he was - Just Jeff.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-87575466645800659372011-01-19T19:38:00.000-08:002011-01-19T19:48:20.736-08:00I' m here. I'm having difficulty feeling "up" and creative. I feel beyond overwhelmed. I feel sad....and somewhat lost.<br />Liv is struggling in school. Academically she excels....Emotionally she is filled with anxiety and fear. It pains my heart. I want to help her but don't know how. She refuses any support I try to offer in the way of therapists, doctors, etc. I try myself but I am no expert in the way of childhood grief. She is angry....and it spills through our home like a oil slick.<br />Briar is doing well. He is loving playing L'il Duffers hockey. He's developed an avid interest in dinosaurs. He finds the sadness and stress in the house unbearable.<br />Life is too busy to comprehend. I am exhausted and sad.<br />I feel....embarassed that my path through grief has not continued in a steady and linear fashion. I feel like my musings are boring, repetative and redundant. Hence the reason I have rarely posted in the past few months......Sorry. I miss you. I miss your comments and being connected to those out there "in the darkness when I scream - someone can hear".Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-51207717180126217012010-12-14T19:58:00.000-08:002010-12-14T20:58:01.620-08:00amazing mamasYesterday, my kiddos and I attended the Bethlehem Walk at our local Baptist church. While I am FAR from religious, it was so historically interesting and allowed me to have a conversation with my kids about the origins of the Christmas tradition.<br />The kids loved 'everything' about it, although I think Liv enjoyed the small, fresh loaves of bread the best judging by her pleas to go back for more. Briar really enjoyed collecting stamps on his Bethlehem map throughout the 'marketplace'....and then hoped to look at them while laying in bed (I didn't tell him that I had thrown his muddy coat in the wash upon walking through the door not realizing that the 'map' was in his pocket. I am SO hoping he forgets before I have to explain him that the hard piece of whitish lint at the bottom of his pocket was once his beloved map.)<br />As we walked through the ancient town, we had been instructed to keep an eye out for a baby named Jesus. Halfway through we came upon a young couple in wonderful costumes amid the hay bales depicting a barn-like scene. "Joseph" was very believable in his performance as he greeted us with "Shalom" and brief small talk about the tax man. His poor wife, however, was struggling.<br />"Mary" was a very young mama who was trying to breastfeed her hot, tired and altogether annoyed little one. As an audience stared on, she attempted to calm her baby with her breast without giving these onlookers something they hadn't anticipated - a flash. She seemed to be trying to look "Mary-like" - calm, serene and with a instinctive mothering knowledge that could subdue her baby with just a soothing word and mama's milk. As a mom, I could see through her thin facade to the panic and frustration she was feeling and as I led my children to the next vendor I thought of all the things I wish I had known before having my babies.....<br /><br /><br /><ul><li>Wear slip on shoes - you will always find your hands full of baby paraphernalia, car seats and bags when you suddenly realize that you should be equipped footwear as well.</li><li>Make sure to cross your legs when you cough, sneeze or laugh really hard - I don't know that any explanation is needed here. Oh! And say 'goodbye' to your days of jumping on a trampoline. </li><li>Do you remember those catty girls in junior high who gossiped about everyone no matter how perfect and fabulous they were? Get ready for round two. Mom's can be harsh to and about each other. Find a group who is as self-deprecated as you are and don't take the others opinions too hard. You're doing a great job - the best you can. And really, they worry about their inadequacies as a mom as much as, if not more than, you do. </li><li>You are amazing. You created a life within your body. Yes, the skin on your stomach resembles the face of a <a href="http://www.gotpetsonline.com/pictures/gallery/dogs/alphabetically/toy-chinese-shar-peis/toy-chinese-shar-pei-0003/">Shar-pei </a> - but for very good reason. You made a tiny HUMAN BEING within it!</li><li>You wouldn't know if your baby was ugly. It's better this way. Who would want to snuggle a trash can lid? You will stare into those shiny little eyes and know that this is the <em>most</em> amazingly awe-inspiring little one ever to have graced this Earth with its' tiny feet and mustard coloured poop. </li><li>When people have issue with your breastfeeding in public, stare at them and speak loudly at the person with you, "I can't believe they are eating in public! How disgusting!!" I believe breastfeeding is normal, natural and healthy. It seems that the over-sexualization of the breast in our society has done terrible things for our children's eating habits. Would you eating your lunch in a dirty, public bathroom stall? Blech.</li><li>Everyone may have an opinion on what you do and how you do it. YOU are the expert on your children. Trust your gut as you're the one who loves them the most and have their survival and mental well-being first and foremost....and you'll presumably be the one paying the therapy bills when they hit their teens. </li><li>Also, though you may be feel judged while others look on as your sweet, wee one pitches a holy fit atop the wood chips on the playground thus embedding thousands of tiny slivers beneath their soft skin to ensure a long and drawn out reminder of this <em>damned humiliating venture</em> to the local park; they most likely are just reminiscing over the fact that the only way to soothe their child's impending tantrum at the grocery store recently was to allow their kiddo to plunge a damp, chubby finger into their parent's nostril as they strolled down the aisles in the shopping cart....while all the other parents stared and thought about <em>their </em>most recent brush with 'CIH' (Child Inflicted Humiliation) .</li><li>Play with them whenever you can. Even singing "Super Planet Janet" for the fifty millionth time while you secure their lifejacket before swimming at your summer cabin will go a long way to defining you as a great and attentive parent.</li></ul><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rDre36ZW14I?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rDre36ZW14I?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-88247580231886847492010-12-10T05:00:00.000-08:002010-12-10T05:00:04.757-08:00what it is<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk19hoXonbiKwQZ6pseO9nkeWlbxYbOrt6Sw1WqvYSJhxYmz2dWcGfj5O4JxSPm3mjIqtpzw3D2d4MMszLrXp_ZTDd36U_u5WvGi2IzZGAsWsKKQZQVuokIB6btHYQvBSYZC4/s1600/shrug.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 193px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548911098090811890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk19hoXonbiKwQZ6pseO9nkeWlbxYbOrt6Sw1WqvYSJhxYmz2dWcGfj5O4JxSPm3mjIqtpzw3D2d4MMszLrXp_ZTDd36U_u5WvGi2IzZGAsWsKKQZQVuokIB6btHYQvBSYZC4/s320/shrug.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"> Photo from </span><a href="http://golfestonline.com/MORE_2008.php"><span style="font-size:78%;">golfest</span></a></div><br /><br />Talking about being a widow is not something I always do....or want to do.<br />Sometimes I <em>need</em> to talk about it. Express why I am attending a social engagement alone. Assure others that I'm not a 'cast off' - that my husband left me because he was physically unable to stay....not because he found me in bed with my tennis instructor. Now and then, I have to purge the sadness by letting even grocery store clerks know that my husband died. At these times, I am quite skilled at wedging it into any conversation under any scenario.<br />Other times, the whole story of his loss seems a nuisance. I dance around the topic of the whole event until it is entirely necessary to mention the fact that he dropped dead for fear of having strange, unexplained holes in my stories and sounding like a lunatic.<br />I found myself in the latter situation tonight. I held off talking about it for as long as I could....and finally just stated, "My husband died in 2008".<br />I did not want to hear the "Oh! I'm SO sorry! I had no idea!" As I answered, "Yeah, well, it is what it is." And I realized just how over-used but very astute this saying is.<br />I felt slightly....resentful. Not for <em>being</em> a widow. I just didn't want to be different. I wanted to be one of the moms talking at the table about runny noses, bullies and fuel economy. I didn't want to feel marked by loss. I didn't want to be pitied. I didn't want to explain again what life is like alone. Because often, now, it just is.<br />I don't really know different anymore....because this is now my reality. And it is what it is.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-90287954505916357042010-12-03T05:00:00.000-08:002010-12-03T05:00:02.105-08:00the wishlistMy children are aware that Christmas is in 23 days. Already they are making their preparations for the big day. Snow flakes already adore most of the windows in our house, our advent calendar is hanging above the fireplace and letters to Santa are ready to post. After ruminating long and hard over what she would write, my eight year old daughter, Liv, stood up from the kitchen table with a letter for Santa clutched in her skinny, little hands. Hope and excitement lit her face.<br />"Do you think Santa can bring whatever you ask for if you only ask for one thing?", she whispered.<br />"It depends what it is, I suppose", I answered nervously imagining pink polka-dotted unicorns and hot-air balloon rides to the moon being requested. I was surprised when she handed over her note.<br />Her words make me vacillate between laughter and tears....<br />I don't know what I'd do without these little people who make life so much harder and some much more bearable in one motion.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbehwG5IojRnRmiF0fa6hEZ0L3uJV3pzOfwfZ2xZX8I1NxhPoim3eYjsA7BWFf4rAh5BqJNymsfWAfPSf-LGSJWY_hh3KXVQcTuANVA0Y871g8b3ijKGyHZi-KgtCmNbzuRyI/s1600/img033.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 311px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546312590651827234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbehwG5IojRnRmiF0fa6hEZ0L3uJV3pzOfwfZ2xZX8I1NxhPoim3eYjsA7BWFf4rAh5BqJNymsfWAfPSf-LGSJWY_hh3KXVQcTuANVA0Y871g8b3ijKGyHZi-KgtCmNbzuRyI/s320/img033.jpg" /></a> P.S. Briar asked for a remote control monster truck taller than his head. Not as emotionally charged, but certainly enough to strike fear in a mother's heart. How the HECK is Santa going to pull off Christmas????Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-27133173316351482892010-11-22T22:04:00.000-08:002010-11-22T22:05:50.180-08:00Daddy O - Frances England<iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Gic7z0y5F8Y?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe><br /><br />I know this song is supposed to be a happy and upbeat song.....but it makes me sob for my kiddos and all they`ve lost.Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-30859136053135005222010-11-22T16:01:00.001-08:002010-11-22T16:10:07.658-08:00how I can tell I'm getting old<ul><li>I loathe seeing snow on the forecast.</li><li>I don't carry tweezers in my purse purely for sliver removal anymore....Now it's to attack the strange beard hairs that are suddenly sprouting from my chin.</li><li>I had to explain the 'rules' of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pacman</span> to the babysitter while she played my vintage handheld game.</li><li>I feel more comfortable when I wear higher cut jeans....and I'm just fine with that.</li><li>I have finally realized that Lola in the Kink's song is a transvestite. Yes, that last line says "Lola is a man" but somehow this fact <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">eluded</span> me for all these years.</li><li>I don't have a Twitter account. But the local elementary does.</li></ul><p> </p>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27694675.post-69269902612803355362010-11-19T22:21:00.000-08:002010-11-29T21:15:54.708-08:00advancing Advent<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZSLghIhyphenhypheno8q9dD4hewALCzVylWPQASZy3DwuSINvkr8M13nsc-o_7Qk_6SMuac0hRQTCh6WaNUtASnT8kE5qfX1CEYihvwIlr8l9h-FIeU_PYmMu5eH1_qs19l1BctW96vA/s1600/calendar.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541514990513638306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZSLghIhyphenhypheno8q9dD4hewALCzVylWPQASZy3DwuSINvkr8M13nsc-o_7Qk_6SMuac0hRQTCh6WaNUtASnT8kE5qfX1CEYihvwIlr8l9h-FIeU_PYmMu5eH1_qs19l1BctW96vA/s320/calendar.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"> Photo from <a href="http://meds.queensu.ca/postgraduate/event_calendar">Queen's School of Medicine</a>....Don't know what the calendar has to do with med school, though....</span></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">We are beginning to gear up for December 1 and the beginning of our <a href="http://littlechandlerfamily.blogspot.com/2009/11/advent.html">Advent calendar</a>.<br />Although I despise the upselling in stores, the piped in carols in early November and the general consumerism involved in the Christmas holidays, I love the excitement of the kids, the coziness and craftiness of the season.<br />I resent the feeling that the standard seasons - Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter, have been replaced by Spring, Summer, Fall and Christmas.<br />This year, however, I am going to attempt to embrace and cherish the memories and yuletime feelings. I don't imagine that my kids have any appreciation for my grumblings over business-side of Christmas. I am sure they prefer to snuggle in front of the fire with hot chocolate whilst making popsicle stick snowflakes for family.<br />So wish me luck in my hunt for Christmas Spirit. I am a tried and true Grinch in need of a different perspective. But if my kids will benefit from it, I am willing to try....Just don't stand me in front of a Christmas light display while playing Jingle Bells over the loud speaker for a few weeks, please.....</div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13452150467051762515noreply@blogger.com4