tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26470516089231802562024-03-13T06:37:54.970-07:00TEAM DEBOERI'm Kali, the graphic designer. My husband Shawn is the teacher, Norman is the dopey basset, Maci Mae Mo is the apple from our tree and now Cletus the Fetus is the bun in the oven. The five of us compile to create Team DeBoer.Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.comBlogger323125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-85576867536019190582014-07-17T09:11:00.002-07:002014-07-17T09:11:26.629-07:00THREEMiss wise-beyond-her-years turned three on July 16th! More to come…
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-50531210950228093292014-07-17T09:09:00.000-07:002014-07-17T09:09:03.158-07:00ONEMiss happy-go-lucky was a year old on June 2nd! More to come…
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-90131524428298670932014-06-25T19:38:00.000-07:002014-06-25T19:40:45.203-07:00Kindness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
You may have seen this meme floating around Facebook lately:</div>
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Like most things on Facebook, I usually turn a blind eye but this one … this one hits close to home. </div>
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Last February was, by far, the toughest month of my entire existence. With the gift of hindsight, I can now lovingly label it the month of mortality but at the time, it was almost insufferable.</div>
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We were at Shawn's first follow-up appointment and had received the worst news possible. I had one question for the oncologist:</div>
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"So … just so … I'm not in denial … (tears, sobbing, gasps for breath) … he could die? This could be fatal?" </div>
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He answered:</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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Immediately I was lost. Having no guidebook for such situations I did the only thing I could think to do, what my instincts were telling me to do. I asked the doctor to give my husband and I a minute and then … I hugged him (my husband, not the doctor). I hugged and kissed him and sat on his lap and held his face in my hands and looked him in the eyes and promised him things would be fine. I wiped away his tears and tried to calm his fears and swore to myself I would never again take another minute of life for granted because it turns out, we are not, in fact, immortal. Guess I have been in denial this whole time.</div>
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It was a moment I try not to think about but one I will never forget.</div>
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Needless to say, the drive home that night and the days that followed were a blur of insomnia, crying, talking, thinking, hoping, planning, praying. I remember bits and pieces of what actually occurred but a lot of the details have thankfully left me. There's one tiny thing that hasn't though. One very vivid memory that I still can't manage to shake. An instance during this whole God-awful ordeal that brought me past the point of sanity.</div>
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It was Saturday, February 8th, shortly after 6pm. Shawn had had surgery the night prior and I was leaving the hospital for the first time in roughly 36 hours. I was heading to my Mom's to see the girls, nurse Ivy and put them both to bed. It was a guilt-ridden trip to the parking ramp because on the one hand, I didn't want to leave Shawn, but on the other, I wanted so strongly to see the girls. I felt like a walking zombie as I made my way to the spot where we'd tediously parked my Mom's Ford. It had taken us a couple tries to get it right because it is a (giant) full-sized truck that takes a tiny bit of finesse to park it in such tight quarters. (Not to mention our minds might have been a wee bit preoccupied.) In the end, after Shawn had gotten out and directed me perfectly between both lines, we felt confident we had done a good job. </div>
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Apparently someone else had thought we hadn't because after I drove the few levels down and was about to exit the ramp, I noticed something on the windshield, or rather under the windshield wipers. I pulled over to the side, jumped down and grabbed the foreign object only to find this staring back at me:</div>
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It felt like someone had punched me in the gut and all the air had forcefully left my lungs. Considering everything we had just been through, this should've been a blip on the radar, a non-event, a good laugh but instead, I felt completely the opposite. I felt shameful. I felt like I had done something wrong. I was physically exhausted, mentally numb and emotionally on the verge of breaking down. In the past week I had had to come to terms with the possibility of losing my husband and some asshole thought it was okay to leave this note on my windshield. MY windshield. At Mayo. Because, you know, people are usually at Mayo for happy, uplifting news and events. </div>
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I went back and forth between embarrassment and anger and eventually decided to just hide the note and keep the story to myself as a life lesson learned because up to this point, I was someone who would probably consider leaving such a note. (Maybe not as colorful and to the point, but still.) I was always finding myself annoyed with people, frustrated with strangers, raging at the road and overall being unkind when I thought the situation called for it. Long story short, I am no longer like this. I am, as they say, a changed person. In fact, I often think about the person who wrote this and what horrible place they must've been in to stoop to such an outlet. They obviously could have used some kindness in their life.</div>
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I now carry this note with me at all times as a reminder. A reminder of the events of February, that moment with my husband, the mortality of life and the patience with which we should live it.</div>
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-11236549709524405362014-06-15T19:27:00.000-07:002014-06-15T19:45:00.879-07:00Celebrating<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
From the youngest…</div>
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To the oldest…</div>
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These girls love a certain someone.<br />
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And I'm pretty crazy about him, too.<br />
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Happy Dad's Day, Mr. DeBoer! We are truly blessed…Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-66817037188226977442014-05-20T20:19:00.002-07:002014-05-20T20:21:46.192-07:00Nine Years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
For better or for worse … </div>
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…all the days of my life.</div>
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Happy Anniversary, Mr. DeBoer! </div>
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-79688199332830513842014-04-09T19:02:00.003-07:002014-04-09T19:02:34.196-07:00My DadIt seems everything happening in my life right now is culminating to make me miss Dad more then ever… if that's even possible.<br />
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Maybe because I'm a parent and there are so many things he did that I totally get now. Maybe because I have two girls and every time Shawn refers to them as "my girls," I picture Dad saying that to Mandi and I. Maybe because Mae Mo has a nasty cold right now and oddly the smell of Vicks always reminds me of Dad. I remember he'd always tell us to lay on our side and put the sheet up over our nose to breath in the vapors. It always helped us sleep.<br />
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Even little daily nuances or habits like opening the tops of the windows in the house. I do that constantly and he did it constantly. Or he would also always scratch the palm sides of his hands. When I was younger it seemed a bit odd because the insides of my hands never itched. Now they do. Now I know. When I play with Maci, I always lay on my back, put my legs and feet up in the air for her to lay on. Like I did when I was younger and Dad would lift up his legs until I was flying, Maci gets the biggest kick out of soaring and then inevitably, falling back into my arms.<br />
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Piano Man never seems to be played as much as it does in April. Or Spirit in the Sky. I had a bit of a dizzy spell at work last Thursday which initially I chalked up to low blood sugar. I went to the bathroom to steady myself a bit and the first chords of the most recognizable song started on the radio followed by Norman Greenbaum's voice. It was eerily comforting and I smiled at myself in the mirror thankful no one else was around to interrupt my moment. Then there's Jim Croce, CCR, Lobo…<br />
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It's funny, I'll graze through photos I have of Dad from time to time but it's very rare I hear his voice. Until recently. Tammy converted the home videos they had of us to DVD and then gifted them to us for Christmas. So when Sheena was up visiting for my birthday, we popped in a couple to watch. Aside from the fact that we were stellar awesome at all things (Ha!) one other thing stood out. There was Dad. He was on some of the videos. For some reason it sort of surprised me to see him. Then during one basketball game clip, I made a basket and his voice boomed on the screen, "Good job, Kali!" I cried. He loved watching us do just about anything and was always, always, always encouraging. And proud. I totally get it now.<br />
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I will never ever forget his voice. I will never forget his smile. Every time I can't sleep at night, I think of him. I've always battled insomnia and when I was younger, I would sheepishly go knock on his door, I'd hear him crawl out of bed and then we'd go to the living room and stretch. I didn't know it at the time but we would even do up-dog. I think Dad could have really gotten into yoga. Physically for sure (hello handstand), mentally maybe, spiritually … you never know. I like to think so.<br />
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With daylight savings time going on, Maci and Ivy go to bed when it's still pretty light. As we did with Maci, we've taken to draping Ivy's curtains with Dad's quilt to help keep the sun out. I like to think he gets a kick out of watching her sleep. She's pretty entertaining that one and she looks just like I did when I was a baby. He would have loved that. Then there's Maci. My first born. She's still rocking the crib but any day now we'll get to transition her to a big girl bed and I'm actually looking forward to it because it will be in a bed Grandpa Miller built. And I'll get to tell her that and show her that and then I'll get to tuck her into it every night, right before we say our prayers. The prayers Dad taught me to pray…<br />
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<i>Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. </i>Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-62320109637447893132014-02-14T13:47:00.000-08:002014-02-14T13:47:02.075-08:00A Team<i>I started this blog entry a few days before Shawn's first follow-up appointment at Mayo. Before the bottom dropped out. (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/shawndeboer) I was intending to tell the story of what's been going on in our lives lately, but I never got that far. Ironically, I think what little I have, is even better. </i><br />
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Children can be consuming. They absorb time, money, attention, space and especially love, en mass. And while they're earth-shatteringly amazing, it's equally important, I think, to remember how these tiny little creatures come to exist in the first place. In Team DeBoer's world, it reads a little something like this:<br />
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Boy meets girl…</div>
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girl ignores boy and pretends he doesn't exist…</div>
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girl then spends the next year chasing after boy until he finally agrees to go out with girl…</div>
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boy and girl date, then marry, then move to Minnesota…</div>
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boy and girl buy a house and a hound, and shortly thereafter, decide to pull the goalie…</div>
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after seven years of dating, six years of marriage and five-and-a-half years with just a dog…</div>
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a child is born. </div>
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It goes so well that just a short time later, another child is born and the rest, as the cliché goes, is history. </div>
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Shockingly simple. While my family's story can be cutely, albeit crudely, summed up in seven lines, it's important to emphasize how it all began: with a boy and a girl. Literally. Shawn and I were just kids when we started "going out." (That label always slayed me … going out. Out where? We couldn't even drive. Well, I could, but still. Where the hell were we going to go? Casey's General Store?) We've grown up together, we've endured a lot together, we love each other now more then ever and I can confidently say, we still genuinely like being around each other. It sounds like I'm surprised because sometimes I am and I even say so to Shawn. I think we're a bit of an anomaly and that makes me smile.<br />
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From being kids to having kids, one thing has been constant, we've been a team. A team of two…<br />
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**<br />
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<i>While I don't particularly care for Valentine's Day and all the hub-bub that follows in it's wake, I will honor it's existence in that I will take the time to say a few extra "I love yous" to Mr. DeBoer today. Today, tomorrow, the day after that and the day after that and so on and so on…</i><br />
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-65156370231994984832014-02-08T20:28:00.001-08:002014-02-08T20:33:19.052-08:00SistersRandom thoughts and a bath.<br />
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This child … I must come up with a nickname for her Hasidic-Jew-meets-Danny-Zuko-hairdo. I've never seen anything like it and it is <i>the</i> best.<br />
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Big sisters are so helpful. I don't remember what Maemo was saying here but I'm sure it was nothing short of reassuring. My heart literally swells every single time they interact. No matter the occasion, Maci plays the quintessential older sister and Ivy the adoring, smiley younger sister. It is pure entertainment just to observe.<br />
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Especially when things like this happen…<br />
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"X" marks the Ivy.<br />
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Sometimes I swear they're almost the same size, which bodes well for their relationship. It will be interesting to see where they end up. Maci has sprouted like a weed recently but she's still pretty petite. Ivy is anything but petite. <br />
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Attack of the sasquatch! <br />
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The end. :)Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-6701610516034415372014-02-01T20:41:00.000-08:002014-02-01T20:46:07.077-08:00ChristmasThat foofy Valentine's Day is a comin' which means it's time to recap Christmas.
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This year, for the first time, we went to <a href="http://www.lightsinthepark.org/" target="_blank">Lights in the Park</a>: "St. Paul’s Phalen Park is transformed into a fantasy of lights and color. More than 50 larger-than-life holiday sculptures and animated displays bring the season to life." Basically for 10 bucks, we got to experience the likes of the Hollidazzle parade from the warmth of our SUV. We even let Maci bounce from her car seat up to sit on my lap, front and center. We took our time, listened to the CD of local artists we bought at the gate and took turns naming our favorite displays. Maci was delighted and it was priceless just to watch her reactions. We were able to capture some on video, however, the best photo we got was with our iPhone, behind the windshield. It's not much but it's something to remember the experience by … although it's definitely something we'll do again, especially because I'm pretty sure Ivy schnoozed through the entire thing.<br />
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Next up was the girls' school Christmas concert. I managed to record almost the entire show on my DSLR, until the battery died, literally moments before Santa handed Maci her present. #parentfail In any case, as one might guess, the concert was <i>the</i> cutest thing! I'm pretty sure neither of them sang, but what does it matter when you have reindeer antlers and/or furry white boots? Again with the iPhone photo…<br />
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Then, of course, there was the visit with the big guy. It needs no explanation. In this case, the picture is worth every one of it's 1,000 words. Yin and yang.</div>
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I'm pretty sure this doesn't follow chronologically but somewhere along the lines, as is the tradition in our house, we ventured out for the DeBoer family Christmas tree! (I mentally picture Chevy Chase each and every single time I say that.) It was the coldest day we had had up to that point and our moments outside were bundled up and brief. This year Maci Mae picked out the tree and the hubby cut it down. While the awesome volunteers of <a href="http://www.cutyourown.com/" target="_blank">Hampton Hills Tree Farm</a> shook, wrapped, hoisted and tied down the small but mighty pine, Shawn took Maci to check out Santa, his sleigh and his, um … mules. (The reindeer must've had the day off.) Her feelings against Santa held strong but as per usual, she was enamored with the "horses." It's pretty much what she talked about the whole way home.<br />
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That night we got the bad boy up in the house but I believe it wasn't until the following weekend that we actually had time to decorate it. This being Maci's first year helping we weren't sure what she'd think but we knew she was big and bad into an "I do!" phase so we figured, at the least, she'd adapt. And adapt she did – she was a pro and was very proud of herself every time she hung an ornament, right beside each other. It very vividly reminded me of one of the first times Ty helped decorate the family tree when I was growing up and after he hung red ball by red ball by red ball, Dad took a picture and told the rest of us we were not to move them or rearrange them in any way because that's where Ty wanted them so that's where they were going to stay. It took some strength to shut off the OCD in me (then and now) but I left every single one where she put it because that's where she wanted them so that's where they were going to stay. And it did nothing but make me smile. In the end, we had the cutest darn tree you ever did see with the cutest ornament clusters this side of Ruggles. I can only imagine what another year and another little helper will bring…<br />
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Christmas Eve rolled around and while we had hoped to take the girls sledding, like we did with Maci last year, it was just too darn cold. We did get in some Grinch-watching and present-opening though so it wasn't completely without it's tradition. After the girls discovered their Christmas jammies, we fancied up and headed to church. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, we did not get a photo of the girls in their outfits so I'll just have to record it here: they both wore grey sweater dresses with pink stockings. No, they were not identical … but they did coordinate. My favorite part about this service was and always is when we sing Silent Night. There is something simply magical about a mass of people, faces lit only by candlelight, singing in unison and at the end, a cappella. Without fail, it always leaves me in tears. Good tears … <br />
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I know the photo above is blurry but Maci's expression is spot-on. And while the eldest Obi-Wan went the conventional route of opening, our youngest Jedi was apparently just banking on the force … of her gaze. And you can't see it but she dawned her Star Wars onesie just for the occasion.<br />
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Christmas morning! The girls were up, like clockwork, around 6am and we groggily made our way to the living room and the chaos that was Kris Kringle's visit. There were half-eaten cookies, empty glasses of milk, stockings full of stuffers, an art easel, a sled, a tunnel, a tent … it was awesome madness. We slowly but surely made our way through Santa's gifts and to the beautifully wrapped boxes under the tree. Even though this was the first year we feared fairness, the only little comment Maci made was declaring (not necessarily negatively) that Ivy was opening a big box and she was opening a little box. She claimed everything as hers anyway and Ivy enjoyed the wrapping paper more then anything else so it all worked out in the end.<br />
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It was a very relaxed day as we had plans to go absolutely no where. We watched some Toy Story (for Mr. Potato Head context of course), napped, ate, played games with Gma and Papa and really soaked in the complete and utter lack of a schedule. Nothing like a fireplace, family and fuzzy jammies to help you celebrate your first Christmas as a family of four!</div>
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-24045769403085251542014-01-03T18:36:00.000-08:002014-01-03T18:48:44.571-08:00Someday…<br />
…my house will be clean again.<br />
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…laundry will not contain garments soiled in bodily fluids.<br />
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…I'll be able to stay up later then 9pm and sleep in later then 6am.<br />
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…we'll have "fun money" again.<br />
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…I'll have more clothes that don't have holes then do.<br />
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…we'll have more then five minutes to eat.<br />
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…I'll get the trim of those last two windows painted.<br />
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…we'll finish that basement.<br />
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…the girls' imagination will occupy them for hours at a time.<br />
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…I'll have time to exercise.<br />
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…we'll create those photo books.<br />
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…I'll learn to operate my camera to it's fullest potential.<br />
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…we'll pay off those student loans.<br />
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…I won't have to time anything around an electric pump.<br />
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…the girls will be able to do their own hair.<br />
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…I'll get through all those Real Simple magazines.<br />
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…everyone in our house will sleep through the night.<br />
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…everyone in our house will be healthy at the same time.<br />
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…I'll blog more often.<br />
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But for now, for now I'll enjoy these people. Two tiny people I kinda really love, ironically created by two not-so-tiny people I kinda really dig as well.<br />
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-69114712010622917212013-11-15T19:24:00.000-08:002013-12-03T08:38:54.523-08:00October<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's almost Thanksgiving, so let's talk about Halloween.</div>
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First, there was Team DeBoer's annual trip to Axdahl's Garden Farms outside Stillwater, MN. (You can reminisce about our previous visits <a href="http://teamdeboer.blogspot.com/2011/10/pumpkins.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://teamdeboer.blogspot.com/2012/11/autumn.html" target="_blank">here</a>.) There, we watched a movie, in a silo, sitting on some hay bales…</div>
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…and revisited the giant wooden porch swing.</div>
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We posed in front of the corn maze sign although said maze didn't actually exist this year…</div>
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…and in front of the pumpkin display that was, for some reason, sans the Beetle.<br />
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This is where we captured a picture with my favorite caption to date: "I once caught an Ivy, <i>this</i> <i>big</i>!"<br />
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Sasquatch and her gourd…<br />
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…and Mama and her Maci.<br />
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We spotted some hot air balloons…<br />
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…and stared and stared in wonder.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">Daddy and his girls in front of da barn.</span><br />
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Team DeBoer, take one.<br />
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Team DeBoer, take two.<br />
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Next came the painting of the pumpkin. <i>The</i> as in singular. As in non-plural. As in even though we came home with four pumpkins, one for each DeBoer, we were left with only one to paint after some asshole stole the other three. That's right, someone stole our pumpkins; mine, Maci's, that she picked out all by herself, and baby Ivy's. When Maci innocently asked what happened to her pumpkin, I had to quiet the profanity in my brain long enough to tell her that someone must have taken them because sometimes people just do things that aren't very nice but that it was okay because we still had Daddy's pumpkin to share, to which she replied, "I like Daddy's pumpkin!" <br />
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After taping off the letter, "D," Maci and I went to town.<br />
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We were very thorough…<br />
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…and quite proud of our painting.<br />
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Tape removal was left up to moi…<br />
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…and when I asked Maci what the "D" stood for she said, "DADDY!"<br />
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Finally, there was Halloween, costumes, trick-or-trunking at school and trick-or-treating at home. Mae Mo did great this year and really got into the ritual. Even more, she really got into the candy and especially enjoyed her some chocolate. (Apple of my eye that one.) Even though we eventually cut her off, we're pretty sure she still vibrated to bed. I'm biased but these two are cute as a bug's butt.<br />
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Speaking of butts, this is apparently what a ladybug's looks like…</div>
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…and, of course, no bumblebee is complete without her stinger. </div>
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The end. Pun intended.<br />
<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-37494013580955934752013-11-05T19:14:00.001-08:002013-11-05T19:15:25.464-08:00Wordless<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-13024267451146055562013-10-25T10:45:00.001-07:002013-10-25T13:50:56.998-07:00ParenthoodAn old coworker of mine used to say, you can't hit a home run everyday. I now consider this an understatement. In fact, it's become my unofficial Mom-mantra. Continuing with the baseball analogy, lately I feel I could be happy with an intentional walk. Sacrifice fly? Hit by pitch? Oh, I like that one. It's completely and metaphorically accurate. The quick but intense bout of pain I would have to endure to get on base rings all too true of the quick but intense bouts of pain I endure to get to the end of a day. In other words, parenting seems to have gotten exponentially harder. And not because of my 4-month-old baby, mind you, but thanks to my 2-year-old toddler.<br />
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Issue #1: I am not a patient person and there is nothing you need more as a parent of a toddler then patience. Well, that and a sense of humor. That way by melodramatic meltdown number 83, over something like socks, you have the wherewithal to just start laughing … quietly and to yourself of course. Along the same lines, I don't deal well with lots of loud noises.<br />
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Unfortunately, my combination of kids and extrovert husband make this impossible to avoid. When things get loud, my stress increases and when Shawn gets stressed, he just gets loud. (While opposites attract in matters of love and marriage, they are a real bitch when babies are crying.)<br />
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Issue #2: Gone are the days where my sole responsibility was merely keeping my child alive. Now I have to parent and discipline … and <i>teach</i>. A teacher I am NOT. And my toddler is already entirely too smart. All parents say that about their kids so I'm not going to elaborate but trust me. The things she says sometimes… Recently I told Shawn I feel like I spend most of my days trying to outsmart a 2-year-old. Combined with my recent bouts of <a href="http://www.teamdeboer.blogspot.com/2013/09/mama-brain.html" target="_blank">Mama Brain</a>, this is not done with any semblance of confidence. Which leads me to my next point.<br />
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Issue #3: Thanks in part to my analytical brain and in part to things I've read, I often strive towards an illogical, overly idyllic realty. So-called storybook expectations do nothing but set me up for failure because I'm aiming for perfection and nothing in life or parenthood is perfect. Raising kids, is, hard! EXCLAMATION POINT. Because I'm new at this, I'm constantly evaluating, constantly reflecting and I don't necessarily trust my reactions and instincts. Yet. This, of course, does me zero good and in fact, only leaves me exhausted. Enter issue #4…<br />
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Issue #4: Both myself and my toddler are sleep deprived most of the week and sleep is of the essence to achieving patience. (It's the obligatory viscous cycle.) Lately she's taken to only napping for an hour or so at school so by the time I pick her up, odds are, she's a hot mess. Our ride home can either be extremely entertaining or downright brutal. She'll either happily ask her black sheep over and over and over if they have any wool, or I will get to listen to her wail about wanting something to drink, not wanting what I gave her to drink, not wanting the glass I gave her that something to drink in, not wanting the color of the glass that I gave her that something to drink in…<br />
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(Clenched fists, pinched eyes … don't relive it, don't relive it, don't relive it.)<br />
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Now, these are not revolutionary observations, obviously. This is not ground-breaking stuff. It's not brain science or rocket surgery. It's not new … it's just new to me. It's the current debacle I find myself in. Well, that and praying my daughter only educates a small number of people about a girls' vagina or a boys' penis, or doesn't necessarily want to see the contents of her diaper on a particularly poopy day, or doesn't need a Kleenex to catch the Nebraska-size-mucus dripping from her nose. Yeah, we keep it classy.<br />
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Seriously though, I struggle. I struggle because again, I'm new to all of this and like any self-proclaimed Type A, OCD, overachieving, people-pleasing, control freak, I want to do it "right." I now know this isn't possible. I've really known all along but find myself needing a reminder every now and again. I've very quickly learned there's no "right" way to do anything, especially when it comes to parenting. There's just the best-intented way. That and a lot of hope, faith, trust, confidence and camaraderie.<br />
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Camaraderie is what's helped pull me out of the idealized waters I was wading in. To each their own of course but to me, I can no longer take those that publish their lives only focused and reporting on the good. Don't misunderstand, I secretly worship these people. They, and their optimism, are a rare breed and I believe them to be some of the most authentically happy people in the world. They are just not me. (Hi Captain Obvious! Hi Celexa! Hi New Belguim!) I need someone to tell me how a small, microscopic part of them didn't necessarily "like" their child last Tuesday. I need someone to confide that they, too, sometimes have the impulse to chuck their children across the room. I need someone to say out loud that the favorite part of a particular day was when their kids we're all tucked away in bed. Along with all the heart-expanding good moments and my immeasurable amounts of love for my kids, I need some cynicism and wit. Like Carrie Bradshaw once said, "I need my relationship [with my daughters] with a little bit of milk." I can't do happy all the time because things aren't happy all the time.<br />
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It's like this episode of Desperate Housewives where Lynette ends up taking her kids ADD medicine to keep up and by the end of the episode she crashes and breaks down in front of the other moms on the block, only to learn that they've all been through it. Her response, through eventual tears, is to request that moms talk about the hard stuff, too. Because it is hard and instead of constantly feeling like other Moms, other parents, are always doing it better—keeping it together, not complaining, relishing in all the joys—I need to know I'm not alone, it is okay, it is hard, it will get better and it does not and will not have any reflection on my love for my family.<br />
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You know what else helps? Fucking funny blogs. Like this gem another coworker helped me discover: <a href="http://www.askyourdadblog.com/" target="_blank">Ask Your Dad Blog</a><br />
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He's genuine, he's sensitive, he talks about the hard times and even better, <a href="http://www.askyourdadblog.com/2013/10/talking-to-poop.html" target="_blank">he talks to his kid's poop</a>. LOVE. IT. Give it a read, go smooch your chitlins, open that bottle of beer and just be darn proud that you made it through another day of the hardest, but best time of your life. You may not hit a home run today, but it's a mighty fine privilege just to suit up and be a part of the team.<br />
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P.S. I'm a good Mama. You're a good Mama. About time we tell each other! <a href="http://www.kveller.com/blog/parenting/tell-a-friend-you-are-a-good-mama/" target="_blank">Tell a Friend: You Are a Good Mama</a><br />
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-19859947900281248542013-09-10T12:04:00.000-07:002013-09-10T12:05:25.950-07:00Team CamoIn honor of <a href="http://www.take5tosavelives.org/" target="_blank">World Suicide Prevention Day</a>, let me tell you about a little ol' event we participated in exactly one month ago.<br />
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(See, my procrastination with this post lead me to be able to link it with such an important effort. Laziness really does pay off!)<br />
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For the second year in a row, Team DeBoer became Team Camo for SAVE's Emotion in Motion 5K Run/Walk for Mental Health. While the husband and our eldest ran the route, myself and our youngest got to walk. And because we walked, Norman got to walk too. Our family of five helped raise much-needed funds for <a href="http://www.save.org/" target="_blank">SAVE</a>, we helped raise awareness about mental health and it's link to suicide, and most importantly, we honored the memory of one Grandpa Mark Miller. A Grandpa my kids never got to meet. A man whose death was untimely and unexpected and therefore must be remembered. A Dad who I think of and miss absolutely every, single, day.<br />
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Again this year, the weather was perfect and the surroundings were beautiful. The air was crisp but with the help and heat of the sun, conditions could not have been better. Lake Harriet really is a sight to be seen for such an event. Shawn and Maci took off on the run roughly 15 minutes before Ivy, Norman and myself headed out for the walk. As was our plan of attack, we hung out at the back of the walking pack so that when Shawn and Maci were done, they could keep going and catch back up with us. It took a wee bit o' effort by Mr. DeBoer, but the hubby pulled through and found us about halfway through our lap. Crossing the finish line as one family, we all received our yellow roses and spent the rest of the morning relaxing, eating, taking pictures and just watching. It was a great day.<br />
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Miss Ivy amid her morning nap.</div>
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Miss Maci amid her silliness. </div>
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And they're off!</div>
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Ma familia.</div>
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Norman was pooped. So Mae Mo pounced.</div>
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The newest chitlin to dawn the camo.</div>
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Like daddy, like daughter.</div>
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Mama and my girls (and unequivocally my favorite photo).</div>
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Until next year…<br />
<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-33823270482378303572013-09-04T14:44:00.003-07:002013-09-04T14:46:45.573-07:00Mama BrainDude, it's back.<br />
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Shawn and I went to see The Butler a couple weeks ago and while we were discussing it afterwards, I lovingly referred to a scene as Reagan's pregnancy.<br />
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A couple days later we were having goulash for super and I asked Shawn for a sheet of bread. Not surprisingly, Shawn knew what I meant and handed over a slice.<br />
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We were asked over and over at the Minnesota fair recently how old Ivy was. I kept saying three and a half months. I got her three month update from BabyCenter yesterday.<br />
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Shawn and I went to do some "filler" grocery shopping this past weekend for fruit and snacks and stuff. I came home and put two boxes of granola bars away only to find three others that were already there.<br />
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Shawn, Maci, Ivy and even Norman, are all interchangeable names at my house. I even pulled out a Peg the other day when referring to our neighbor's house. Peg hasn't lived there for at least three years.<br />
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I sat at a green light for an absurd amount of time before remembering it meant go. What's more absurd? Not one single honk from the slew of cars behind me.<br />
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(Oh yeah, and it's not just me this time around)<br />
Shawn loaded up the Tribute with bags, babies and a basset, had it running and was ready to back out of the driveway when I asked him if he thought we should move the Camry out from behind the Tribute first.<br />
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Finally, I posted a photo from a fabulous 5K we did back in August with the promise of more to come. I have yet to post any such "more."<br />
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-26835905656670619732013-08-10T12:37:00.003-07:002013-08-10T12:37:44.358-07:00Wordless<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
…except to say, it was a great day. More to come.</div>
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-10735712447747796622013-08-02T12:43:00.001-07:002013-08-03T07:12:22.451-07:00DaycareWhen I was pregnant with Maci, I loathed the thought of having to look for daycare. Originally from Iowa, I didn't have a reservoir of resources at my disposal for this great Minnesota metropolis and I had no idea even where to start. The task of finding a complete stranger and asking them to take care of our baby seemed more daunting to me then even the actual birth of said baby. How on earth do you begin to go about finding such a place? A mecca of motherhood if you will. A place you put 100% trust and faith in. A place you have complete confidence will treat and love your newborn just as much as you do. A place that is not only inviting and entertaining, but above all, safe and secure. A place ran by a person that you feel comfortable, for all intents and purposes, having help raise your child. As with most great stories, my answer was pure, dumb coincidence and a little bit of luck.<br />
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I happen to be working with Miss Bree at the big bad B(olger) when she decided to quit her job and open a daycare … just in time for us to need one. I might have made a phone call or two to inquire about other possibilities but in the back of my mind, I knew nothing was going to be an easier decision. Sure, she was just starting and didn't have any references or even a license yet. Sure, she was still in the process of getting all the facilities up to par. And sure, she was way, way, WAY out of the way from our house or work (stupid Interstate 94), but honestly, knowing we'd know who was watching our first born was priceless to us. What they say is true: You cannot put a price on peace of mind. Especially when it comes to your children.<br />
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So Maci Mae started going to Bree's when she was just eight weeks old. And she's been going there ever since. Until today. Today is her last day at <a href="http://owltreedaycare.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Owl Tree Daycare</a>. Due to circumstances beyond Team DeBoer's control, daycare is closing and Bree is actually moving clear across the country (to <i>stupid</i> California). While I truly am excited for her and her family and am trying to focus on the fact that our "village" is just expanding, I'm also heartbroken. For my Maci especially.<br />
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(I will NOT cry. Dammit. I put on mascara today!)<br />
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A big part of what Maci knows is changing and even though she may not even remember this time in her life, Shawn and I sure will as we are forever and undoubtedly in debt to Bree. She not only loved our first born as her own for two years, she basically helped turn her into the little person she is today. She taught her how to nap and follow a schedule, she introduced us to pouches and (fucking) Matilda Jane, she coined the "Mae Mo" and "nu nu" nicknames, she helped bring music pageants, movie nights and "tootats" into our lives, she took on cloth diapers (voluntarily) and she's been there for every other step in Maci's life so far: the sitting, crawling and standing; the walking and talking; the fevers, pink-eyes and teething; the sass, tantrums and screaming; the bruises, band-aids and bug bites; and the smiles, giggles and belly-laughs. Second only to her parents, no one else knows Maci Mae better. And for that we are forever grateful.<br />
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(Okay, I give. Someone get me a tissue. Or better yet, a beer.)<br />
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I literally could go on and on and on and on but suffice it to say, Bree is irreplaceable and everyone in this house is going to miss her (and her daycare) terribly. To that end, we will also miss the chats, emails, texts, phone calls, invites, get-togethers, field trips, blogs and especially the photos we've been receiving on a near daily basis for the past two years, those of which started with the following:<br />
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And finally, we MUST acknowledge and say a ginormous thank you to the entire Owl Tree Daycare "team": KK (Kirsten), Papa (Bill), Nana (Barb), Allison, Blythe and every other happy helper we've had along the way. Even Sir Gus and Miss Lola. Good luck Team Bielejeski! We'll see you again soon!Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-85397805721236313642013-07-23T19:05:00.002-07:002013-07-23T19:07:17.878-07:00BodiddlyToday, instead of doing the dishes, I chatted with my amazing neighbor and friend, <a href="http://journeon.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Sara</a>.<br />
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Instead of folding the laundry, I went for a really, really, really long walk with my second born.</div>
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Instead of searching for yet, another daycare center to tour, I sat in my chair and put my feet up.</div>
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Instead of eating an apple, I ate lots and lots and lots of cookies. </div>
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Okay, I do that anyway, but what I'm trying to say is today … today was a good day.</div>
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The sky was blue, nary a cloud in the sky. The sun was warm, the humidity was low. And even though there was (and always is) a gagillion things I should do, I did absolutely nothing. I accomplished squat, zero, zilch. Bodiddly. It was fantastic. The only thing that could have made it better was if one of my books on reserve at the library had come in. I need a new read dammit!</div>
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Now enjoy this completely random picture I took months ago. The juxtaposition of Daddy's hand to Maci's is simply endearing. Since apparently I'm such a softy these days… </div>
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-31702060122467952372013-07-16T10:22:00.001-07:002013-07-16T10:22:13.904-07:00Mae MoTwo years ago today, at 7:49am, into the world came the great Maci Mae Mo. Ever since, Team DeBoer's lives have never been the same. And we can't imagine it any other way.<br />
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Miss Maci is shy at first (like Mama) but quick to entertain once she's comfortable (like Daddy). She has <i>the</i> most beautiful, anime-esque blue eyes (like Daddy) and the greatest gappy smile (like Mama). She has turned into quite the little fish (like Mama) and never turns down a chance at a thrill ride (like Daddy). All comparisons aside, Maci Mae is one of a kind. She is the smartest little shit, rattling off her ABCs, every color of the rainbow, counting to 10, naming all parts of her anatomy (and I mean ALL parts) and identifying every vehicle you'll see on the streets of the cities. Also, and I'm not exaggerating, she has the vision of a seasoned sniper. She will see a plane, train or bird at 500 yards and point it out to you. She loves animals, bubbles, "tootats" and pizza and hates garbage trucks, vegetables, insect bites and dirt. We don't know when our first born turned into the toting toddler she is, but it's exciting, albeit educational, to see her personality explode!<br />
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Happy 2nd Birthday Maci Mae DeBoer! May this year be your best yet and may that hair continue to get bigger and better!<br />
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Now please enjoy the following photos whilst I go weep…<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matilda Jane model.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sledding (snow optional).</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peek…</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only "ride" you'll get Mama on: a small slide.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving Miss Mae Mo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The (fake) pout.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good locks must run in the family.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foreshadowing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saving some crackers for later…</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SxxURZfZcfo/UeV0vQkRX_I/AAAAAAAACzc/_dVeFXtvqKY/s1600/P7037773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SxxURZfZcfo/UeV0vQkRX_I/AAAAAAAACzc/_dVeFXtvqKY/s400/P7037773.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two peas in a pod.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1RW6x0TyG1U/UeV0k7XlWEI/AAAAAAAACzU/uZwXOIq9v1c/s1600/P7037784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1RW6x0TyG1U/UeV0k7XlWEI/AAAAAAAACzU/uZwXOIq9v1c/s400/P7037784.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Again with the crackers?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A1T8hITPcHQ/UeV0j9GswwI/AAAAAAAACzM/dmIenVURgEc/s1600/P7037807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A1T8hITPcHQ/UeV0j9GswwI/AAAAAAAACzM/dmIenVURgEc/s400/P7037807.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miss stoic, HA!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2V-TJ1DZnM0/UeV04GDlBVI/AAAAAAAACzk/FsiwS3Jvrbo/s1600/P7047830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2V-TJ1DZnM0/UeV04GDlBVI/AAAAAAAACzk/FsiwS3Jvrbo/s400/P7047830.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Incoming!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UuU29bNlB4/UeVzcTv5O9I/AAAAAAAACx8/81l7zqz4W5Q/s1600/P6137455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UuU29bNlB4/UeVzcTv5O9I/AAAAAAAACx8/81l7zqz4W5Q/s400/P6137455.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watch out Mr. Phelps!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GMnlQc5OvBE/UeV057H831I/AAAAAAAACzs/yj1QFAK8_aA/s1600/P7057851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GMnlQc5OvBE/UeV057H831I/AAAAAAAACzs/yj1QFAK8_aA/s400/P7057851.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Umm, yeah … we'll talk about this when you're older.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tQb3PESs5DI/UeV0-d2dK-I/AAAAAAAACz0/KMQUcXEQIAI/s1600/P7057864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tQb3PESs5DI/UeV0-d2dK-I/AAAAAAAACz0/KMQUcXEQIAI/s400/P7057864.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Air DeBoer!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K49aEah6ASc/UeV1Gj9IesI/AAAAAAAACz8/gFdt4SyMtjM/s1600/P7057882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K49aEah6ASc/UeV1Gj9IesI/AAAAAAAACz8/gFdt4SyMtjM/s400/P7057882.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spy…</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TzJGeYFu2hA/UeVz-RGpqbI/AAAAAAAACys/55en0sP35vw/s1600/P6207601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TzJGeYFu2hA/UeVz-RGpqbI/AAAAAAAACys/55en0sP35vw/s400/P6207601.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zee hair, el naturale.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0QOmmbJci0k/UeVzeMERKaI/AAAAAAAACyM/JPUIr7yb9HY/s1600/P6107341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0QOmmbJci0k/UeVzeMERKaI/AAAAAAAACyM/JPUIr7yb9HY/s400/P6107341.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Maci</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-7516716565871389592013-07-10T19:19:00.000-07:002013-07-10T19:23:55.510-07:00Baby IvyBaby Ivy, as Mae Mo likes to refer to her, is pushing six weeks old so it's high time I bombard the blogging world with a little o'photo montage. Before that though, you need to know the following:<br />
<br />
Ivy is a cool, calm and collected customer until she gets hungry, at which point, she then turns into a pterodactyl. (Side note: Did you know pterodactyl started with a P?!)<br />
<br />
She always, always burps twice after nursing and has therefore earned the nickname "two-burps-McGee" from her Mama.<br />
<br />
Between the hours of 5-8am, she can be found beside our bed in her bassinet, grunting. To that end, she is the gassiest baby I have ever met and her plumbing is top notch.<br />
<br />
She is the perfect addition to our family. To quote the cliché, it's like she's always been here. She just … fits.<br />
<br />
She has a sister that luh-uves to kiss and hug (and pull and prod) her and is quite the eager beaver when it comes to helping take care of her. I completely expect them to be BFFs in the near future, you know, as long as Maci doesn't squish her before then.<br />
<br />
Finally, we lovingly refer to her as a big pig. Her stats will explain why and for fun, I've included her "big" sisters for comparison. Ha!<br />
<br />
Maci Newborn<br />
Weight: 6# (10%)<br />
Height: 19.5" (50%)<br />
Head: 13.25" (25%)<br />
<br />
Ivy Newborn<br />
Weight: 8#8oz (90%)<br />
Height: 21.5" (>98%)<br />
Head: 14.25" (96%)<br />
<br />
Maci 1-Month<br />
Weight: 9#1oz (50%)<br />
Height: 21" (50%)<br />
Head: 14.5" (50%)<br />
<br />
Ivy 1-Month<br />
Weight: 10#12oz (90%)<br />
Height: 22" (90%)<br />
Head: 15.25" (93%)<br />
<br />
And now, without further adieu, zee photo montage.<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-itpwN-t5phk/UdmtWZ8FTyI/AAAAAAAACvE/XlvhSfTib80/s1600/P6047292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-itpwN-t5phk/UdmtWZ8FTyI/AAAAAAAACvE/XlvhSfTib80/s400/P6047292.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping Beauty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5KCFDPqzgEg/UdmtbB4U6_I/AAAAAAAACvM/FSmhaci9mGc/s1600/P6067298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5KCFDPqzgEg/UdmtbB4U6_I/AAAAAAAACvM/FSmhaci9mGc/s400/P6067298.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-Bath Numero Uno</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6GtzfEHr-BM/Udmtks1yW6I/AAAAAAAACvU/qv3JkRYn3G0/s1600/P6067308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6GtzfEHr-BM/Udmtks1yW6I/AAAAAAAACvU/qv3JkRYn3G0/s400/P6067308.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Story Time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mIcPgvgcXcc/UdmtqZTopwI/AAAAAAAACvc/UpfFwGLxb5k/s1600/P6087322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mIcPgvgcXcc/UdmtqZTopwI/AAAAAAAACvc/UpfFwGLxb5k/s400/P6087322.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Touchdown Gophers!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xzg72k8TTqI/UdmtyDD0WII/AAAAAAAACvk/dCcGLqytQtI/s1600/P6107382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xzg72k8TTqI/UdmtyDD0WII/AAAAAAAACvk/dCcGLqytQtI/s400/P6107382.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping Banana</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FLeQVETmW8s/UdmuDiIwpaI/AAAAAAAACv0/oZunmbMQQp8/s1600/P6117401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FLeQVETmW8s/UdmuDiIwpaI/AAAAAAAACv0/oZunmbMQQp8/s400/P6117401.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oooooohhhhh buddy!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RiSlNiU-NIY/UdmuE_rNDYI/AAAAAAAACv8/_GDkvWuWubk/s1600/P6157506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RiSlNiU-NIY/UdmuE_rNDYI/AAAAAAAACv8/_GDkvWuWubk/s400/P6157506.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A day in the park.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This is what happens when Dad doesn't comb her hair after a bath:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YuJh4OOhygM/Udmt4xAkTiI/AAAAAAAACvs/ARbIkovHD2I/s1600/P6157599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YuJh4OOhygM/Udmt4xAkTiI/AAAAAAAACvs/ARbIkovHD2I/s400/P6157599.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bed Head</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R4rjAtQlYjk/UdmuKtkOLLI/AAAAAAAACwE/3zyxKpNuUFM/s1600/P6207606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R4rjAtQlYjk/UdmuKtkOLLI/AAAAAAAACwE/3zyxKpNuUFM/s400/P6207606.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schnoozing … again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XRcDL6VyXK8/UdmudOkVo4I/AAAAAAAACwc/KrGvmaoq4uo/s1600/P6227609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XRcDL6VyXK8/UdmudOkVo4I/AAAAAAAACwc/KrGvmaoq4uo/s400/P6227609.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tummy Time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DEWrM9TLFVU/UdmuWLPA3xI/AAAAAAAACwM/WnpSl-x2aSs/s1600/P6227619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DEWrM9TLFVU/UdmuWLPA3xI/AAAAAAAACwM/WnpSl-x2aSs/s400/P6227619.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Single-fistin' it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JrRYiMlvTw4/UdmucPurINI/AAAAAAAACwU/8wXzeM2UBDo/s1600/P6247621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JrRYiMlvTw4/UdmucPurINI/AAAAAAAACwU/8wXzeM2UBDo/s400/P6247621.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Chipotle Carnitas Burrito</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nm9mAgZPA-k/UdmukCItf6I/AAAAAAAACwk/bL9-ZkntMPw/s1600/P6247628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nm9mAgZPA-k/UdmukCItf6I/AAAAAAAACwk/bL9-ZkntMPw/s400/P6247628.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zoom View</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--KqIc-kVSQY/UdmuweiSTOI/AAAAAAAACws/yEwA3JAbR3o/s1600/P6257642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--KqIc-kVSQY/UdmuweiSTOI/AAAAAAAACws/yEwA3JAbR3o/s400/P6257642.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello Gorgeous</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fYFCrInDH30/UdmvCTurvdI/AAAAAAAACxE/spMCXHG2NIg/s1600/P6257647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fYFCrInDH30/UdmvCTurvdI/AAAAAAAACxE/spMCXHG2NIg/s400/P6257647.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aerial View</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ih9cP67jGSM/Udmu-zhRVZI/AAAAAAAACw8/nuM6ee2ld8k/s1600/P6257648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ih9cP67jGSM/Udmu-zhRVZI/AAAAAAAACw8/nuM6ee2ld8k/s400/P6257648.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Booty View</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We took the girls (SO weird to say that) to Minnehaha Falls a couple weekends ago and after hoofing it down the hundreds of stairs to the bottom of the falls, Maci, on her own accord, walked right over to Ivy's seat, pointed and said, "Look Ivy, waterfall!" (And then my heart melted.)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pka-f20VLL0/Udmu8ldMsMI/AAAAAAAACw0/TvV3CQ9WqI0/s1600/P6297720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pka-f20VLL0/Udmu8ldMsMI/AAAAAAAACw0/TvV3CQ9WqI0/s400/P6297720.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfall Watching</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T3rG929Yb9Q/UdmvO1lKgiI/AAAAAAAACxU/lPuabfpIXmA/s1600/P7037776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T3rG929Yb9Q/UdmvO1lKgiI/AAAAAAAACxU/lPuabfpIXmA/s400/P7037776.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First 4th of July parade … clearly entertained.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Last weekend Daddy took Maci for a 5K run around Como. To show support, Ivy and I hung out lake-side. We read, we talked, we chillaxed.<br />
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The weekend the power went out, we spent a LOT of time in the car traveling to this place and that, this restaurant and that restaurant. It was a loooooong, tiresome time but it wasn't without it's moments of peace … and quiet. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Car Cat Nappin'</td></tr>
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-52972517501741314992013-06-26T09:03:00.001-07:002013-06-26T18:24:11.517-07:00Childbirth<i>Be warned, I'm not shy with specifics.</i><br />
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After an epically long winter and a very uncomfortable pregnancy, I was more then ready to head to the hospital Saturday, June 1st, at approximately 11pm, when I suspected I may be leaking amniotic fluid. Because Maci was two weeks early, I felt long overdue at one day shy of 40 weeks and was ready to get the party started.<br />
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Let me back up just a bit first…<br />
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<i>Technically</i>, things started the previous Tuesday when I awoke to a noticeably lower baby (think bowling ball sitting on your lap) and mild, but irregular and uncomfortable contractions. They lasted the week and often made me wonder whether or not it was the real deal. It wasn't. Thursday I had my regular weekly checkup where I learned I was 2-3cm dilated, baby's head was "engaged," and that my doctor would be stripping my membranes before I left. Being new to this procedure, I can now tell you it was somewhat painful but over before I had time to protest. That night, we tried our hand at some home remedies: eating spicy food, walking, depositing prostaglandins (I'll let you look that up) … all to no avail. When a completely uneventful Friday rolled around, I started to lose hope that my body would put itself into labor. Then came Saturday morning and the arrival of my (I apologize but this is what they, not me, have lovingly labeled it) "bloody show." This immediately put me on high, hopeful alert until I learned this was just another mere sign towards impending labor, which at that point, could still be hours, days, or even a week away. Yay. So the remainder of the day passed by slowly and by night time, I was back to unpredictable contractions, uncomfortable pain and a pretty crabby mood, thus the giant-sized bowl of cookies n'cream I consumed while we sat down to watch <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1649419/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1" target="_blank">The Impossible</a> (which coincidentally, my friend Sara declared as so intense, it would put me into labor). The (incredible) movie ended and as we crawled into bed, I noticed I was now occupying some semi-droopy drawers. Not having remembered peeing my pants, I consulted the husband and decided I would ring the hospital, just to be on the safe side. They were unsure and suspicious I was leaking amniotic fluid so they advised us to leisurely make our way in. We phoned our friends to hang out at our house while Maci slept and took a little road trip to the hospital.<br />
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Three hours, one negative amniotic fluid test and a biophysical profile ultrasound later, we were sent home with the news that I was still only dilated 2-3cm, baby was okay and even though I was having contractions every four to six minutes, they weren't strong enough to cause any progression. Oh, and that I may be carrying a 10-pound baby, give or take a pound. (WAIT. What the… what?!) Disappointed and feeling a bit foolish, we headed home and crawled back into bed at 2:30am. Roughly an hour later I awoke from a very brief slumber to a very strong, very painful contraction. They say you'll know when "real" labor contractions start, as opposed to Braxton Hicks or preliminary contractions, and nothing could be more true. They are much, MUCH more intense and debilitating. You can't talk, you can't walk and you basically cease to function until they've passed. At least that's how it was for me for the next several hours. When my contractions immediately fell only three to four minutes apart, we made repeat phone calls to the hospital and our Maci-watching-friends, and again headed to the car. When we arrived, I was 100% certain we would be staying this time so Shawn grabbed our fully-packed bags from the car and we slowly made our way back up to the same room we occupied just a few hours prior. From here, things start to be a blur because it all happened so fast. In fact, we arrived at the hospital around 5am and Miss Ivy made her debut to the world at 10:04am. Time flew but so much happened that I will never forget…<br />
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…I will never forget saying yes to the epidural. I had a go-with-the-flow mentality pre-labor because I didn't have typical contractions with Maci and therefore I wasn't sure what labor would feel like and what I would be able to handle. Standing over the bed with my fists balled and Shawn's warm hands planted firmly on my lower back, I could make it through the contractions with some strong, slow breaths and a lot of mental focus, however, I doubted my endurance to be able to do it for countless hours and still actually give birth at the end of it all. For some reason, my babies like to come in the middle of the night so as with what happened with Maci, I was doing all this on virtually no sleep and for me, no sleep = no shot. So epidural it was. Glorious, gorgeous, gigantic-needle epidural. I was nervous at first because it didn't seem to be kicking in on my left side but after a quick bolster and some other technical, medical business I can't remember, I was back to being blissfully numb and blissfully annoyed with that damn blood pressure cuff as I tried to get a few moments of rest before the big show.</div>
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(Now there's one, HOT, Mama! Eat your heart out Kim Kardashian.)</div>
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…I will never forget the feeling of anxiety that washed over me when Shawn had to leave to go park the car. He had left it running outside the door for some time to help me get settled so eventually, he actually had to head back down and relocate it to the parking garage. To that end, I will never forget the feeling of calm that washed back over me upon his return. For some reason I felt more relaxed, more secure and more safe when he was there by my side keeping the nurse quiet while I had a contraction, making sure I was drinking apple juice to keep my blood sugar up, enveloping my icicle hands when they administered the epidural and overall just being my focal point of strength and love to get through it all.</div>
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…I will never forget almost completely losing it just before the arrival of Ivy. I don't remember the context behind the comment but Shawn innocently ended up quoting Mae Mo when he said, "No thank you" in just the tone and manner she always does and I felt tears prick my eyes before I could control it. It made me so nostalgic of her birth and her not being there that I just about lost it. Fortunately, I had other things to preoccupy my attention and was forced to pull it together in order to push out an 8lb. 13oz. bowling ball.</div>
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…I will never forget the actual delivery and declaration of our second daughter. Not knowing the sex of your impending child is like no other experience out there. In my opinion, it's the single greatest and honest surprise left in the world and I'm so happy we decided to go that route again. I had sneaking suspicions we were having another girl up until the end of my pregnancy when said baby started to turn into an effing pistol and my thoughts started to sway towards boy because let's face it, no baby girl would treat their mother that way! And ironically, as with Maci, we were all set on a girl name but spent the majority of our time in the hospital trying to decide on a boys name (which in both cases, we never actually arrived at one). </div>
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…I will never forget seeing Ivy for the first time. She looked like a swollen Maci Mae! Two contractions of three, 10-second pushes was all it took. (I was uber motivated after having heard a nurse say something along the lines of, "the baby is not liking the contractions" which is nurse speak for, the baby's heart rate is dropping.) And even though I harshly cried NO when they asked if I wanted to reach down and feel her as she was coming out, I could not wait to see, hold and snuggle her, when all was said and done and delivered of course. I remember asking if she had hair and remember feeling shocked when they said she had a chin dimple. The husband has the greatest cheek dimples but neither of us has the proverbial chin dimple so I was completely surprised to hear Ivy did. (Since her birth, we've discovered she has a left cheek dimple but have yet to see a right so maybe that's the one that relocated to her chin. :)<br />
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…I will never forget the doctor leading us all in singing "Happy Birthday" to our baby girl just after she was born. They had to take two shots at it to get it started just right but at the end is when we announced her name and the tears started to flow. Luckily, because we had a camera this time, we have the whole thing recorded. We had heard this particular doctor liked to do this little ritual for each baby he delivers and I remember feeling cynical about the whole thing at first, like it was a little cheesy or corny thing to do. I now remember it as one of my fondest memories of Ivy's birth.<br />
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…I will never forget Maci meeting her sister for the first time. Grandma and Papa ended up at our house shortly after 6:30am that morning to relieve our friends from Maci-watching-duty and brought her to visit that night around 6:30pm. Daddy met her outside the door and when he walked her in and she saw me, she had the greatest grin on her face. I was SO excited to see her and see her reaction to Miss Ivy. She was delighted, wanted to touch her but didn't want to give her kisses just yet, and declared her cute and agreed she should come home with us. The meeting of the sisters was really amazing and went about as well as one could expect and it made me feel optimistic for their future friendship.<br />
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…I will never forget the surreal-ness of it all. I waited for what seemed like an eternity to give birth to this baby and it was all over in a blink of an eye. As with Maci, the doctor ended up breaking my bag of waters, I went from 5cm to 10cm in an hour and again, started to fear my epidural was wearing off when in actuality, the pressure and mild pain was just a sign it was time to start pushing. (In fact, it was Shawn who took a look, confirmed my hunch, and notified the nurse it was time to get ready.) I remember the doctor at one point saying something a little less then encouraging when it came to my pushing and immediately feeling myself going on the defense and pushing harder and stronger then I ever thought I could. The doctor then changed his tune and Ivy was delivered seconds later. I think that doctor knew what he was doing. :) To the contrary, I remember all the nurses being so encouraging; declaring how hard and impressive it was for me to sit through the epidural when my contractions were so intense and so frequent, or announcing to others that it only took a couple pushes to deliver such a large baby, or being impressed at how easily Ivy latched and nursed immediately and for over an hour!<br />
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I now know what made this pregnancy so very uncomfortable – Miss Ivy Dae was a whole 2lb. 10oz. larger then Miss Maci Mae! I guess it helps when you make it full term and deliver on your exact due date. Speaking of which, I always assumed I would go early again, because I did with Maci, so it was another valuable lesson learned; I can't control mother nature any more then I can control the weather so I need to just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. And now that it's over and my body is on it's way back, I can. </div>
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-61775966970189577882013-06-18T13:33:00.001-07:002013-06-18T13:56:27.594-07:00DeBoerMiss Ivy Dae was two weeks old on Sunday. And in those two weeks (not to mention the entire month prior), so much happened that I want and intend to blog about however, first, I must divulge a story about my husband. Now normally I'm not the type to share such an intimate, sappy exchange of emotion between us, but I'm chalked full of hormones, sleep-deprived and well, we're fresh off of Father's Day so I think he deserves a little recognition not only for the Dad he's turned out to be, but for the husband he's always been.<br />
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Wednesday, June 12th, 2013: I went shopping for a swimming suit, 10 days post birth of my second daughter. Why you ask? Well, because of my first daughter naturally. In an effort to secure some one-on-one time for us, I registered her for swimming lessons. In two days I was scheduled to hop in a pool with her and I wasn't going to let a little extra … um, umph, stop me. I knew it was going to be hard, I knew it was going to be sad, but I also knew it had to be so.<br />
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I decided to try my luck with Old Navy. She'd been good to me in the past so I trusted I'd find something that would suffice. I ended up liking one style of suit, in black of course, and took three different sizes into the dressing room. The first wouldn't clear my thighs, the second couldn't contain my expanding, er, bosom, so I was left with the largest … and when I finally got it on, it was awful. I gathered myself in defeat and exited the changing room feeling about as low, frumpy, large and ugly as possible. Immediately I grabbed my phone to share my sorrow with the one person I knew would be able to make me feel better. The following is our conversation, via text:<br />
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K: Dear lord. First attempt – complete failure. Off to Target. :(<br />
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S: I bet you look pretty :)</div>
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K: If you're drunk. Or hard up. :)</div>
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S: or in love</div>
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K: (crying) thanks</div>
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S: you're welcome<br />
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Simple, eh? No big deal. What may come across as a passive, cynical conversation (via text mind you), was actually a quick dialogue that completely reaffirmed why I married the man I did.<br />
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"or in love"<br />
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Three words set off my waterworks so much so that I had to sit and gather myself in my car before moving on. Now I'm aware that such emotion is triggered by my current state of affairs, but recording it here for all eternity will help remind me of the day I appreciated my other half more then any other human being on this planet. It will help me remember how great and truly astounding he can be and how much I care for him and am grateful he's in my life. I know I will need this reminder someday because, let's face it, he's also no picnic. When his singing and smartassness (That's a word, no?) and obsessiveness about fishing get the best of me, I can pull up this entry and remember that along with the bad, come the really, really good … even great, in my Mr. DeBoer.<br />
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-32118212268794613562013-06-07T18:21:00.001-07:002013-06-07T18:21:47.413-07:00Sisters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-46082596847370052412013-06-02T21:45:00.000-07:002013-06-02T21:45:17.434-07:00Cletus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Happy Birthday to our newest member, formally known as Cletus the Fetus the Sequel, our DAUGHTER, Ivy Dae DeBoer. She was born this morning at 10:04am, on her due date, weighing in at a whopping 8 lbs. 13 oz. and 21" long. She's perfect with a dimpled chin and looks like a swollen Mae Mo with the same full head of beautiful dark hair. As with her sister's birth, Mama labored through the night, so although we're a little exhausted and sleep deprived, we're all happy, healthy, adjusting and in love … including Maci Mae, who said she's cute and agreed that we should bring her home. :)</div>
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<br />Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2647051608923180256.post-30506611427277454102013-05-02T11:25:00.001-07:002013-05-02T11:31:54.864-07:00FMLANo, surprisingly I don't mean anything inappropriate with this acronym. (And how <i>dare</i> you accuse me of such! *wink*) I'm actually referring to the Family and Medical Leave Act, to which I will be taking advantage, in hopefully less then five weeks. According to the U.S. Department of Labor, FMLA entitles eligible employees to 12 work weeks of leave for the birth of a child.<br />
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Unpaid.</div>
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Uh-huh.<br />
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If only we lived in Europe, or <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/02/04/maternity-leave-paid-parental-leave-_n_2617284.html" target="_blank">anywhere else in the world</a> for that matter. (Seriously!)</div>
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Anyway, as someone who has worked and earned a paycheck pretty much every two weeks since I was legally allowed to do so (detassling anyone?), going 12 weeks without such a paycheck is scarier to me then any impending childbirth. Luckily – knock on wood – I have an employed husband, a tax return to cover our deductible and <i>some</i> savings for things like, you know, food and stuff.<br />
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All bullshit aside, there's the potential for things to get a little hairy around our house and for that I am more than a tiny bit anxious. To that end, I've been researching and contacting nearly all of our bill collectors to see if we have any wiggle room in the way of paying the bills this summer. Surprisingly, most have been very helpful and willing to work something out with us. Aside from being able to defer all three of our student loans (please tell me we're not the only ones <i>still</i> paying off these bastards), we can also defer both car payments as well as lower our utility bill for the duration. And all of this we can do without any ill affect on our credit ratings, which frankly I wasn't so sure about since every time I called a company with such a question they automatically referred me to their collections department.<br />
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With both Shawn and I home, we'll also be saving a nice chunk of change in gas money. Shakopee is more then a stone's throw from our house so avoiding that round-trip alone will help keep food on the table and diapers on the baby. Also, while we still plan to send Maci to daycare at <i>least</i> halftime (for her sanity as well as ours), we have that option of having her home more which may come in handy should the well officially run dry.<br />
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(Let's just hope Mama's FREE liquid gold doesn't.)<br />
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In the meantime, pretty sure we'll use and abuse quite a few familiar faces to help occupy our attention: ol' <a href="http://www.redbox.com/" target="_blank">Redbox</a>, the local <a href="http://www.rclreads.org/" target="_blank">library</a>, the <a href="http://www.teamdeboer.blogspot.com/2012/07/hot-and-cold.html" target="_blank">big blue plastic pool</a> and <a href="http://www.comozooconservatory.org/" target="_blank">Como</a> park and zoo.<br />
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And if all else fails, there's always 82 televised <a href="http://minnesota.twins.mlb.com/schedule/index.jsp?c_id=min#y=2013&m=6&calendar=DEFAULT" target="_blank">Twins games</a> slotted for this summer…<br />
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**<br />
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How 'bout you? Ever gone through an unpaid leave? Got any tips, tricks or advice? Or free-will donations to send?<br />
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Kalihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05848129305661252600noreply@blogger.com0