tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-692672704253911632024-02-19T17:58:18.866-08:00The Wannabe Catholic Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-71483557164731458032022-08-20T12:59:00.001-07:002022-08-20T12:59:10.636-07:00Thomas's Birth Story<p> Well, Thomas More Gutridge is almost 1 year old....and I'm just now getting around to writing his birth story.</p><p>Oops.</p><p>Can I blame it on #6thchildproblems?</p><p>Let's first talk about his middle name. Trent and are notoriously bad about picking out names in a timely manner. While Trent was on retreat during my pregnancy with Thomas, he heard a talk about St. Thomas More. It really spoke to him, and a few weeks before Thomas was born, we decided upon the name. We like to use the full names of Saints when we name our kids so they are not confused about which one after whom they are named. But...More? We wrestled with this...is he going to be made fun of? I envisioned him in 20 years at a college basketball game, with the crowds chanting: "WE! WANT! MORE!....WE! WANT! MORE!" This could be good...or bad...but ultimately we decided that we liked the full name, and we didn't care what anyone else thought. Spoken like a true Millenial. We also really connected with Thomas More's stance on standing for what is right, even when government leaders are trying to force their wills upon their subjects.</p><p>(Sound familiar? Covid, anyone?)</p><p>We were sick and tired of the 'vid, and feeling like we need more Thomas Mores out there who are willing to die for what is right and good. So...Thomas More, here we are.</p><p>So now we can back up to the birth story. Because we are nuts (see Fulton's birth story), we decided to have another home birth. Please read Fulton's story to see my caveat about how I understand the polarizing issue of homebirth and whether or not it is safe..and I'm not here to change anyone's minds.</p><p>SO.</p><p>My pregnancy was pretty normal (see Max's birth story if you want a harrowing story of medical-journal-worthy illness stories and near death experiences). Thanks to Trim Healthy Mama way of eating and their made-for-women exercise program (which can be used in any stage of life, including pregnancy) that focuses on strengthening the pelvic floor, I actually felt better during this pregnancy than I have in any of my others.</p><p>When the time was drawing closer for his birth, my good friend Trena (she and her husband are Thomas's godparents!) asked my if she could pray for me. "What day and time do you want to give birth?" she asked. I had never even considered asking God such a specific request. "Labor day weekend...3pm" I decided. It really struck me that she had such a close relationship with God and that she had so much trust in Him that she would ask such a small detail of Him. It has actually changed my own relationship with Jesus.</p><p>My due date was September 3...Labor day was September 6 (Rose's birthday!). We decided to arrange for the kids to go to our parents house that weekend, just in case. September 3 came, and I felt totally normal. For a week or two I had been having prodromal labor, but I realized by now that this was part of what happens to me and I continually assumed it was not real labor. I remember going to a homeschool park day on my due date and hoping that all the walking and activity would start things up.</p><p>That night, we had a birthday party for Rose.</p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p>I was a bit disappointed, but not surprised. </p><p>Trent and I planned what fun food we would make that weekend while the kids were gone. We always like to make fun, intricate meals when we are by ourselves...things we would never normally make for the whole family. I like to call it "fussy food". We decided upon Philly Cheesesteak sandwiches for Saturday night and Ina Garten's fried chicken sandwiches for Sunday night.</p><p>Saturday morning came...nothing. We went to the grocery store together to get the ingredients (isn't it funny when you make fancier food you end up spending the same amount for two meals that you would normally spend in a whole week for your family? Wait...doesn't that happen to anyone else?) </p><p>We went to confession Saturday afternoon. After confession, I was feeling very emotional about my upcoming birth, and I had an encounter with Mother Mary. She told me she was with me, and I should not fear. I started to cry in the pew, knowing that I was taken care of.</p><p>We made the delicious Philly cheesesteaks Saturday night. I remember experiencing intense burning on my skin in my hands from cutting the peppers. I soaked them in a mixture of baking soda and water to soothe it. I remember thinking it would be really annoying to have to deal with that while I was in labor...if it happened.</p><p>I was having contractions on and off for a few days, but still ignored them. I noticed that after we were done eating the cheesesteaks, they seemed to get more regular. About 10-15 minutes apart. I mentioned it to Trent, but said it probably wasn't the real thing.</p><p>We went to bed, and as usual Trent immediately fell asleep while I lay awake thinking. The contractions were definitely not stopping. I decided to watch Ina Garten episodes of Barefoot Contessa, which I had been watching during the last few weeks of my pregnancy when I couldn't sleep. </p><p>(Side note...Ina Garten episodes are extremely relaxing...and if you ever have trouble sleeping, you should try it out.)</p><p>I downloaded the contraction timer and started timing. They were coming regularly, every 10-15 minutes. I started to think that this was the real thing.</p><p>Around 3 or 4am, I finally decided to wake Trent up. I told him the contractions were regular and that this might be it. I was feeling very frustrated because, although they were coming regularly and very strongly, the were not getting closer together. I called my doula at 5am and asked her what to do. She suggested doing a Miles Circuit (holding your body in different positions for certain amounts of time that are supposed to encourage labor to come along). I remember feeling very uncomfortable and frustrated when trying these exercises.</p><p>At 7am, I called my midwife and told her the baby was probably going to be born today. Still, the contractions were not getting any closer together. They were about 10-15 minutes apart, although strong. She told me that can happen sometimes and that I shouldn't feel discouraged.</p><p>A few hours went by, and the contractions STILL were not getting closer together. I was really starting to feel frustrated and I didn't understand what was happening. It certainly FELT like real labor, and the contractions were very strong...so why weren't things moving along?? </p><p>At around noon, I got in the shower to try to relax. All the sudden...my contractions got VERY strong and very close together. I've had babies before...and I knew what this feeling was. THE BABY WAS COMING, AND HE WAS COMING <b>NOW.</b></p><p>I yelled for Trent and told him he was going to have to deliver the baby. I started feeling like I needed to push. Trent was frantically trying to get the labor tub filled and was dumping buckets of water into the sink (I only later found out that he had started to fill the tub without putting the liner in first, so he was trying to empty the water so he could put the liner in. He called the midwife and told her she needed to get here NOW. Same with the doula. He got the tub filled quickly, and I could feel that I was going through transition. I got into the tub and prepared to push, praying that the midwife would get there in time.</p><p>I stepped into the tub and felt the immediate relief that hot water brings me during labor. I breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed the relief.</p><p>But then...I realized, it's TOO MUCH RELIEF.</p><p>My contractions just...stopped.</p><p>At that moment, my doula walked in, followed by my midwife a few minutes later. Instead of arriving to me in the midst of pushing my baby out like they expected, I was totally calm and acting like I was not even in labor.</p><p>Let's just stop here a moment and talk about how one of every pregnant woman's worst fears is "calling wolf"...arriving at the hospital or calling the midwife with surety that the baby is coming soon...only to find out that, nope, sorry, nothing is happening...go home.</p><p>I was...MORTIFIED. I would have bet tons of money while I was in that shower that the baby would be born in a matter of minutes. His coming was imminent...I just knew it. 6th baby, this isn't my first rodeo.</p><p>But when I stepped into that tub, it all went away. I apologized profusely to my team and told them that really, I thought birth was imminent. Probably to make me feel better, my midwife suggested we check my cervix to see how far along I was.</p><p>Turns out, I was 10 cm. WHEW. I wasn't nuts!! She said this happens sometimes, and my body probably needed a break. It was still very weird to me, because nothing like this had ever happened to me before.</p><p>I felt calmer and more relaxed than I had felt in days. No pain, no contractions. The minutes went by. I kept apologizing, and trying to figure out why I was in this trance like state. </p><p>My midwife eventually saw that I had a cervical lip, which could have been part of the reason that labor stalled. We think that if that lip would not have been there, Thomas would have been born in my shower.</p><p>She suggested that if I wanted labor to pick up again, I should try to get out of the tub. She also suggested I sit on the toilet, which every woman who has labored knows is THE WORST when you are close to giving birth. And the reason it is THE WORST is because that squatting position really moves things along.</p><p>I did what I was told, and she moved me to my bed. Things picked up faster and more intense than they had been, and that's when she tried to push back the cervical lip. This had happened to me before in Mary's birth, and I vaguely remember how terrible that had been. I was on my side, trying to relax and not doing a great job of it. All the sudden, my water broke, my body took over, and it started to push. I say "it" started to push because I really had nothing to do with it. I had little control over it, which is kind of cool and strange at the same time. </p><p>My midwife told me to get on my hands and knees as he was coming out (I think because his shoulder might have been stuck...he was a big boy). I again did what I was told, and out he came. </p><p>And I cried of relief and happiness and wonder and awe as they put him on my chest...there really is nothing like meeting that little babe you have been growing in your own body for 9 months...that feeling of "finally, FINALLY! You are here!"</p><p>They weighed him...9lb, 3oz. My biggest baby. A year later, he remains my biggest baby. I have always dreamed of having an adorably chubby fat baby, so well nourished from my own breastmilk...and I have finally gotten that with Thomas!</p><p>He has been my best post partum experience by a landslide. Just to be clear, there have still been times where I have felt depressed and so tired I couldn't see straight and not sure if I could go on. But on the whole, I have felt great. I really believe this is due to a variety of factors, all of which I have finally figured out based on my own body what works best for me and my babies:</p><p>1. Trim Healthy Mama eating plan. I did it throughout my whole pregnancy (I actually started when Fulton was born) and the difference it made on my energy levels and general well being was incredible.</p><p>2. Trim Healthy Mama exercise plan. Made for women, focuses on pelvic floor. My pelvic floor is...um...tired, let's say. I really needed to build that muscle tone, and did the exercises religiously during pregnancy and post partum. My healing after birth went so much faster than it had after my last few babies.</p><p>3. Cosleeping. Sorry, I know this topic is touchy. I have come to believe that cosleeping is biologically what we are made to do, and what people have been doing since the dawn of time. But I also believe sleep training has become necessary for many women because we no longer live in communities like we have since the dawn of time. I did a kind of "modified" cosleeping. It really helped me be successful in milk supply, which also helped regulate my hormones and did not give me the hormonal crash that I had experienced with all my other babies when I would sleep train.</p><p>4. Trent took off 5 weeks. Again, women were made to live in communities who would help each other raise their children. We no longer have that, so we rely on our husbands more than we ever have. Having him around to help with the other kids and just be there to help me heal was amazing.</p><p><br /></p><p>It's so amazing to think Thomas is almost 1 year old. What a journey and a blessing. Each of my children has taught me something. Thomas has taught me to trust my instincts and in the voice that God whispers into my ear...that what works for me and my family might be different from others. </p><p><br /></p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-26849407930040623902019-11-22T09:33:00.000-08:002019-11-22T09:52:15.836-08:00Fulton's Birth Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Fulton John Gutridge was born Sunday, November 17 at 9:45pm. 7lb, 13 oz, 21 inches long. Light brown hair.<br />
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I've written all my other birth stories on this blog, feel free to read them: <a href="http://wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/06/when-our-baby-went-to-heaven-catherines.html" target="_blank">Catherine</a> (our first baby who I miscarried), <a href="http://wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/06/elizabeths-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Elizabeth</a>, <a href="http://wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/09/marys-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Mary</a>, <a href="http://wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2016/04/miracle-maxs-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Max</a>, and <a href="http://wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2017/09/roses-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Rose</a>. I've had many different types of births: epidural, natural, c section. All of them have pros and cons, except c sections, which in my opinion are the WORST and are WAY harder than having a natural birth because the recovery is so hard. (But really, I am thankful for c-sections, because without mine Max might not be here)<br />
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With Fulton, I added a new type of birth to my repertoire: A HOMEBIRTH.<br />
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Wait, WHAT?<br />
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Yes, it's true. I've crossed the line from a Catholic hippie (aka, hippie minus all the "free love" crap) who dabbles in essential oils and homeopathic remedies to a CRAZY PERSON. Who has home births?<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="meme-embed" frameborder="0" height="358" src="https://me.me/embed/i/dd288688798241c49711eb8a8c686f7d" style="margin: 0 auto; max-width: 100%;" width="500"></iframe><br />
via <a href="https://me.me/">MEME</a><br />
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I would like to start out by saying I have absolutely no interest in trying to convince anyone to have home births. Trent and I thought a lot about it and did a lot of research. We have our past hospital experiences that weighed in on this decision. We decided a home birth would be a great option for us, and that for low risk pregnancies, it is very safe. But I realize this subject is something in which most people have an opinion cemented in their minds, and nothing will change that. That's cool! I'm fine with it if you would never be comfortable having a home birth. As the cliche millennial saying goes, YOU DO YOU. This is not something I am passionate about in the same way as, say, the fact that the Catholic Church is the church that Jesus Christ founded and has never contradicted itself in the areas of faith or moral teachings in over 2,000 years and everyone should become Catholic because it is the BEST.<br />
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Sorry, got off on a tangent there. But bottom line: I'M NOT TRYING TO CONVINCE YOU THAT HAVING A HOME BIRTH IS SAFE/NOT SAFE/OK/NOT OKAY/AWESOME/CRAZY/INSERT ADJECTIVE HERE. You have your opinion, we have ours. I'm sure you have lots of research to back yours up. So do we. It's fine.<br />
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I was very secretive about the fact that we were going to have a home birth. The only reason for this was because I simply did not want all the negative comments entering into my brain. I needed to be thinking positively and I needed my head to be in a good space. I also had no interest in trying to convince people that home birth is okay, and I didn't feel like putting forth the energy to explain to people our reasonings for having a home birth.<br />
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Plus, I get enough wide eyed "are you crazy" reactions when strangers simply see my pregnant belly and our four children under age 7. I'll just deal with that. We don't need to add home birth craziness to that mix. It might make people faint.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually...we don't have cable...</td></tr>
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Basically, I'm TIRED. I need to save my energy to keep all these children alive. If I'm going to have a debate, it's going to be about religion.<br />
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Okay. Now that we got that out of the way. MOVING ON.<br />
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With Rose's birth, I had a wonderful thing called PRODROMAL LABOR. In basic terms, prodromal labor is this:<br />
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Body starts acting like it's going into labor.<br />
You have serious, painful contractions on a consistent basis for hours. (Most of the time, it happens in the middle of the night, so you aren't sleeping)<br />
You start thinking, THIS IS IT.<br />
You start to debate with husband: should he go into work? Should we call the parents to pick up the kids?<br />
All the sudden, everything stops.<br />
Repeat this cycle for days. Or weeks.<br />
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Well, joy of joys, it happened AGAIN! Thankfully, this time, it only last a few days. But still. ANNOYING.<br />
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Saturday morning, contractions had been happening for hours. Trent almost didn't go into work. We called our parents to come pick up the kids. THIS IS HAPPENING.<br />
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Then, in my emotional turmoil, I told Trent to just go into work anyway because it's probably not real.<br />
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Annnnnnd it wasn't.<br />
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By noon I felt totally normal and stupid. At this point, I was going to be the boy who cried wolf. When things actually DID start to happen, no one would believe me.<br />
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The problem with prodromal labor is that when labor does actually start to happen, you don't believe it. Because I'VE BEEN BURNED BEFORE, it's not going to happen again!!!<br />
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Sunday in the wee hours of the morning (sorry, I've been watching too much Great British Baking Show), contractions started again. Nothing serious, but they were regular. HERE WE GO AGAIN, I thought. We decided to ask the parents to keep the kids for the day, JUST IN CASE. Trent and I went to church that morning. I was exhausted from not getting sleep from all these dang fake contractions. I had no makeup on. My hair looked like an amazon woman. I was also having contractions during Mass (AND, ironically enough, Father's homily was all about suffering! I really enjoyed that!). After Mass, people hesitantly came up to me and asked, "Are you doing okay...?"<br />
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We only live a few blocks from church so we walked. Because, dang it, we need to GET THIS LABOR STARTED ALREADY! By noon, I was thinking that actually, labor might really be happening this time. Maybe I'll give it one more go.<br />
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And, by golly, it did. And it seemed really hard and long compared to my last birth. I felt kind of wimpy. With Rose's labor, everything went so fast. But this time it didn't. My mom and my friend Kim came over and helped me through. They listened patiently to me whine and complain.<br />
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Eventually, around 8pm, things started to get intense. I cried and said I couldn't do it anymore (I KNOW, I KNOW, that's always when they say the baby is coming. But I didn't believe it). The midwife and her assistant came and I got in the tub. I was in transition for about an hour.<br />
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It seemed like the transition period/pushing lasted FOREVER. I know, really, that an hour of transition and two or three pushes is nothing compared to what some women go through. But when he was coming out, apparently his hand was in front of his face, and that was what was holding everything up. The midwife pulled his arm out, and then out he came!<br />
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(BY THE WAY: This exact same thing happened with Mary. It must be in the genes)<br />
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I'm going to be honest here. When they put him on my chest, the only thing I felt was intense relief that everything was over. I was so tired, I didn't even really realize I had a baby on me.<br />
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The ironic thing was when we got a 36 week ultrasound, it took a half hour to get any pictures of his face because his hands were in front of his face the whole time. And even now, this is his favorite way to be:<br />
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My midwife told me that if that hand wouldn't have been there, my labor/birth would have gone MUCH faster.<br />
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But Fulton was fine, and I was fine, and we are beyond blessed.<br />
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Some of you know that Trent and I had quite a difficult time coming up with a name. We never find out the sex of the baby before birth. We enjoy the surprise of it all. But we accidentally found out this time. At our 20 week ultrasound, we brought my mom and all the kids. The ultrasound tech told us to look at away because she was going to look at the boy/girl parts and write the sex down for the doctor. We all looked away. After a minute or so, Elizabeth blurts out: "WHY DOES IT SAY BOY??" We all busted out laughing. It was hilarious. So Trent and I didn't even really think about girl names. The "name" conversation between us would always go something like this:<br />
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Me: So Trent, have you thought of any names?<br />
Trent: Oh. Uh, no, not really.<br />
Me: Me neither. Maybe we should talk about it?<br />
Trent: Yeah, that's a good idea.<br />
****silence****<br />
Me: What about *insert name*?<br />
Trent: Eh. I don't really like that. It reminds me of a crappy restaurant I ate at one time. What about *insert name*?<br />
Me: I don't like that because I hate the potential nickname.<br />
***silence***<br />
***change of subject***<br />
***Repeat conversation every month or so***<br />
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We found out that Archbishop Fulton John Sheen would be beatified sometime soon (for you non-Catholics reading, beatification is what makes someone a "blessed", which is the step before becoming a saint. <a href="https://focusoncampus.org/content/how-does-someone-become-a-saint-a-5-step-process" target="_blank">Here</a> is a short article explaining the process). An article about Archbishop Sheen can be found<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fulton_J._Sheen" target="_blank"> here</a>. He is most known for his media work on television and radio. We have always loved his talks and books. We considered the name, but Trent said it reminded him of Fulton's Crab Shack (what's with all the restaurants??) and couldn't commit. I had a hard time committing too.<br />
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The day after he was born, we finally decided that Fulton John would be the name. We sent messages to family and friends. IT'S OFFICIAL NOW...no going back.<br />
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A few HOURS after we decided the name, the Vatican released a statement that Fulton Sheen's beatification would be taking place in Peoria, IL (where Sheen was ordained a priest) on December 21, 2019. Holy cow! If that wasn't a thumbs up from God, I don't know what would be.<br />
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So here we are, with our new baby Fulton. This has by far been my best post partum period because our parents have taken all the other kids for a week. So literally all I am doing is laying in bed with my baby and bonding and healing. My body hurts a lot more this time than last time. Harder labor? I'm getting older? Who knows. But nevertheless, I'm REALLY appreciating the rest time I am getting.<br />
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Thanks to everyone to all your prayers and support. It does make a difference and it means more to me than you know!!<br />
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<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-34716288500562609852017-09-21T19:51:00.003-07:002017-09-22T06:31:07.445-07:00Rose's Birth Story<i>Warning: This post contains an insane amount of run on sentences, fragments, and incoherent thoughts. The author asks your forgiveness.</i><br />
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Birth story time! I love a good birth story.<br />
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Compared to my other ones, this one is kind of...well...boring? But boring in the absolute BEST way.<br />
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Let me start off by saying how much I love this girl. I know I preach all the time that love is not a feeling, blah blah blah...but my heart just melts every time I look at her. I am sure it's partially because she is a super easy baby so far and she doesn't really cry. She's just sweet and calm and likes to look around, and pretty much everything she does is OH MY GOSH LOOK AT THE WAY HER EYELID IS LIFTING, ISN'T THAT THE CUTEST SWEETEST THING YOU HAVE EVER SEEN!!! or ASHLEY ASHLEY LOOK, SHE'S SO OBSERVANT, LOOK HOW SHE LOOKS AROUND, SHE'S SO ADVANCED FOR HER AGE!!!! With her, more than any of my children, I feel this sort of obnoxious "my child does no wrong" thing that I used to get so irritated with other parents about when I was a teacher, and I'm convinced she's a prodigy and will be composing symphonies and finding the cure for cancer at age 4.<br />
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You would think I've never seen a newborn before.<br />
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But...we're THAT kind of Catholic, so alas, we are very familiar with newborns.<br />
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Now. To make life more real, I'd like to share something else. Going from three children to four children has been...uh....how do I put it?? Maybe some GIFs will do the trick:<br />
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Everyone wants to touch me.<br />
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<a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/5ArXi4OrKgfSM">via GIPHY</a><br />
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ALL THE TIME<br />
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<a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/bcZbO3V95TF4I">via GIPHY</a><br />
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Yup. Especially in the boob area.<br />
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<a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/rhonj-rosie-real-housewives-of-nj-3oz8xYA4aTzZbxScp2">via GIPHY</a><br />
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Except I haven't fixed my hair.<br />
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<a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/originals-retro-l46Cbqvg6gxGvh2PS">via GIPHY</a><br />
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And, at the end of every day, which doesn't really happen when you have a newborn, because the nights and the days are kind of the same, and your brain loses the ability to make coherent sentences and remember which day it is or the names of your children...wait what was I saying? Oh yes, at the time when the sun goes down, Trent and I usually feel like this:<br />
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Admittedly, having a child is always overwhelming in some ways. But I have never before felt this level of intensity. I think that's the best word for it: intense. The first child, I still think, was the HARDEST, because we had no idea what we were doing, and our baby screamed non stop for the first three months of her life, and I went through some pretty bad post partum anxiety. But this...having four kids...is a whole new ball game.<br />
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Almost all the big families I know say the same thing: "Three is the hardest! Once you get past three, it's SOOOO much easier." I repeated this mantra to myself and to others who were questioning my sanity when I told them I was pregnant with number four.<br />
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Well, here's what I have to say to those big families:<br />
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Maybe it's different for every family. Maybe it's just especially intense for us right now because of the closeness in age (4 children under age 5). But, for us, I can definitely say...four kids under five is INTENSE.<br />
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And the crazy part is that I haven't actually been alone with all four of my kids yet. I've had a tremendous amount of help from my saintly, patient husband (who seems to be handling this a lot better than I am), our families (ESPECIALLY my mom...THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU MOM!!!!!!!!), and friends.<br />
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<b>**If you know us in real life, and have been debating about whether or not you want to help us by bringing us food, I will tell you: YES, we would GREATLY appreciate any help with feeding our family at this time!!!! The thought of cooking anything right now is crazy and I'm not above feeding my family glasses of breastmilk for dinner if need be**</b><br />
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The other funny part is that out of all the kids, Rose (the newborn) is by FAR the easiest. Usually you think of newborns as being really needy...but honestly she kind of just goes with the flow. She sleeps really well (for a breastfed newborn). She doesn't cry. Maybe it's because she resigned herself to the fact that as the fourth child she's just not going to get the same amount of attention that most kids get. #fourthchildprobs<br />
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Okay, BUT. Even in saying all that, how crazy and overwhelming and insane our life is right now...it's AWESOME. Seriously. I know you are probably slowly nodding your head, smiling widely, and patting me slowly the way you do to a child speaking gibberish you don't understand. But honestly, I wouldn't trade this for anything. This girl is part of our family in a way I never imagined and I can't fathom our life without her now. I also know it will not always be this level of intense. We will get used to things, and we will get into a routine, and everything will calm down. This will probably happen sooner rather than later.<br />
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<a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/XEo7YJHUeplXa">via GIPHY</a><br />
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So what part of that is a birth story? None of it. Here's the actual birth story:<br />
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<a href="http://wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2016/04/miracle-maxs-birth-story.html" target="_blank">My last birth</a> was pretty crazy, somewhat traumatic, but totally awesome because Miracle Max and I all ended up fine. I had to get a c-section, and even though I'm very thankful that ended up happening because Max could have easily died if I hadn't, the recovery process was very difficult for me. So I wanted to do everything possible to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarian). For a variety of reasons, we ended up going to a different hospital about an hour away.<br />
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As usual, I resigned myself to going overdue, because I've never had a (non-induced) labor that happened before my due date. My general rule of thumb is that I don't think about or realize the fact that I'm about to have a baby until the expiration date of the milk at the grocery store is past my due date. It's only at that point that I go into crazy nesting mode and must do ALL THE THINGS!<br />
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So when, a week and a half before my due date, I all the sudden started having really strong, close contractions, I was a bit irritated and did not think that it could possibly be real labor. And of course, a few hours later, the contractions petered out and it ended up not being real. It actually made us realize that we were going to be having a baby soon, though, so we decided to pack a hospital bag and get the rock and play out.<br />
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<a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/nine-to-five-jxzEhHBMmH7tm">via GIPHY</a><br />
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A few days later, a week before my due date, the same thing happened. I woke up at 2am and started timing the contractions, which were 4 to 5 minutes apart. They kept coming, so after a few hours, I went on a walk. At this point I started asking St. Gerard to pray for me because I thought maybe it was real this time. The contractions were very strong during my walk. Then, an hour or two later, they stopped. So, exhausted and in a bad mood, I resigned myself to the fact that I would just perpetually be in labor forever and never actually have this baby.<br />
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Fun fact: labor and birth is almost never like the movies. You know, where the woman is at the grocery store minding her own business and then all the sudden her water breaks and everyone around her freaks out and she goes straight to the hospital and then the baby is born hours later? Or where the husband is either sleeping or doing something else and the wife walks up to him and says "It's Time" and he freaks out and they drive to the hospital and the baby is born hours later? Or when the woman is just sitting there watching a movie and then all the sudden dramatically clutches her belly and says she has to go to the hospital NOW. For many women, it's this: have some contractions. Google "real labor vs false labor". Discover the words "prodromal labor". Lay there for hours wondering if it's real or not. Try to decide if husband should go to work or not. Etc, etc.<br />
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Two days later, 5 days before my due date, I woke up at 2am again. Trent had caught the stomach flu the day before (the rest of us had it the week before) and so he called into work sick that night. Since he works night shift, 7 days on 7 days off, we decided it would make sense for him to just stay up most of the night so his sleep cycle wouldn't be messed up when he went back to work. The night before, I felt really sick too, except it wasn't flu sick...it was more like I was in my first trimester again and eating anything seemed like a terrible idea. I didn't realize it at the time but apparently that can be a sign of early labor. So, at 2am when I woke up, I was having pretty strong contractions about 10 minutes apart. At this point, I was so over the "are they real or not" deal that I just ignored them. Trent was awake, and I could not fall back asleep, so we watched a movie for a little bit. Then we both slept.<br />
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My contractions continued that morning. They were strong but still pretty far apart. I had made plans with a friend to go to the botanical gardens that morning but I was so tired and worn out from all the contractions that I decided to just go to her house instead. That whole morning the contractions kept coming, but I still was in denial that they were real. By lunchtime, they were so strong that I couldn't walk or talk through them. So I called the midwife just to get her opinion. She told me to wait it out and see if it goes anywhere. Feeding the kids lunch and putting them down for their nap was really, really hard. At that point I was starting to seriously wonder if this was real labor. Finally, around 1pm, I decided that we should go to the hospital.<br />
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I woke Trent up. My brother came over to keep an eye on the kids and I made him promise not to tell anyone that we were going to the hospital because, even though I was starting to think this WAS real, I didn't want to tell anyone until I KNEW it was real. On the way to the hospital my chiropractor told me to come for an adjustment. The car ride was pretty uncomfortable. I might have yelled at Trent for trying to find the perfect parking space, and I might have told him to just GO TO VALLET ALREADY.<br />
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When we got to the maternity center, no one was at the front desk. By this point, my contractions were very painful. Trent wanted to fill out the informational form and wait patiently for the next available receptionist. I yelled at him again (sorry Trent :-( )and told him to just CALL THE MIDWIFE ALREADY, because there is no way in heck I'm going to sit here and wait. She checked my progress and I was 4-5 centimeters. I then had to get checked in and was wheeled up to the labor floor.<br />
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The place we went to was called Mercy Birthing Center, and it's for people who want a natural home birth experience, but with the safety of being in the hospital in case something goes wrong. It is a different place than the hospital's normal maternity ward. But since I had a previous c-section, I couldn't give birth in the actual birthing center, and had to go to one of their VBAC rooms. It is very similar to the regular birthing center suites, but it's just located on the regular maternity ward floor. I also had to be continuously monitored and have an IV line started just in case something went wrong. So when the nurse wheeled me into a regular maternity room and NOT one of the birthing center VBAC suites, I sort of freaked out. I told the nurse I was a birthing center patient and I wanted the VBAC birthing center room. She was clearly pretty irritated but I didn't care...all I could think about was getting in that big water tub.<br />
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They finally wheeled me to the birthing center VBAC room. When I met my nurse, I immediately could tell she was not friendly. She didn't make eye contact with me, she was flitting around trying to find my IV equipment and making exasperated frustrated sounds and sighs when she couldn't find what she needed, and she didn't even talk to me until she got the blood pressure cuff around me. At this point, my contractions were close together and very painful and it was hard for me to concentrate on anything. This nurse was taking my blood pressure DURING my contractions, and didn't understand why it kept reading as high. She kept asking me questions during my contractions too, and at that point there was NO way I could talk through them or listen to anyone. She was trying to find a vein to start the IV line, and stuck the needle in at least three different places, again, DURING my contractions. At one point, I told Trent, "I'm so glad God gives us breaks between contractions". She then snidely said "I don't think it's God that does that." Um....REALLY? Even though I was distracted from labor, I couldn't believe a nurse would say something like that.<br />
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At that point, my midwife said: "Ashley, do you mind if I go downstairs for just a minute?" I didn't care. I noticed when she came back, she had a different nurse with her. I didn't realize it at the time but now I think she got another nurse for me because the one I had was so unfriendly and inappropriate. Thank the Lord, this new nurse was so sweet, and she was pregnant and wanted to have a natural birth too so she was very supportive and helpful.<br />
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It took about an hour trying to get an IV started, and my veins just weren't cooperating. At this point I was about to cry because all I wanted to do was just GET IN THE TUB. My midwife finally said, "Ok, we need to stop this. Ashley, just get in the tub." I could have kissed her. She already had it filled for me. I got in and started to feel like a wimp, because I was starting to lose control. I kept saying "I'm being a wimp, I don't know how much longer I can take this." And of course, my midwife told me that I wasn't being a wimp (what else would she say?) and that I was doing a great job, and that I was very polite (haha!). I think they finally got the IV in me while I was in the tub but by that point I was completely out of it and not knowing what was happening.<br />
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My midwife told me to lay down in the tub, and at that point, I had two extremely strong, painful contractions that made me do that stereotypical "woman-in-labor" animal-like moan. Then, all the sudden, I felt this tremendous amount of pressure that was unlike anything I've ever felt. I started to yell "WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHAT IS HAPPENING, SOMETHING IS HAPPENING!!" Apparently Trent was in the other room at that point answering admission questions the nurse was asking him. He heard me yelling and awkwardly said "uh....I think I should go in there right now".<br />
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My body just starting pushing and pushing and I was yelling a lot. I think I said "Ahhhhh this hurts, it hurts, what is happening???" But I don't remember exactly. They kept telling me the baby was coming out. Then, all the sudden, after about 20 seconds of pushing, Rose was born.<br />
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My water broke as I was pushing her out. Even though it's technically not allowed, she was born in the water because there was no time to drain it. She had meconium (where the baby poops in the womb) but it didn't cause any problems. I was so overwhelmed by the whole pushing process that I didn't even realize right away that they put her on my chest. She cried, and she was perfect. I asked Trent "Is it a girl or a boy??" No one said anything so I looked and she was A GIRL!!!!!!<br />
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I am so incredibly thankful and blessed that I was able to have a successful VBAC and that I had such a quick, relatively easy labor. I got in the tub at 5pm, and Rose was born at 5:15pm. I have NEVER had a quick labor. And the best thing about natural birth is that once the placenta comes out, you feel so great! I was able to walk around somewhat normally just an hour after birth.<br />
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I was so thankful that my mom came right after she was born. It is a special thing for a daughter to have her mother meet a new grandbaby. (She also brought us 5 Guys burgers and fries, and let me tell you, burgers and fries right after the hard work of giving birth might possibly be the best meal in the entire world). I will be forever thankful to my mom that she respected our decision to have a private birth (just Trent, me, and the midwife/nurses) but still came afterward to see me and the baby. That is real love and sacrifice, right there. Thank you mom, I love you <3 p=""><br />
We left the next day and brought our new miracle home. The other kids are over the moon about her. All they want to do is see Rose and hold Rose and kiss Rose and check on Rose and Rose needs a blanket and can I pet Rose...etc etc etc. It is so precious. Even Max, who is only 18 months old, wants to be around her all the time.<br />
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She is named after St. Rose Philippine Duchesne. St. Rose lived in France for the first half of her life and wanted more than anything to work with Native Americans in America. Finally when the opportunity arose, she sailed to New Orleans, then up the Mississippi to St. Louis. She worked in St. Louis for a good part of her life and taught Native Americans. They called her "The Woman Who Prays Always". After Trent lost his job last year and we had no idea where we would be living, it was difficult to think we might have to leave St. Louis. Thankfully, God provided a wonderful job for him and we never had to move, and we still get to call St. Louis our home. We found it fitting to name Rose after a saint who lived in the city we call home, a city that has provided for us in so many ways.<br />
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So yes, things are crazy right now. But as usual, we wouldn't have it any other way. And we thank God for this life that He has entrusted to us. Welcome to the world, Rose Philippine!</3>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-46198428509346051962016-06-16T05:32:00.001-07:002016-06-16T05:32:38.795-07:00Stop Saying Prayer is UselessI've about had it with this meme (or others like it):<div>
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This meme (like all memes) is trying to compartmentalize a universal practice into an "amusing" one liner. I've seen it floating around the internet before, but it seems to have exploded after the recent tragedies in Orlando. I've seen similar comments on news websites, blogs, and elsewhere. Well, surprise surprise! I have an opinion about it. So here it is:</div>
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<b>1. How do you KNOW prayer doesn't help?</b></div>
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Can you, with 100% certainty, claim there is no God? Even most well-versed atheists say no such thing....they claim that there is no good evidence to prove God exists. So I'll bring out the old Paschal's wager: There are two possibilities: God exists, or He doesn't. If there is even the slightest chance that He could exist, why WOULDN'T you pray? Not the best argument for the existence of God, I know, but think about it. I have first hand seen miracles happen that defy logic and science...and these miracles were a result of prayer. I have seen incorrupt bodies of saints who have died hundreds of years ago...yet their bodies have never decayed (interesting that you don't find that phenomenon with non religious people...). So unless you can say that you know, without a doubt, that prayer is useless, then stop making that claim.</div>
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<b>2. You are most likely being hypocritical</b></div>
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I went through one of the most difficult times in my life from November through February of last year, during my 2nd and 3rd trimester with Max. During two of those months, I literally could not move without extreme pain, and I lived on my couch (unable to take care of my family or myself). I had to quit my part time job. Interestingly enough, out of my (estimated) 1000+ Facebook and real life friends, family, and acquaintances, about 15 of those people actually PHYSICALLY helped me by watching my kids, cleaning my house, or bringing us meals. And you know what? THAT'S OKAY. People cannot possibly help in that way for every single tragedy that occurs. I would love to be able to drive to Orlando right now and shower all those grieving families with as much help as they needed, but I can't. And most likely, neither can you. I can't give blood, and haven't been able to since March 2012. I give money to my church, which is part of the worldwide Catholic Church...a Church that has clothed, fed, educated, and healed more people the past 2,000 years than any other organization. Do you know what I did receive more than anything during those difficult months in my life? Prayers. Good thoughts. "Positive vibes" (I'm still not sure what that means but I appreciated it just the same). Many of those people who said they were "thinking about me" were people who do not believe in the effectiveness of prayer. But even though they did not physically come to my house and help me take care of my family, IT STILL HELPED. </div>
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<b>3. You have no idea how many people are making sacrifices for YOU.</b></div>
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Many of my non-Catholic friends probably don't know that there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of cloistered groups of men and women around the entire world who devote their whole lives to prayer. These priests, monks, nuns, and other consecrated people have made a vow to never leave monasteries for the REST OF THEIR LIVES for any reason (unless, from what I understand, there is a medical emergency and they have to be taken to a hospital) so that they can avoid any distractions and devote their entire lives to prayer. </div>
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And do you know that prayer does not simply mean getting on your knees and talking to God? Scripture calls ALL OF US, not just the cloistered priests and nuns, to fast, or make sacrifices, for others. To offer up any suffering we might endure for the benefit of others. And the more someone is suffering, whether it be physically, emotionally, spiritually, or all of the above, the more powerful their prayers can be. We should be doing this every single day, whether it be offering up a very small paper cut for someone you know, all the way up to the turmoil and pain a terminal patient might offer up.</div>
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I suppose we will all find out after we die whether or not these prayers made a difference. If, indeed, God is real, and our prayers actually DO make a physical, tangible difference, we will surely find out in the next life exactly who prayed and made sacrifices for us. You might be surprised how many people that actually is. </div>
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So I'm going to pray, and I'm going to do it proudly, knowing that yes...I AM making a difference for those people. Just as so many have done for me during my times of need, now it's my turn to do it for them. And I trust that God's power is so infinitely strong that He can, indeed, help those people in this time of unspeakable grief.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-13728839540362431272016-04-23T14:20:00.000-07:002016-04-23T14:20:23.320-07:00Miracle Max's Birth Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Do you love birth stories? Well sit down and read because this one is a doozy. And just a warning: I WILL use the words "vaginal birth" and "placenta" and "cervix" so if that grosses you out then you probably shouldn't read any further.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My whole pregnancy has been a rather turbulent one. I was very sick for nearly a month with pneumonia...so sick that I couldn't move without coughing to the point of throwing up (or breaking a rib apparently). I couldn't take care of my children, or even myself really. I couldn't sleep. Then, a few weeks after I recovered from that, my body decided that it was too freaked out by illness and having an oppressed immune system for so long. So my body started attacking itself which created this rash like covering over my whole body (except, thankfully, my face and scalp). I don't even want to call it a rash...I've had rashes before, but this was unlike anything I have ever seen or experienced. I felt like I was in an episode of House. Every doctor I went to was shocked and flabbergasted (I love that word) and had no idea what was going on. They would inevitably call in all the other doctors in their practice, and all of them would stand around me staring at my skin, poking me, and wondering aloud what the heck was going on. Even the dermatology specialists in St. Louis had never seen a case like mine. They ended up diagnosing it as "pustular psoriasis". But nothing, not the large dose of steroids, not the creams or the ointments, not the anti-itch medicine, nothing they gave me helped. It was so disheartening because every day I woke up, the rash had spread even more and looked worse. Since we really had no idea what was happening, I didn't know when (or even if) it would start going away. It was so painful that I could not touch anything. I couldn't use my hands or walk. Again, I was in a situation where I could not take care of my children or myself. Again, I couldn't sleep, and this time I couldn't bathe myself either. I ended up shedding my entire body's worth of skin...even my nails (they are actually still in the process of "shedding" and are the last bit of evidence that I ever had this condition).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know that many people have it WAY worse than I did. What I had was not cancer, or some life long or terminal illness. And I am so thankful that in the end, my baby was not affected by anything. But I would be lying if I said it was easy. I had many breakdowns. It was so hard to not be able to take care of, or even touch, my children for almost two months. When Elizabeth wanted to lay in bed with me and I had to tell her no, it broke my heart. I couldn't hug or touch my husband. But in the end, after I healed, I realized my life had been changed because I appreciated things so much more. Instead of complaining about changing my kids' diapers, I was just incredibly thankful that I COULD change their diaper. I remember crying with happiness when I realized I was able to give my family a hug without any pain or discomfort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">All of this made me feel even more close to my baby than I ever had in any of my previous pregnancies. I didn't take for granted the fact that my baby was alive and well despite all the physical illness I had gone through. This baby was a trooper.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I was getting better, we had an ultrasound to check on the health of the baby. They discovered that my placenta was right next to my cervix, and told me that it would be unlikely that I would be able to have a vaginal birth. I'll spare you all the details, but our doctor and midwife decided that they were comfortable letting me try to give birth vaginally, with the understanding that if I bled too much, I would need to get a c section.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They wanted to me to be induced so that in case there would be too much blood I wouldn't be at home. I was <i>really </i>nervous about getting the P word...pitocin...because I had such a bad experience with it during Elizabeth's labor. I was also very nervous about getting induced because of all the horror stories I had heard about induction leading to more medical interventions. <b>I asked my midwife if we could induce labor by breaking my water, but she didn't think it was a good idea. </b>She and my doctor assured me it would be a much different experience since this would be my third baby, and that most likely my body would know what to do. We set the date for Monday, March 14 (coincidentally, my grandmother's birthday, and the day before my birthday). Our hope was that the pitocin would start my contractions, and then my body would take over, I could get off the pitocin, and I could have an awesome med-free labor like I did with Mary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We went in at midnight, Sunday March 13. Being induced was so strange...actually <i>knowing</i> exactly when I would go into labor made it much harder for me, emotionally. It's like when you are going to have surgery or some type of big event happen that you are nervous about, the waiting is always the hardest part. If I don't actually know when I'll go into labor, like with my first two births, I can maintain my pleasant denial in the fact that I am actually about to give birth. But having a date set...that was an entirely different matter. It felt like I was making a dinner reservation: "Alright, we'll pencil you in for midnight on March 13."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They started me on the pitocin, and I expected an instant, terrible, unbearable pain to hit me the moment the medicine started coursing through my veins. But...it wasn't like that at all. I didn't feel any pain. And in fact, my contractions did not even get really painful until the next morning.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My labor actually started the morning of March 14. I consider it "labor" when the contractions are intense enough that I can't talk through them and I have to start getting my concentration game on. I was slowly dilating, and my midwife and doctor decided to insert a bulb into my cervix (I forgot what the official medical name of it is) to help everything move along. By early afternoon, I was having regular strong contractions so we decided to try to wean off the pitocin. After about a half hour of being off the pitocin, my contractions stopped. This was, I think, my lowest point emotionally. I was exhausted and hungry (in fact, I spent a lot of my earlier labor fantasizing out loud about the food I would eat after everything was said and done) and I just wanted this baby to be born. <b>The nurse, my mom, and I asked my midwife about the possibility of breaking my water to help get things moving along, but due to the precarious nature of my labor, she wanted to be careful and didn't think we should.</b> So we started the pitocin back up again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually, the bulb came out. By this point, I had been bleeding a little, but not enough to cause concern. My heart lifted when that bulb came out and they told me I was about 8cm dilated. I got a second wind, and I was determined to get this dang baby out one way or another. <b>The nurse suggested that we could break my water to get things really moving. But my pain level at this point was manageable, and I knew when my water broke it would become way more intense, so I decided not to.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Suddenly, while sitting on the birthing ball, I felt a gush of liquid, and I yelled out "My water just broke!!" I was so excited. But then, looking down, I saw it was not my bag of waters...it was blood. And as I stood up, more came out. My awesome midwife was incredibly calm and said it was okay. <b>She checked me and felt what she thought was my bag of waters bulging, which to me meant my water could break at any moment.</b> She wanted the doctor to check me before we did anything further. It was about 8:30pm by this point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>We discussed the possibility of breaking my water to help speed things along. The doctor had the hook out and ready to do so</b>, but after he checked me, he got a look on his face that told me all I needed to know. "Ashley, I feel a lot of blood clots up there, and I don't know what else there could be. The baby has not descended and is still very high. My gut is telling me that we need to do a c section." I started crying and asked if there wasn't anything more we could do. But I knew that this doctor did not do c sections unless they were absolutely necessary. And I looked at Trent and he nodded, and we agreed to do the c section.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A flurry of medical staff came in, getting me prepped and telling me all the things that could go wrong (I know they have to do that...but wow did that freak me out). Then I had to go into the operating room, and Trent wasn't allowed to go with me until I was ready for the c section. I think this made me the most upset...I wanted him by my side because everything seemed so scary. But thankfully my midwife was right by my side, which helped to calm me. They gave me a spinal block and I was instantly unable to feel anything below my rib cage. I then almost passed out, and I remember saying repeatedly "I feel weird, I feel weird, I feel weird." Apparently my blood pressure dropped suddenly but they gave me meds that fixed it almost instantly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Trent and my mom came in, which calmed me even more. I was shaking uncontrollably (not because of nerves, but apparently that's a side effect of the meds or the spinal block or something). I remember smelling burning and I kept asking what it was. No one would answer me and someone distracted me by asking a question. I later learned that it was actually my organs or my skin or something that they were burning, which is why no one wanted to answer me. Really, it wouldn't have bothered me though, because they are slicing my body open and moving all my organs around...what's a little bit of burning?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After a few minutes I finally asked when they would be starting the surgery. "Oh, they started five minutes ago," someone answered. At that moment, I felt really calm. I realized I really could not feel anything and it was going to be okay. And then Trent said, "Ashley, we're going to meet our baby soon!" And I started to get excited...one of the benefits of a c section, you know the most likely it will only take about 10 minutes before you meet your baby!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, all the sudden, I heard a cry. It was my baby! My mom shouted "It's a BOY!" Trent looked at me, in total disbelief, and said (as if I needed to hear it again to believe it): "Ashley, it's a boy!" I heard his crying and was flooded with relief. After all that I had gone through, he was FINALLY here!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">About five minutes went by before I actually saw him. Those five minutes felt like an eternity. Especially when I could hear him cry, and I knew he was in the room literally feet away from me, but couldn't see him because of that huge curtain. Then, FINALLY, they gave him to Trent, and Trent put him on my neck. Within a minute he was nursing (which is actually really awkward and difficult to do after a c section because you have so little room to maneuver, but I was insistent on getting skin to skin contact if it was possible). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There he was, my baby with the huge trademark Gutridge lips that all my children have. Brown hair fuzz and a face that kept reminding me of Elizabeth and Mary depending on the second that I looked at him. My midwife asked his name. I looked at Trent and asked, "are we sure about the name?" He said yes. So he announced: Our son's name is Maximilian Kolbe Gutridge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, the doctor started talking about something and he sounded very surprised. At first, I thought something was wrong. They assured me everything was okay, but apparently my placenta looked very different from how normal placentas are supposed to look. We realized I had what is called "velamentous cord insertion." For all you sciencey people out there who want to know exactly what that is, here's what wikipedia says:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Velamentous cord insertion</b> is an abnormal condition during <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pregnancy" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Pregnancy">pregnancy</a>. Normally, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umbilical_cord" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Umbilical cord">umbilical cord</a> inserts into the middle of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Placenta" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Placenta">placenta</a> as it develops. In velamentous cord insertion, the umbilical cord inserts into the <a class="mw-redirect" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fetal_membranes" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Fetal membranes">fetal membranes</a> (choriamniotic membranes), then travels within the membranes to the placenta (between the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amnion" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Amnion">amnion</a> and the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chorion" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Chorion">chorion</a>). The exposed vessels are not protected by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wharton%27s_jelly" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Wharton's jelly">Wharton's jelly</a> and hence are vulnerable to rupture. Rupture is especially likely if the vessels are near the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cervix" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Cervix">cervix</a>, in which case they may rupture in early <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Childbirth" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Childbirth">labor</a>, likely resulting in a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stillbirth" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Stillbirth">stillbirth</a>. This is a serious condition called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasa_praevia" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Vasa praevia">vasa previa</a>. Not every pregnancy with a velamentous cord insertion results in vasa previa, only those in which the blood vessels are near the cervix.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When a velamentous cord insertion is discovered, the obstetrician will monitor the pregnancy closely for the presence of vasa previa. If the blood vessels are near the cervix, the baby will be delivered via cesarean section as early as 35 weeks to prevent the mother from going into labor, which is associated with a high infant mortality. Early detection can reduce the need for emergency <a class="mw-redirect" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cesarean_section" style="background-image: none; text-decoration: none;" title="Cesarean section">cesarean sections</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> So, you guys, here's the insane part. We did NOT KNOW that I had this condition until after Max was born. Had my water broken during my labor, Max probably would have died. Do you realize HOW MANY TIMES we were *this* close to breaking my water? (Look above at all the bold sentences. THAT'S how many times)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><u>If this had happened, my son would not be here. </u></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead of planning his baptism, we would have been planning his funeral.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have never been one to go into a pregnancy with the happy assumption that a live baby will result from it. My first loss took that blissful ignorance away from me. But until I realized how very close I was to losing my son, and how easy it would have been for him to die, I did not fully appreciate how precious life really is. It has, quite literally in fact, brought me to my knees. As I held my newborn son that night, breathing against my chest, and warm from being on my skin, I kissed his head and cried with gratitude. I thanked his patron saint, St. Maximilian Kolbe, who I am sure was flooding heaven with prayers for this little soul. I thanked my grandmother, Corinne Jung, who was born on the same day as little Max but many years before, and who I know was begging our Lord to spare her great grandson. I thanked all of you: all my family and friends who have prayed for me and my son without ceasing. And most of all, I thanked our great and glorious Lord and Savior, who protected my son in his arms through the whole ordeal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">All the turmoil over c-section vs vaginal birth, natural labor vs induction...all of it didn't matter anymore. My son was alive and well and perfect. And now every time I look at him, I am reminded that yes...miracles do happen. And he is living proof. </span><br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-6278157181353300072015-11-20T13:22:00.001-08:002015-11-20T13:22:53.170-08:00When Prayer Doesn't Come Easily<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have very vivid memories as a kid in junior high having a fulfilling prayer life. I prayed every day without fail. They were simple prayers, but prayers nonetheless. I was never told to pray this way...of course I was encouraged by my family and teachers and priests to pray, but it wasn't like I was forced to do it. I genuinely <i>wanted </i>to. I <i>loved </i>praying. I really felt connected to God, and His presence surrounded me constantly. It really was like what they say in Scripture: I felt a peace that words cannot describe, and I think I can honestly say (without trying to sound arrogant or "holier than thou") that I did love God and desired a relationship with Him above everything else in my life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvYPNLWfcRzMtcKv4KwT7J30hK8D-BkNgkU19n4pfPg3JNU5Vk8xDcqXLq7Thkp1D_OKv4V7EB_HIXu9n7xekp-X2HMP16ajAOmpSUlvc5HYVj4LQ4WFbhHfievyK5Txxuqoh20OLSgI/s1600/childrenpraying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvYPNLWfcRzMtcKv4KwT7J30hK8D-BkNgkU19n4pfPg3JNU5Vk8xDcqXLq7Thkp1D_OKv4V7EB_HIXu9n7xekp-X2HMP16ajAOmpSUlvc5HYVj4LQ4WFbhHfievyK5Txxuqoh20OLSgI/s320/childrenpraying.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how my children look every night at prayer time...</td></tr>
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Granted, my life was much simpler then. I had only myself to care for, so finding time for contemplative prayer was much easier. We didn't have the internet as a distraction. There were many times that I was BORED (a word that, in our present day, we don't understand anymore because of the never ending choices of distraction and entertainment that technology brings us), so I quite naturally turned to prayer because sometimes there really was nothing else to do.<br />
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At the time, I didn't realize what an incredible gift God had given me. I thought <i>everyone </i>felt this way when they prayed. It struck me odd that some people would not pray...why on Earth would you not pray when being close to God is the best feeling in the world?<br />
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I entered high school, I became busier, made new friends, and my prayer life wained. I was distracted, as they say, by "the things of this world." I got a pretty awesome boyfriend (who's still pretty awesome if I do say so myself) and thought I had everything.<br />
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Then of course, college came, and my prayer life was pretty much non existent. I've written about this before, but I was so into myself that I don't know if it was even possible for me to see past my own nose. I went to Mass every weekend still, but only because that's how I was raised and I knew no other way. I talked to others about God, and about how I was "religious" and "Catholic", even though I really had no idea what I meant by that. But I had awesome friends, and was successful in school, and I thought I had everything.<br />
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Which is funny, because I was pretty darned miserable.<br />
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And it showed, too. I was <i>not </i>a nice person. (I'm still not sometimes, believe me). But looking back at some of the things I did and the way I treated some people, I still shudder even though I have been to confession about it and I know God has forgiven me. And the funny thing is, throughout high school and college, I was always questioning: "WHY AM I SO UNHAPPY?"<br />
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It's interesting how when your prayer life stops, so does your happiness. You <i>think </i>you are happy. Sometimes. There are brief moments of positive emotion that can occur within relationships, activities, and successes. But then that fades and you are left empty. And the funniest thing is, we get angry at God for this...asking him, "Why, God? Why? What else can I do?" even though He has already given us the answer:<br />
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If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily, and follow me. (Luke 9:23)</blockquote>
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But see, this is the answer we don't want to hear. We don't want to deny ourselves. Or take up our crosses. Crosses are difficult to carry. And inconvenient. So we ignore this message and carry on with our lives the way WE want and continue to wonder why we are miserable.<br />
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Thanks be to God, through the intercession of MANY prayers by others I'm sure, and through the influence of my now husband's conversion to the Catholic faith, I finally came to my senses at the end of my college career and realized what a complete jerk I was. It was humbling and humiliating to look at myself how I really was. But only when I did that could I start to change. I started to pray again. I enjoyed praying again. I was peaceful, and happy, and good with life for the first time in many years.<br />
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Then, I had my first living child, Elizabeth. And my life as I knew it came to a crashing halt and everything changed. All the sudden, I had another life to be responsible for besides my own. I <i>thought</i> I had gotten past my selfishness, but in hindsight, I was only scratching the surface. This <i>person</i>, this baby girl, was completely dependent on me. And I had no idea what I was doing.<br />
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In the frenzy of learning how to properly breastfeed (which never really happened), sleep deprivation, months of pretty serious illnesses my little newborn had to go through, and just learning how to be a parent and survive at the same time, I again forgot about prayer. Who has time for that? I was just trying to keep my head above water. Getting through weekend Mass with a baby who really loved screaming at decibel levels that even our stone wall Cathedral cry room couldn't contain was taxing enough. You want to know what the readings were that day? Hahaha! I can't even tell you what the date is!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth, 3 months old, Ash Wednesday. I think she was mad because her ashes were not dark enough.</td></tr>
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I realized in the back of my mind that I <i>needed </i>to pray. And REALLY, I had extended periods of time where I was sitting, feeding a baby, which could have easily been devoted to times of prayer. And out of guilt, I started to cave and say my prayers. Sometimes. But all I really wanted to do was just zone out and watch Netflix. Because this parenting thing was exhausting, and prayer was not bringing me the rest I needed. It was just more work.<br />
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And that is the key point that I think we all need to realize: prayer is WORK. It is HARD work. Having a consistent prayer life does not come easily or conveniently to most people. And I think, after having had such a fulfilling prayer life in my younger years, I was totally turned off to it when in my busier seasons of life when it didn't bring me that instant comfort and gratification that I used to get. "I'm not getting the results I expected," I would think to myself. "I'm not getting warm and fuzzy feelings. So I must not be doing it right. I guess I'll just stop." I went through periods of this, on and off, for a good while during Elizabeth's first year of life.<br />
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Then one day in October when she was 10 months old, I made a decision. I was going to start praying the rosary. I had dappled in the rosary before. I had gone through periods where I would try to pray it every day, and that would last a few weeks, and then the sheer thought of having to sit there for twenty minutes to recite those tedious prayers would become overwhelming and I'd stop for awhile. And then I'd start the cycle again. But...I'm not sure what was different about this time...but this time, I was serious. I made a promise that I would pray the rosary every single day, no matter what. Even when I didn't want to (which was every day). Even when it was inconvenient (which was every day). Even when I'd rather be doing something else (which was definitely every day).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wonder if St. Dominic had trouble concentrating too?</td></tr>
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I will write another post related to my journey specifically with the rosary (to summarize, I have never missed a day since that day in October 2013...and this is not to make myself sound like some saintly person, because I am still not good at praying it). But the point I am trying to make here is this: In my 2+ years of praying a daily rosary, I have never once felt warm and fuzzy, and I have never once "felt" God's overwhelming presence. In fact, most of the time, all I'm thinking is how I'd rather be doing something else. Or what I'm going to eat for breakfast. Or what my plans are for that day. And then I'll realize my mind is wandering, and OOPS! I'll try to focus whatever mystery I might be praying at the moment. Okay, the Scourging at the pillar. Our Father, who art in heaven...and the cycle continues.<br />
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The fact that I have a "dry" prayer life used to bother me greatly. In fact, I went through a pretty major faith crisis because of it. I was angry at God for not rewarding me for being faithful to Him. "I'm TRYING here!!! What more do you want!!!! Can't I get SOME reward for doing all this work??"<br />
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But I am slowly realizing that, really, positive emotional fulfillment does not always happen with all relationships in life. Our emotions can play tricks on us. Emotions change, God does not. Those warm and fuzzy feelings I was looking for are not an indicator of how much God loves me or if He hears my prayers. I love my family, and I work at a relationship with them. Sometimes that relationship feels more like work, other times it comes easier. The same can be said with prayer. Intellectually, I know God hears my prayers and that He loves me. But everyone feels abandoned by Him from time to time...even Jesus, hanging on the cross, about to die, asking God: "Why have you abandoned me?" If JESUS did not "feel" God's presence, well heck, why would I expect to be above that?<br />
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If you are struggling with daily prayer, you are not alone. It is HARD. It is WORK. And it does not always make you <i>feel</i> any different. But it will slowly transform your life in ways you might not have chosen yourself<br />
. Remember, Jesus did not promise us a life of instant gratification. He promised us the opposite: difficulty and hardship. But regardless of what our ever changing emotions tell us, we can always know one thing for certain: prayer is ALWAYS a good thing. It WILL change us for the better. And God, even when we do not feel Him, will never abandon us.<br />
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Check out this video on spiritual dryness from Fr. Robert Barron. It really shed some light for me on how God is trying to teach us to fall in love with Him, not the <i>emotion</i> of falling in love with him.<br />
<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-62680263348670485072015-10-27T06:28:00.000-07:002015-10-27T06:28:09.845-07:00Why Feelings Don't Matter: My Take On Bruce/Caitlyn JennerHeyyyy!!!!!!!!! I am BACK, y'all!! Aren't you beyond excited? I know this might just be one of the best days you've had all year.<br />
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I took a little blogging hiatus, needing a mental writing break. But I'm back. I hope to write maybe a post a week and get back into the groove of things, now that Mary is older and not nursing anymore.<br />
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So there's been a lot of speculation out there about the Bruce-Caitlyn sex change operation. And, since I'm very opinionated, and I have a blog, I decided I'd write about it.<br />
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A few things before I begin:<br />
1) I realize that in writing this, there is a great possibility I will get hateful comments because my opinion is in the "less loud" category. I'm not going to say my opinion is in the minority, because I believe there are many people out there who might agree with me but are afraid to voice their opinion for fear that they will get bullied. If you disagree with me, I respect that. All I ask is that you keep any comments kind and rational. If I feel a comment is not kind or rational, I will delete it.<br />
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2) Many people feel very strongly about which name is used for Bruce/Caitlyn. For this blog post, I will refer to him as Caitlyn, simply because he did legally change his name and I will respect that.<br />
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3) Remember, most of all, that <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/04/since-when-does-i-disagree-i-hate-you.html" target="_blank">disagreement DOES NOT equal hate or judgement</a>. You might disagree with my point of view, but I don't think you hate me. So I ask that you remember the same about me.<br />
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Catholics generally have a good understanding of feelings...and why they don't really matter. This is a large reason why the Catholic Church is sometimes unpopular: because today's society bases almost EVERYTHING on feelings. People leave the Catholic Church all the time because they don't "get anything out of it"... or they don't <i>feel </i>it. People get divorced because they just don't <i>feel </i>anything for each other anymore. People (myself especially) don't get much done around the house because they don't <i>feel </i>like it.<br />
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In our sensationalized culture, it's almost like people expect to have a constant <i>feeling </i>of gratification. They call this "happiness." But is it really? I'd like to put in my two cents from my own personal experience.<br />
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When I was younger, I felt God's presence all the time. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind about His existence, and prayer came very easily to me. I didn't realize it at the time, but this was an incredible gift God gave me. Because very soon after Elizabeth was born, my life came to a screeching halt and everything I previously knew, or <i>felt,</i> about God (and life in general) dramatically changed.<br />
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As I struggled through a lot of postpartum emotional issues, I struggled even more with the fact that I no longer "felt" God in my life. It was like a huge comfort had been suddenly ripped away from me. I started to question the existence of God, if God was really there for me, and who God really was.<br />
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Despite all this uncertainty I felt, I knew deep down in the back of my mind that I must keep going. Even though I didn't get any emotional fulfillment from church or prayer, I continued to, as they say, "show up." There were (and still are) times when the last thing I ever wanted to do was pray. But I did it anyway. Imagine dragging a kicking and screaming toddler away from a TV show and leading her to a kitchen table to eat her vegetables instead (not that I would ever know what that would be like since my children never have tantrums...ahem...) That was sort of how I viewed prayer. I whined lot about it in my mind...<i>But God..I don't WANNNNAAA pray right now. I WANNA WATCH TV!!!!! </i><br />
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I am still struggling, as we all are to some degree or another. But through this period of over two years, I am realizing one thing: <b>My feelings are not an indicator of how much God loves me.</b><br />
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Feelings do not equal love, and feelings do not equal happiness. Sure, happy emotions might be a product of love or happiness. But that doesn't mean they are one in the same.<br />
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Our culture crucifies anyone who says otherwise. Everyone should have the right to do whatever feels good, right? Or, as the popular saying goes: who are we to judge? It doesn't affect me, so why do I care?<br />
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<b>I would argue that it <i>does </i>affect me...and it affects me very much.</b> My children are going to grow up in a confusing, uncertain world where nothing is concrete and reality no longer exists. And we are already in a world where those who disagree with popular opinion are verbally (and sometimes physically) assulted and put on the same level as racists.<br />
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Caitlyn Jenner is, no matter how much plastic surgery or how many operations he gets, a man. He might <i>feel </i>differently...but DNA does not lie. I have compassion for him and for any other people who are genuinely confused about their identity and are searching for happiness. But the word I would like to emphasize is this: <i>confused. </i>There are people who surgically alter themselves to look like reptiles and felines. Some of these people genuinely believe they should have been born an animal instead of a human. And as much as they can try to <i>look </i>like the said animal, they will never truly be one. They were born human, and in essence will be a human for the rest of their lives. Should we support their skewed vision of reality? I don't think so.<br />
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I truly hope Caitlyn Jenner is happy. I hope that he somehow finds what he is looking for. I hope that his children, his ex-wives, and his family are coping with the certain confusion and emotional upheaval that must come with this life altering decision. Rather than focusing on what feels good, perhaps instead we need to ask ourselves this question: What is happiness?<br />
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Happiness is an act, and the act is this: serving others. Whenever we put others before ourselves is when we will truly be happy. Trust me, you are hearing this from me, who is probably one of the most selfish people out there. I struggle with this <i>constantly</i>. As in...I have to have actual conversations with myself to put my selfish inclinations behind me. And I fail at it. A lot. But sometimes, (only with God's help), I am victorious. And when I do serve others, I have a deep sense of peace that pervades my being. Does it "feel" good to be unselfish? Not usually. But in this case, as in most, my feelings are not an indicator of what is right and wrong.<br />
<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-71497919065061908912014-12-22T06:25:00.000-08:002014-12-22T06:30:06.393-08:00What I Want To Teach My Children: You Are Not Special<br />
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You see it everywhere these days. Children's books...TV shows...movies...commercials...internet ads...facebook...<br />
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YOU ARE UNIQUE! YOU ARE DIFFERENT! YOU ARE SPECIAL!<br />
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Now let me clarify here before you go calling DCFS on me and label me as a terrible parent. I love my children more than anyone, and to me, they are the most special and unique children in the world. But. The key word there is: TO ME.<br />
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The rest of the world? Sure, they might think my kids are great. Or even MORE than great. Or perhaps, when Elizabeth is in the grocery store screaming at a decibel level known only to jet engine workers, people might think my kids are <i>less </i>than great. And I understand that. When you have your own kid, EVERYTHING she does is amazing. I think it's just imprinted in our genes to behave this way. "Oh my gosh...LOOK at the way her toe moves when she crawls!! Isn't that the most adorable thing you've ever seen??" And everyone else is slowly nodding their heads, nervously smiling, wondering to themselves when that parent might have reached this level of crazy, and promising themselves that if THEY ever have children, gosh darnit, they will never act this way.<br />
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This need to be special has pervaded our culture in a way it has never been before. I believe it is largely due to social media, a place in which we are bombarded with the extraordinary events of people's lives which leaves us to believe our own lives are less than stellar. (By the way...I think social media is great. But this is one negative effect of it).<br />
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People who are in my generation and older remember a time without social media. IN MY DAY, we had to use a TELEPHONE to CALL people if we wanted to talk!! None of this typing, texting nonsense! **Clears throat** Sorry...ahem. Anyway, my children will never have this experience. Even though I will probably be a stricter parent than most and not allow them to have a Facebook (if it still exists in 10 years) or a cell phone with texting and internet (if those even do exist at all), they will still be surrounded by this culture. This culture, which magnifies our lives to be something spectacular and exciting all the time, desensitizes us to what the word "awesome" really means.<br />
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I want my kids to realize that there is beauty in the ordinary. That they do not have to grow up to be a brain surgeon or a doctor or a world famous sports athlete in order to be happy. That we should have enormous respect for all professions, from the garbage man all the way to President. I want them to know they are no different from everyone else, because we all have a soul that was created by God Himself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzBWCEK2BUBvfdgPjjPyYNK0dEEgl5UYUxEHpFs3wDUsQspys60ICAAWUz4iq7Ypesrfz2xuYZAgNJHBXL-PgpEwjB70ZAhx5HQWotbKeovPii5B-lNoRnVHt7Elg2chWIK7aGmHrVaI/s1600/nativity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXzBWCEK2BUBvfdgPjjPyYNK0dEEgl5UYUxEHpFs3wDUsQspys60ICAAWUz4iq7Ypesrfz2xuYZAgNJHBXL-PgpEwjB70ZAhx5HQWotbKeovPii5B-lNoRnVHt7Elg2chWIK7aGmHrVaI/s1600/nativity.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a>Even the most menial tasks we do can have great value. As Blessed Teresa of Calcutta said, we must do "small things with great love." Every time I change a diaper or fold a shirt or clean up a mess, I keep this in mind. That all the small, ordinary things I do every day are meaningful.<br />
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We can especially see this during the Christmas season. Mary and Joseph were regular, ordinary people. They rode to Bethlehem on a donkey. Jesus was born in a tiny, meager stable. None of these circumstances in which the Savior of the world came into being were special. And yet, they were what God chose for His only Son.<br />
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So if my kids are never blue ribbon winners, or valedictorians, or competition winners, that's okay. If they are, then great. But as long as they are trying their hardest, I hope they realize that aspiring to be ordinary is wonderful. Because really, that's what we all are: ordinary. And that in itself is a beautiful thing.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-87278187333123564432014-12-13T07:01:00.001-08:002014-12-13T07:01:42.547-08:00How To Help Someone Suffering From Miscarriage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today, December 13, is a day of bittersweet emotions for me. It is the feast day of St. Lucy...a very important saint in my life. My middle name, Lucia, was taken from Sr. Lucia, who was my grandmother's best friend. My grandmother, after whom Mary Ellen is named, was one of the most important people in my life. I often think of her and Sr. Lucia on this day.<br />
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This day also brings great sorrow to me. Today, three years ago, was <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/06/when-our-baby-went-to-heaven-catherines.html" target="_blank">the day I lost my first baby</a>, who we named Catherine. In the early hours before sunrise, as I lay in bed nursing my infant, I think of my first baby. My girl who had a short life, but a life nonetheless. I have been wanting to write a post about how to help mothers (and fathers) who have suffered miscarriage. So many well meaning people say such hurtful things without even realizing they are hurtful. And likewise, so many people just want to help, without knowing what to do. Miscarriage is a taboo subject in our culture...many people don't quite know how to react to it. It is a lonely cross that parents must bear. So I hope these tips might help the loved ones of those going through a terrible loss.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Things you should not say </span></b></div>
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<b>1. At least it happened early.</b><br />
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It always amazes me that "pro-life" people treat miscarriage as something that does not need to be addressed. If you believe that life starts at conception, why wouldn't an early loss be just as devastating as a later loss? It's the same person...the same soul...the same baby. Just a different size. It is, I believe, because of our "seeing is believing" culture. People cannot see that the mother is pregnant. No one but the mother feels the physical pain of miscarriage. And typically, no one but the mother (and father) sees the tiny, tiny baby that has been taken from the womb. So always realize that, no matter when a miscarriage occurs in a pregnancy, the pain (and the baby) is so real.</div>
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<b>2. There was probably a genetic problem, so it was for the best.</b><br />
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"It was for the best" is something that no one ever wants to hear when they are experiencing a loss. After going through a miscarriage, you do not care that the likelihood your baby could have survived outside the womb are very slim. You do not care that there was probably something seriously wrong with your baby. The fact is, <i>that was, and is, your baby. </i>No matter what medical state the baby was in while in the womb.</div>
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<b>3. God needed another angel.</b><br />
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First of all, theologically speaking, humans do not become angels when they enter heaven. Angels are a different species than humans...all spirit, with no body. But aside from that, this is one of those phrases that well meaning people think might comfort the parents. In reality, it does the opposite. Especially when parents are fresh from the loss of their baby, they do not want to hear that "this was all in God's plan" or "God needed them in heaven." Death was never part of God's plan. God's plan was for people to live in the perfect world of Eden with Him. Death would have never existed had it not been for original sin which resulted from our free will. And even though it certainly is true that our baby can intercede for us in heaven (something I definitely kept in mind during my early pregnancy with Elizabeth), during the time of miscarriage, we want our baby with us here on Earth. </div>
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<b>4. You can always have more children/at least you have children already</b><br />
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This phrase takes away from the importance of the baby for whom the parents are mourning. It implies that this death shouldn't be so bad, because at least you'll have other kids to take your mind off it. I doubt that anyone would ever say this to parents who have lost a child who has already been born...so why is it okay to say this to parents who have lost their child in the womb? </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Things that you should say or do</span></b></div>
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<b>1. Give the parents space if they need it</b><br />
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After I had my miscarriage, I did not want to speak to or see anyone for awhile. Partly because I didn't want people to know about what I had gone through. Partly couldn't stand facing the (well meaning) comments people would make. And partly because I couldn't handle being around those who did know, acting like nothing had happened and that everything was okay (again, well meaning). I chose to mourn by myself. It was difficult, because it was around Christmastime. I remember opening presents with our families, trying to be happy about Christmas, but simply thinking the whole time about how it was impossible to feel happy after losing my baby.<br />
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I also remember it being very difficult to go anywhere in public for awhile. Every time I saw a baby or a pregnant person, I would burst into tears. I specifically remember one time going to a restaurant with my mom and sitting down to our table. I glanced to the side, and realized that literally right next to our table was a brand new mother with an infant who couldn't have been more than a week old. I had to get up and go to another table because I couldn't handle being around the baby.</div>
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<b>2. Acknowledge that this baby is real, and that they will always be his/her parents.</b><br />
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The most comforting thing anyone ever said to me while I went through my miscarriage had to do with this point. I had not told many people about it, and chose to tell a coworker at school. I remember that instead of looking at me with sorrow or awkwardness, he broke out in a big smile, and said: "Wow! You guys are parents! That's amazing!" For me, it acknowledged the fact that my baby was real, and that, especially since this was my first baby, I was a mother. </div>
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<b>3. If the couple gives the baby a name, refer to him/her by that name.</b><br />
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We chose to name our baby Catherine. It was too early to tell if the baby was a girl or a boy, but based off a very real dream that I believe was a message from God, we knew our baby was a girl. Since parents who miscarry early do not get a funeral or any sense of closure from the loss, giving the baby a name has helped us tremendously. </div>
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And the most important thing, I think, is this:</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Never forget this baby.</span></b></div>
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As the months and years pass, most people tend to move on. But as a mother, you never forget. My mom sends me messages often, telling me she's thinking about my baby in heaven. I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that someone still remembers. That not everyone has forgotten. </div>
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I think many people are afraid to bring it up, thinking that it might bring me pain. But it's actually quite the opposite. By acknowledging my baby, you are telling me that my baby was real and important to you. And that you want to be there for me, even years later, when even though the pain is different now, it is still there. And it always will be.</div>
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My baby girl will always be in my heart. And I will never forget the love and support I received from those who have helped and continue to help me along the way. It is a long and windy road...one that is traveled easier while holding someone's hand.<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-27464689120272894112014-12-05T05:50:00.000-08:002014-12-05T05:50:11.139-08:00My Rant About Catholic Priests<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you are friends with me on Facebook, you might recognize this note I wrote about my feelings toward Catholic priests. I decided to post it on my blog, as a reminder to myself and to anyone reading of how amazing Catholic priests really are. Enjoy!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Being a Catholic, I am used to being constantly criticized and judged. I'm not trying to be a martyr here, but it's the truth. Just watch the news, and you'll for sure see SOMETHING on there that negatively depicts the Church that I love so much. It's very rare that you'll consistently see a big uproar about something that a <i></i>Evangelical preacher, a Buddhist scholar, or a Hindu teacher might say. Why is that? Because the Church angers and confuses people. Because what we believe is not convenient, easy, or in any way "with the times." Why don't we just change and conform to modern society? Maybe then everyone would just leave us alone and let us practice our faith in peace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let's face it. Catholicism is confusing and hard to understand. In a religion that has lasted over 2,000 years, it's bound to be. I don't claim to know and understand every single aspect of it. But, I 100% guarantee you that the people who are "against" the Church are not actually against it. They are against what they THINK is the Church. They just don't understand why we do what we do. And I totally get that. It's complex, sure. But if you are willing to put in the time and energy to REALLY TRY to...in the words of Shaun T..."dig deeper" (teehee), you might be surprised at what you find.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So what I'm writing about today is our priests. Our men who give their ENTIRE LIVES to serve the Church. Our men who decide, on their own accord, that they want to dedicate their whole self to take care of God's people. That's you and me. Wait, does that sound familiar? Didn't someone else do that? Was it Jesus? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every time I see a priest, I have an urge to get on my knees and kiss his feet in thanksgiving for what he has done for me and for us. (I don't usually give in to this urge, because I feel that it might freak people out...) I wish there was a universal sign of respect that I could portray to a priest every time I saw one...even if I didn't know him. Something that said, "Father, I love and respect you for making this decision. Thank you for giving your life for me, just as Jesus did." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every time I see a priest, I want to just stare at him (in the non-creepiest way possible) because I am so IN AWE. I am amazed that there are still people out there who believe in the Church SO MUCH that they sacrifice everything in order to best serve the Church's people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every time I see a priest, I want to shout to everyone around me: "STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING! COME TALK TO THIS MAN! HE IS HERE FOR YOU AND FOR ME, AND WE SHOULD ALL THANK HIM!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, am I claiming that priests are perfect? No. They are human just like everyone else, and they have flaws just like you and me. Have some priests done horrible things "in the name of the Church?" Unfortunately, yes. Do some priests preach or act in a way that doesn't reflect what the Church teaches? Yes. Are all priests warm and cuddly and do they all make you feel fuzzy inside? No. The fact is, there are priests out there who have done horrible things or who make us feel exactly the opposite as "being close to Christ." But does this mean that we should judge every priest based on those few? Of course not. Should we say all teachers are bad because some of them sexually assault their students? Should we say all fathers are bad because some of them physically abuse their children? Should we say all movie stars are bad because some of them have drug addictions? No.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So perhaps you can understand perhaps why in infuriates me when all I hear is criticism toward these amazing men. "I saw a priest driving a BMW...how dare he spend that kind of money on a car when he should be giving it to the poor!" "I don't like that priest...his homilies are boring." Or even worse yet, when their criticisms are based off either untruths or misunderstandings of the faith. "Why can't priests get married?" "Why can't there be women priests?" Those are great questions. And there are logical answers as to why the Catholic Church does not allow for women priests or married priests. But to me, constantly complaining about that is the same as going up to a war veteran and saying "You know, that war was so unnecessary and I don't agree with it. Why would you go and fight for something so stupid?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So instead of the criticisms, let's first try to UNDERSTAND the teachings of the church. Then, even if you don't agree with it, at least show some respect toward these men. Even if a priest isn't the friendliest or the coolest or the greatest person you know, show him some love. Because I can almost certainly guarantee that these men love you. How do I know that? They are, literally, living proof.</span></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-66885632133426018222014-11-29T10:05:00.001-08:002014-11-29T10:05:36.599-08:00What My Daughter Has Taught Me About Trusting God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Confession time: I have control issues. Wait, what? That doesn't surprise you? Oh. Well then. Moving on.<br />
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I have this idea in my head that *I* know what's best for my life and the life of my family. I have the best plans. I try my hardest to be the best person I can be, and gosh dangit, only I know how to achieve that.<br />
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I worry incessantly. About mostly stupid things. But sometimes, my worries are legitimate. And looking back so far, I think one of the biggest worries in my life occurred when I became pregnant with my little Mary.<br />
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I knew, of course, that it was <i>possible </i>I could get pregnant again. My husband and I don't use contraception, and we are fully aware that every time we have intercourse there is a possibility of pregnancy. (And, by the way, even if you DO use contraception, there is STILL a chance you could get pregnant if you have intercourse). But it was never in the forefront of my mind. Kind of like how people know it's <i>possible </i>that if they buy a lottery ticket, they could win the lottery. Or that if dark clouds start forming, a tornado might come. One of those things that you know <i>could </i>happen but just don't really expect.<br />
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When I saw those two pink lines on my positive pregnancy test, my entire world shifted. All these thoughts pervaded my waking moments...mainly "what ifs." What if I am so sick for the entire pregnancy and I can't take care of Elizabeth? What if I lose this baby? What if I have to go on bedrest and I can't lift Elizabeth? What if my delivery is horrible and I need months to recover?<br />
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And mostly: <i>How the heck am I going to handle two babies so close in age?</i><br />
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There are so many people out there who have multiple children close in age, and some closer in age than my two girls. And they always manage. But I wasn't like them...I'm not patient, or trusting, or unselfish. I didn't know how I was going to do it. Every time someone made the comment, "Wow, you are going to have your hands full!" (every 5.2 minutes to be exact) my doubts and anxieties grew even more.<br />
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Then...<br />
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I held her for the first time.<br />
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My sweet, amazing, gift from God. I can't really describe to you what an incredible baby she is. All of my doubts and fears and insecurities...all of them were for nothing. Because guess what happened? God had it all figured out. I am in the palm of His hand, whether I want to be or not. He gave me this beautiful, calm, easygoing baby. My life and my heart is fuller because of her. And now, I honestly can't imagine my life <i>without </i>two babies close in age. I am so thankful that it happened the way it did.<br />
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If *I* had been in control of the situation, I would have waited longer because I just assumed there was no way I would be able to handle having another baby so soon. But my precious Mary has taught me, just by being herself, that God knows what's best for me so much more than I do. And I notice more and more that when I totally surrender myself to him (which, for a control freak, is the hardest thing you can ever do), I feel a sense of peace and contentment that I never previously had.<br />
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Is God's will for us always easy? Haaaaahahaha. That's a funny joke, isn't it? Most of the time, it's going to be the more difficult path. But we can have faith that He will give us the grace to get through those difficult times. And after having Mary, I am trying, one day at a time, to <i>LET GO. </i>Even those small, every day decisions that seem like SUCH a big deal. God's got them all under control.<br />
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Here's the proof.<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-49144327073755161612014-10-14T13:42:00.001-07:002014-10-14T13:42:24.437-07:00"So What Do You Do All Day?" Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The decision to become a stay-at-home-mom (which, for brevity's sake, I will call a SAHM for the rest of the post) was not an easy one for me. In fact, I would call it almost agonizing. There were many, many sleepless nights, tearful conversations, and desperate prayers involved. Deep down, I always knew it was the best decision for our family. But I was terrified to make the plunge.<br />
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I was immensely blessed to get my dream job right after graduating college. I have told this to many people, but honestly, I could not have found a more perfect job for me. I taught band, choir, and general music at a local Catholic high school. One which, ironically, most of my family attended, but I did not. I absolutely loved teaching high school. For me, it is the perfect age to teach. The students are old enough to understand my weird sense of humor, and to discuss real life issues with insight and maturity. They appreciate sarcasm, they love talking about every day topics, and they make me laugh like no one else can. It was truly a great job.<br />
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The first two years I taught, it worked out really well with my life situation. I was engaged the first year, and newly married the second year. Being a high school music teacher means that there are many after school, evening, and weekend obligations that take up your time in addition to your day job (and to be honest, it's like this for most teachers, not just music). But I didn't mind, because it was just my husband and me at home.<br />
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When Elizabeth was born during my third year of teaching, my school was generous enough to allow me to take an entire semester off for maternity leave (mostly unpaid, but my job would be held for me). For me, it was a great situation because I was able to have 7 months off (second semester and summer) to spend with my baby, getting used to being a mom. Trent and I seriously considered me not going back to school. In the end, though, we decided it would be best for me to return to my job.<br />
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<a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tyranov_-_Young_Housewife.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Tyranov_-_Young_Housewife.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Tyranov - Young Housewife.jpg" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5e/Tyranov_-_Young_Housewife.jpg" height="320" width="264" /></a>But I knew that, even though I loved my job so much, something wasn't right. I felt like I was split...I couldn't give 100% to my job OR my family. I spent all day at work thinking about my family, and I spent all day at home thinking about my job. I had many evening and weekend obligations that made it difficult to spend time with my new daughter. Some days, I only saw her in the morning as I scrambled to get everything ready for day care.<br />
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My instincts were telling me that staying home would be the right decision. Trent wanted me to stay home more than anything. But fear held me back. What would people say? What if I hated staying home and wanted my job back? I kept asking God for some sort of sign...a sign which I felt wasn't coming.</div>
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But then, the sign came. In the form of a positive pregnancy test. At that moment when I saw those two pink lines, even amid my shock and disbelief, I knew that once this baby came, I could no longer return to work. I was still scared out of my mind, but deep down, for the first time, I felt a sense of peace and finality about my decision. </div>
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Much to my surprise, most of my friends and family showed great love and support of our decision. There were a few negative comments and disapproving glances here and there, but overall, I really did feel an outpouring of positive feedback. This helped me feel peace about our decision so much.</div>
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Now that I have been a SAHM for almost a half of a year, I have realized many things. Most importantly, I now understand how lucky I am to even have the <i>choice </i>to stay home. Money is tight for us, yes. But we have the means to make it work. Many women want nothing more than to stay home with their children, but can't because of financial or other reasons. </div>
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I also see that being a SAHM does not make you a better or worse parent than being a working mom. Every family is different. I know some moms who are simply better moms when they are able to get out of the house and work. They say they would hate staying home every day. Other moms, like myself, simply do better when we can be with our children most of the time. I think Catholics especially are guilty of being judgmental of other family's situations. When I went back to work after having Elizabeth, there was a well intentioned Catholic friend who asked us why we were going to pay someone to raise our child for us. </div>
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Most of all, though, I see a culture that views SAHMs as lazy leeches who use their husband's money and do not contribute to their family in a productive way. We are asked the dreaded question time and time again: "So...what do you do all day?" </div>
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In a series of blog posts to come, I will talk about why this view is wrong (not to mention highly offensive), where it comes from, and how I respond to it. Stay tuned!</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-64472458608499965772014-09-22T13:09:00.000-07:002014-09-22T13:09:09.888-07:007 Quick Takes: Being Real<a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/7_quick_takes_sm1.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1387" src="http://www.conversiondiary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/7_quick_takes_sm1.jpg" height="430" title="7_quick_takes_sm" width="640" /></a>
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<a href="" name="qt1"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt1" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 1 ---</a></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.catholicallyear.com/2014/09/mailbag-please-stop-screaming.html" target="_blank">This post</a> from Kendra about dealing with a strong willed 18 month old. I pretty much adore every post she writes about parenting, because it validates the instincts I have about raising my own children (those same instincts that a majority if "experts" say are WRONG DAG NABBIT!!)</span></div>
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<a href="" name="qt2"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt2" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 2 ---</a></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Seguey into <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/faithonthecouch/2014/09/moms-response-to-babys-cries-may-indicate-unresolved-childhood-woundsneed-for-counseling/" target="_blank">this article</a>. Well I occasionally like to finish a five minute task, such as switching loads of laundry, or chopping a few onions, or changing Elizabeth's diaper. And sometimes while I do that, Mary is screaming. And the screaming doesn't bother me at all. Because I know I will get to her, just not right this very millisecond. So I guess, according to this article, I need therapy to help me overcome some "hidden emotional scars." I think it's a good thing that now, instead of being all freaked out by an article like this and thinking I'm doing something wrong, I just LAUGH. Because it's SO ridiculous.</span><br />
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<a href="" name="qt3"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt3" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 3 ---</a></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://carrotsformichaelmas.com/2014/09/12/instagram-envy-being-authentic-on-the-internet-and-when-its-time-to-break-up-with-a-blog/" target="_blank">This post</a> from Hallie. A great post about not letting social media bring you down, thinking that everyone else has a perfect life except you. I am definitely guilty of this sometimes. But I really like her perspective on this.</span><br />
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<a href="" name="qt4"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt4" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 4 ---</a></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Real food, y'all. My husband and I are seriously considering taking a 100-day real food pledge. You can find the specific rules </span><a href="http://www.100daysofrealfood.com/real-food-defined-a-k-a-the-rules/" style="font-size: medium;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="font-size: small;">, but the jist of it is that you are only allowed to eat...wait for it...REAL food. Like, no chemicals, preservatives, or highly processed junk. Only whole grains and natural sugars (maple syrup, honey, etc). And none of that LOW FAT crud. I don't like using low fat ingredients anyway. Honestly the only thing holding me back (I say this as I munch on a highly processed, chemical filled, delicious graham cracker) is my worry that it might affect my milk supply. So I might wait until this cow here has a more established supply.</span></span></div>
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<a href="" name="qt5"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt5" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 5 ---</a></strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of food, it's quite amazing how much slower my pre-baby belly is coming back this time around. I am definitely ok with this, and am in no way depressed or upset by it, because I know this is part of having children and I have reasonable expectations for what my body will look like after having 2 children close together. But still...meh.</span></span></div>
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<a href="" name="qt6"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt6" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 6 ---</a></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This ice cream sundae. Not real food. Worth every preservative filled bite.</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoyTPUri8D9IYkclE0EWEXhyLGuiVEovcEItmcLd17UBZbloAJu-ho_RlsheHls1pdbUDiN2u02OTN4OWtTqGN9tzcdeOs9K1VazW_tWF3gKyyJthEdMk5e_mIjICjXTvx-pV-htqQbpU/s1600/pie+in+the+sky.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoyTPUri8D9IYkclE0EWEXhyLGuiVEovcEItmcLd17UBZbloAJu-ho_RlsheHls1pdbUDiN2u02OTN4OWtTqGN9tzcdeOs9K1VazW_tWF3gKyyJthEdMk5e_mIjICjXTvx-pV-htqQbpU/s1600/pie+in+the+sky.png" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Sheridan's Pie in the Sky</td></tr>
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<a href="" name="qt7"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt7" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 7 ---</a></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mary is 7 weeks old. It is during this time with Elizabeth that my milk supply started to plummet and she got really sick and she stopped gaining weight and I started having serious post partum anxiety issues and it seemed like EVERYTHING was going wrong. So I'm just kind of <i>waiting </i>for something bad to happen again...but it's not. Breastfeeding this time around has been going amazingly well, and I'm incredibly thankful. Mary is nice and fat, my milk is flowing like the land of milk and honey, and everything seems to be hunkey dorey. </span></div>
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For more Quick Takes, visit <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/">Conversion Diary!</a></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-82504614255738384162014-09-16T14:15:00.000-07:002014-09-16T14:16:02.961-07:005 Things You Should Know About People Opposed to Homosexual Lifetyles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbYZ537y6oGBDqpKwNAZEPm8D-kTjAXhvGPIIlpryCnBgpZM_yleqcL6VhsR9Is6SltDOYnCxZ0LsaSa7akEn9BW6rHpbCuQns-0j2x9Iz1ddzPD3v7IRL6nNdLgukifwyFHbc1ezcTg/s1600/Homosexual+Lifestyles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbYZ537y6oGBDqpKwNAZEPm8D-kTjAXhvGPIIlpryCnBgpZM_yleqcL6VhsR9Is6SltDOYnCxZ0LsaSa7akEn9BW6rHpbCuQns-0j2x9Iz1ddzPD3v7IRL6nNdLgukifwyFHbc1ezcTg/s1600/Homosexual+Lifestyles.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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It has always baffled me that for some, saying "<a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/04/since-when-does-i-disagree-i-hate-you.html" target="_blank">I disagree" can automatically mean "I hate you.</a>" This applies especially to the issue of homosexuality. I don't think living in a homosexual lifestyle is beneficial for anyone. And because I hold this view, I've been called names, I've been yelled at, and I've been misquoted. But most of all, I've found that people make assumptions about me that could not be farther from the truth. I want to clear up a few of these assumptions, and I hope it comes through in a loving, non judgmental tone.<br />
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<b>1. I don't hate gay people</b>.<br />
Nor am I afraid of them. The term "homophobe" means to be frightened of homosexuals. I have friends who are gay, and I love them. I don't agree with their lifestyle, but guess what? There are aspects of most of my friends' lifestyles that I don't agree with. Does this mean I don't love them? I'm against contraception. I'm assuming that a great majority of people I know and love use contraception. I don't agree with their choice to use contraception, and I hope and pray that they stop, because I know it's not the best thing for them. But I still love them.<br />
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<b>2. I understand that same-sex attraction is not a choice.</b><br />
Same sex attraction can certainly be built in, and can be no different than my own attraction to the opposite sex. Most gay people don't <i>choose</i> to be gay. In fact, I have found that many wish they weren't, because of the obstacles they must face. I feel a great amount of compassion for my gay friends because of those difficulties.<br />
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<b>3. I acknowledge that homosexual activity is wrong. This is not the same as "judging."</b><br />
Thinking that something is wrong is not the same as judging. I do think, when done knowingly and intentionally, homosexual activity is not good. But guess what? So is using contraception. And heterosexual activity outside of marriage. And acting on anger. And gluttony. And laziness. Who the heck am I to look down on gay people, when I have a list longer than the Great Wall of China of my own problems? I don't look down on anyone who makes bad decisions. Because then I would look have to look down on every person on the Earth, including myself.<br />
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<b>4. There is nothing wrong with having same-sex attraction. The problem is acting on that attraction.</b><br />
Before my husband and I got married, we were attracted to each other. It's normal to <i>want </i>to have intercourse with someone even if you're not married. There is no problem in that. But that doesn't mean that we should <i>act </i>on those wants. So the idea that "being gay is wrong" is incorrect. If a person has no choice in the matter of having same-sex attraction, how can that be wrong?<br />
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<b>5. I don't think your sexual orientation describes who you are.</b><br />
I hate saying "So and so is gay" or "So and so is a homosexual." I don't like associating a person with their sexual orientation. That's not <i>who </i>a person is. It may be <i>part </i>of a person, but it's not the essence of him or her. People may have homosexual or heterosexual tendencies, but that's not who they are. They are much more than that.<br />
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So please understand that many people who don't agree with the homosexual lifestyle aren't haters, or ignorant, or mean, or judgmental, or any other negative adjective you might use. There's many of us out there. But to be quite frank, people with same-sex attraction are absolutely no different than the rest of us. Why is it nearly impossible to have a calm, intelligent discussion on this topic, without name calling (on either end)? I think it's because people on both sides of the fence make assumptions about the other that actually aren't true. Maybe it would do everyone some good if we could step back and look at all sides.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-42474562074345850712014-09-13T05:45:00.001-07:002014-09-13T05:45:38.667-07:007 Quick Takes: Grateful
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I had my 7 Quick Takes post all ready for yesterday. I was about to post...and then, as I was reading through it once last time, checking for errors, I realized that I spent the entire post complaining and griping about stupid things. Now, granted, I did write it at 4am after an exhausting day and night of recovering from food poisoning and trying to get a sleepy baby to just FALL ASLEEP ALREADY! But still. No one wants to listen to complainers. And I am far too blessed to complain about the stupid little problems that I have.<br />
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So today, here is my 7 Quick Takes: Grateful Edition!<br />
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Starting out, I'm realizing that I complain way too much. So I'm taking a new pledge to try not to complain as much. Blessed are those who are meek and humble, they will inherit the earth. This is gonna take a LOT of praying but I'm really hoping to change this about myself.<br />
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I am SO excited about the change of weather! It's really starting to feel like fall, and getting me in the mood for soup and apples and cinnamon and all things fall related.<br />
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<a href="" name="qt3"></a><strong>--- 3 ---</strong></div>
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Speaking of apples, we are going apple picking this morning! First time for Mary, and first REAL time for Elizabeth (she did it last year but was really too young to understand what was going on). Coincidentally, one of Elizabeth's favorite words is "apple" (sounds like AH-PAH, usually said in some sort of gravelly monster-ish type of voice). So she's gonna lose her head when she sees all those ah-pahs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple picking last year</td></tr>
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<a href="" name="qt4"></a><strong>--- 4 ---</strong></div>
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I realized while I was sick with food poisoning how thankful I am to have so many people who care about me. I had dozens of people ask me through Facebook or texts how I was feeling, which was great because it made me feel not so isolated. My mom came and brought me gatorade and pretzels, and my neighbor brought soup for me and Chick-Fil-A for Elizabeth. My uncle Jim and my mom came a few days later and helped clean my house. It takes a village, and I certainly love my village.<br />
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<div style="font-size: 21px; text-align: center;">
<a href="" name="qt5"></a><strong>--- 5 ---</strong></div>
<div style="font-size: 21px; text-align: center;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
Speaking of non-complainers, I really respect my husband in this area. He does what needs to be done, with nary an eye roll or exasperated sigh. He does his duties with joy, knowing he is serving God and his family. I need to take a leaf out of his book. I am so thankful for him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-size: 21px; text-align: center;">
<a href="" name="qt6"></a><strong>--- 6 ---</strong></div>
<div style="font-size: 21px; text-align: center;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
I recently finished the book "My Sisters the Saints." I'm in an online book club on Facebook, which has been a great motivator for me to actually finish some books that I wouldn't normally read on my own. What a fantastic book. It has helped me realize how important it is to really study the lives of the Saints and try to emulate them. And how most of them had very difficult lives, and did not have an easy time becoming close to God. Much different from what many people (including myself) realize.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLIaz7hXyXTLX0oOUpt4JIehRkviITxhuX9kB22UHRa2WX4-5f0u6ndOVqaIhtAq9dEdTGDiXWvFtFoBOJ9RSlUONS9la3WaLAH7TC2IqqTnI68Hwi8PgEUiHeiEN76rgK7hwTqQZuSs/s1600/My-Sisters-the-Saints-new_Page_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLIaz7hXyXTLX0oOUpt4JIehRkviITxhuX9kB22UHRa2WX4-5f0u6ndOVqaIhtAq9dEdTGDiXWvFtFoBOJ9RSlUONS9la3WaLAH7TC2IqqTnI68Hwi8PgEUiHeiEN76rgK7hwTqQZuSs/s1600/My-Sisters-the-Saints-new_Page_1.jpg" height="400" width="276" /></a></div>
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<div style="font-size: 21px; text-align: center;">
<a href="" name="qt7"></a><strong>--- 7 ---</strong></div>
<div style="font-size: 21px; text-align: center;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
My daughter Elizabeth is so much fun. I complain about her a lot, saying how she is a difficult child. And she is difficult sometimes. But she's also incredibly sweet to her little sister, always petting her and kissing her and covering her with b<span style="text-align: center;">lankets. She loves to sing and read and talk. And it's amazing to watch her grow and form her personality.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWKP7zgfHJzV5ihTfKqIOj4eUggW_MXRuF1uj7GAxR87c7BH-hbOLZ6HTi8sTNZfJbkyEEj7yl4SZLeYw_kz7NbZJkpEqIVTgzYJ3z0a2DHz3ndDzWPCI1J28LmuabRN8SESBBX2wf18/s1600/IMG_1811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWKP7zgfHJzV5ihTfKqIOj4eUggW_MXRuF1uj7GAxR87c7BH-hbOLZ6HTi8sTNZfJbkyEEj7yl4SZLeYw_kz7NbZJkpEqIVTgzYJ3z0a2DHz3ndDzWPCI1J28LmuabRN8SESBBX2wf18/s1600/IMG_1811.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
For more Quick Takes, visit <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/">Conversion Diary!</a></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-27534046131135556302014-09-06T04:46:00.001-07:002014-09-06T04:48:04.384-07:00Me, Me, MeI'm going to substitute my normal 7 quick takes for a post about humility, and how I need a big slap in the face sometimes when it comes to this virtue.<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRcj-rXeS6XijXGTuzpjMronAAZg_gGpk9-_vZil89hSfS5tV5QauEGyDPrS6H8P7pbZYFULkREE1sfrp3pzFa_I0HeCQHf-6NMoc3xgsoycltsKLzgwo6ueA2KjMy7UWYSnTGyqtyVs/s640/blogger-image--38670591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRcj-rXeS6XijXGTuzpjMronAAZg_gGpk9-_vZil89hSfS5tV5QauEGyDPrS6H8P7pbZYFULkREE1sfrp3pzFa_I0HeCQHf-6NMoc3xgsoycltsKLzgwo6ueA2KjMy7UWYSnTGyqtyVs/s640/blogger-image--38670591.jpg"></a></div><br><div><br></div><div>I am so incredibly thankful that God has given me my husband. Out of all of my gifts, including my children, I am most thankful for him. My list of important things in my life go as follows, in order by importance:</div><div>1) God (ideally God is always ranked first in my life, but if I'm going to be real, it's sadly true that this is not always the case</div><div>2) My husband</div><div>3) My children</div><div>4) Family and close friends</div><div>5) Chocolate milk*</div><div><br></div><div>*sometimes depending on my emotional state number 1 and number 5 are switched</div><div><br></div><div>My husband is patient, kind, gentle, and understanding. The exact opposite of me. I look up to him in a way that makes me want to be a better person.</div><div><br></div><div>People tell me ALL the time: "you are so lucky to have him. He is such a good father. He is such a good husband." I always nod vigourosly, agreeing. I can't believe sometimes that I am so blessed.</div><div><br></div><div>But. When people say these things to me, the ugly monster of pride comes racing into my head. Instead of simply agreeing with them and being thankful for what I have, and then moving on, the thoughts start to creep into my head. <i>What about me?</i> I think. <i>Am I not a good wife? Am I not a good mother? Why does no one ever comment about that? Why do I never hear people telling Trent that he's so lucky to have me? That my children are lucky to have me?</i></div><div><i><br></i></div><div>Its true...I've only heard people say this about me a few times, compared to the hundreds of times I've heard it about Trent. It's not at all that I'm <i>jealous </i>of Trent. It's that I'm resentful that people don't often tell me that I, too, am doing a good job. That I am a good wife, and a good mother. Because in the 5 love languages (if you are married and have never read this book, READ IT. It's dripping with truth and wisdom and it WILL make your marriage better), mine is words of affirmation. I <i>need </i>to be told that I'm doing a good job. I'm kind of like a dog. Give me a treat for my good behavior and everything will be just dandy. Trent knows this, and is constantly thanking me for everything I do. </div><div><br></div><div>But when does a need for affirmation become a pride issue? Here comes the infamous Catholic guilt. Why can't I simply be happy for what I have, and not get slightly upset every time someone gushes over Trent and not me? Why does it always have to be about <i>me? </i>Me, me, me. If I wanted to be affirmed, I shouldn't have become a stay at home mom, which is one of the most thankless jobs in existence.</div><div><br></div><div>There's not really a concrete answer to my problem. It's something that I have always struggled with and will continue to struggle with for a long time. It will be a two steps forward, one step back kind of process. Stupid pride. Go away.</div><div><br></div><div>Now if you'll excuse me I have to go hang a giant mural of my face on our front door wall. Because it's <i>all </i>about me.</div><div><br></div><div>PS: just so everyone is aware, I'm not writing this post so people will tell me that I am a good mom and wife...the point of it is to talk about our issues and how to get over them. Just clarifying...no attention seeking 'round these here parts. K thx bye.</div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-69139307098046548172014-09-03T11:07:00.001-07:002014-09-03T11:10:12.873-07:00Mary's Birth Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqXZ7B_u-K8WByZ9kD-lS_lvlC16MlCeUeEJAPa1P0iPfIZ1ED3bzWX9-K9jxXlrUsMks5jK3AOgPY-bHd25Bxfi69vO1TbnG8EvVFXVaz9qpSSX6BYoXetyiaiNGASjKvRvILF8Iy10/s1600/Mary's%2BBirth%2BStory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfqXZ7B_u-K8WByZ9kD-lS_lvlC16MlCeUeEJAPa1P0iPfIZ1ED3bzWX9-K9jxXlrUsMks5jK3AOgPY-bHd25Bxfi69vO1TbnG8EvVFXVaz9qpSSX6BYoXetyiaiNGASjKvRvILF8Iy10/s1600/Mary's%2BBirth%2BStory.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Yin and Yang. Salt and Pepper. Hot and Cold. Chocolate and Vanilla. Mmmmm...chocolate...wait, what?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Opposites: this word describes my two daughters to a tee. Everything about them so far is so completely different. It's fascinating how two people who come from the same parents could <i>be</i> so different, but I guess it makes sense. Dramatic, outgoing, creative, emotional Elizabeth is just like me (Lord help us). Calm, observant, serious Mary is just like Trent. They even <i>look </i>completely different (except for those trademark lips...they both have those).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnirMqmQYQQDSQEw52h7YIarfvOIkIuRWTqOmqtP7VD8uQ6fcEsnvjKLlEa9kfJDEpqUJTSBha9kfeYczQoyw9wfAy1FtgERO2_IspU4aPaNTHLxvVqifWntmq0vaKsqBAiQnkKU1CUK4/s1600/Elizabeth+and+Mary+birth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnirMqmQYQQDSQEw52h7YIarfvOIkIuRWTqOmqtP7VD8uQ6fcEsnvjKLlEa9kfJDEpqUJTSBha9kfeYczQoyw9wfAy1FtgERO2_IspU4aPaNTHLxvVqifWntmq0vaKsqBAiQnkKU1CUK4/s1600/Elizabeth+and+Mary+birth.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right after birth. Left: Elizabeth, Right: Mary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHY3vV2NSkUOrIw8uiuKhAKJFQrihnBd0S4zMpwQT4jtou203wOLYGjfju5awOrjpWA_DPvNd9hLp86-Mbhg1fDxDAP-peAZ7NEifw0haZFJh3mGbL-ZOGowQ31HJbjkLQZ4kNldeLrs/s1600/Elizabeth+Mary+newborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHY3vV2NSkUOrIw8uiuKhAKJFQrihnBd0S4zMpwQT4jtou203wOLYGjfju5awOrjpWA_DPvNd9hLp86-Mbhg1fDxDAP-peAZ7NEifw0haZFJh3mGbL-ZOGowQ31HJbjkLQZ4kNldeLrs/s1600/Elizabeth+Mary+newborn.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 1 week old. Left: Elizabeth, Right: Mary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUCmx-ru7DYFzsca45dHR4JBNKGjqniEOp3i0tkem3h4ng2618OWj_HPmlfL1jZ8gTISAKdMLI1Zg_N0WsICeSZk-eoR_esRiD8z1S3QRjHlAs6fkfvpWzesf-k2SGDks6grvXLcPMps/s1600/Elizabeth+Mary+1+month.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUCmx-ru7DYFzsca45dHR4JBNKGjqniEOp3i0tkem3h4ng2618OWj_HPmlfL1jZ8gTISAKdMLI1Zg_N0WsICeSZk-eoR_esRiD8z1S3QRjHlAs6fkfvpWzesf-k2SGDks6grvXLcPMps/s1600/Elizabeth+Mary+1+month.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 month old. Left: Elizabeth. Right: Mary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Their pregnancy and birth stories are no exception. I wrote about Elizabeth's birth story <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/06/elizabeths-birth-story.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and to fully understand Mary's birth story and how different it was from her sister's, you should grab some popcorn, sit back, and read that first.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
During my pregnancy with Elizabeth, I was violently sick for about 5 months. To the point where it was difficult for me to function. With Mary's pregnancy, I felt a tiny bit sick from time to time, but it was very tolerable and it only lasted for a month or so. The rest was smooth sailin'. I almost felt guilty when people looked at me with pity in their eyes and asked how I was feeling...inevitably, I'd always respond with a big smile and say "great! No complaints here!" During Elizabeth's pregnancy, I felt her move very early, at about 12 weeks. And she moved like a maniac during the whole pregnancy. I didn't feel Mary until about 15 weeks, and even then, she was always very calm. I never really felt that much movement with her. It even made me worried sometimes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93ji4CeSGBqnkxv-F7SK366PkhkQCAyCojM-_8iRdWJrRcTljiefnCvuxT_2WRX160PrIl6dMWPaHJledaujJGQ88qixpz-zKa-8j_7mSu5k5xB0xbSWN-lUDyDKsuxggmUogjE3tqIs/s1600/IMG_0338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93ji4CeSGBqnkxv-F7SK366PkhkQCAyCojM-_8iRdWJrRcTljiefnCvuxT_2WRX160PrIl6dMWPaHJledaujJGQ88qixpz-zKa-8j_7mSu5k5xB0xbSWN-lUDyDKsuxggmUogjE3tqIs/s1600/IMG_0338.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We started setting up new baby's stuff about<br />
a week or two before my due date...<br />
because we thought we had SO much time.<br />
(Oh...and Elizabeth was a bit confused and<br />
thought it was HER bassinet...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When July came, I knew time was ticking and my due date (August 1) was drawing near. But I reasoned with myself that I would probably have until the second week of August to get ready. After all, Elizabeth went 10 days late. And I was <i>not</i> going to be disillusioned this time that my baby would come on or near its due date.<br />
<br />
I was mentally preparing myself for the worst. That probably seems like a depressing and/or ineffective way to think. But after what I went through with Elizabeth's birth, I knew that things don't usually happen the way we want them to. I knew now that birth is a complicated process and that the ultimate goal is to get a healthy mom and baby. And I knew that sometimes, the process of getting to that goal does not always happen the way we want it to.<br />
<br />
I was making lots of plans for the week of my due date. The thought did not even enter my mind that it was possible for me to have my baby close to my actual due date, so I figured it would be fine. The last week of July came and went, and I was starting to get excited that I would probably meet my baby in the next week (but no earlier)!<br />
<br />
The evening before my due date, I was baking with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend, having a grand old time. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and noticed lots of blood. <i>Hmmmm...</i>I thought. <i>Maybe this means the baby will come in the next week! Maybe my baby will only be a week late, rather than 10 days! </i>I texted my midwife just to make sure the bleeding was a good sign. Her response: "I bet you are getting really close! I'd be shocked if you didn't kick in in the next 24 hours! Keep me informed."<br />
<br />
WHUT.<br />
<br />
Um, hey baby. I'm not ready for you to come yet. I was mentally preparing myself for you to be really late. So....WHAT?! I mean, come on! What baby is born on its ACTUAL due date??? No baby of mine, that's for sure!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMsH3sjHPwFyLvlPD_psZhmSoHWtwcrFY6kKu_SaQ35aQx_HeuQBEbyq7C3b-3ef6_MoiHIiIe298xMnnWYDzzRgkVpbTo4PgSiVmlwfuWOExM7HdpMjm0mleNrWMI5wz7Sr1i-RPdGQ/s1600/IMG_0344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMsH3sjHPwFyLvlPD_psZhmSoHWtwcrFY6kKu_SaQ35aQx_HeuQBEbyq7C3b-3ef6_MoiHIiIe298xMnnWYDzzRgkVpbTo4PgSiVmlwfuWOExM7HdpMjm0mleNrWMI5wz7Sr1i-RPdGQ/s1600/IMG_0344.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary's first bath</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So I spent the rest of the evening in denial, telling my sister in law, her boyfriend, and Trent that they could go on their merry way because there was no way this was for real. I reasoned that just because my contractions were starting to actually feel real didn't mean that they actually <i>were </i>real. I reasoned that just because my baby was moving more in a 10 minute time span than it had in the past 9 months didn't mean that anything was actually changing. I reasoned that just because it was hard for me to go to sleep because the pain from the contractions kept waking me up didn't mean that they were <i>actual </i>contractions. "Don't worry," I told Trent. "Just plan on going to work tomorrow. There's no way this is going to happen yet." And I kept telling myself that as I lay there through the night, having to concentrate more and more as the pain kept getting stronger and stronger.<br />
<br />
The next morning, Trent decided to call off work. "This probably isn't actually happening," I said, "But maybe you shouldn't go to work just in case it actually is. Which I'm sure it isn't. But just in case." We called my mom, who was a labor nurse and is now a labor nurse educator. And I must say, it is wonderfully convenient to have a labor nurse as a mother when you are actually going through labor. My mom came over and checked how dilated I was. "4 cm," she told me.<br />
<br />
WHUT.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFytVL4uRNUeO1tIkeN7PI97f8zaDYv9OXtJou3o-6zDBSsGLkHAiew2cklFIOqYOVE6snyRI6SWuKgsXto7hCbQCz7YmwZ1bQjGoTnDgJksHuloC52a4Sw_eOqUJm_PFN7RSTkJLM0E/s1600/IMG_0355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFytVL4uRNUeO1tIkeN7PI97f8zaDYv9OXtJou3o-6zDBSsGLkHAiew2cklFIOqYOVE6snyRI6SWuKgsXto7hCbQCz7YmwZ1bQjGoTnDgJksHuloC52a4Sw_eOqUJm_PFN7RSTkJLM0E/s1600/IMG_0355.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pitocin/epidural baby meeting my natural<br />
baby for the first time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You must understand that it took me 16 hours, 12 of which were pitocin-induced, gut wrenching, sweat filled mania, to even get that far with Elizabeth's labor. And here I was, at home, pretty uncomfortable, but easily walking around, taking a shower, and eating breakfast. And I had already dilated that far. I could hear the choirs of angels in heaven singing Handel's Hallelujah Chorus.<br />
<br />
"Well..." I said, "This might not be for real though." Because I was still in denial. And my mom just looked at me incredulously and said in a way that only moms can, "Ashley. You're in labor." And the matter was closed, closed in a way that only moms can close it.<br />
<br />
So I walked around at home, still in unbelief that this was not only happening, but it so far was happening in the exact way that I wanted it to happen. I wanted to stay home as long as possible, and I wanted to do this thing without any meds. So far, so good. But I was not so naive to think that I was home free yet.<br />
<br />
My mom called the hospital to see what the labor floor was like. And apparently everyone and their mother decided they wanted to have a baby that day, because there was only one open room left. And Lawdy there was no way in Hades that I wanted to share a room with someone. So, at around 9am, we decided to hightail it to the hospital.<br />
<br />
I got to my hospital room, and they checked to see how dilated I was. 5 cm.<br />
<br />
WHUT.<br />
<br />
Soon after, my water broke. On its own.<br />
<br />
WHUT.<br />
<br />
My contractions were getting stronger and closer together. The room was dim, there was calming music, I was sitting on a labor ball, and I was free to move wherever I wanted because I was not hooked up to any IV fluids or meds. This was all happening in the way I had always envisioned it.<br />
<br />
WHUT. WHAT?! Is this real life??!<br />
<br />
It got to the point where during each contraction I had to concentrate more than I had ever concentrated before. As my friend Kim told me after she went through her med-free labor just weeks earlier, I had to remember that the pain was a good thing, because it was getting the baby out. So during each contraction, I repeating the words "down and out" to myself, just like she suggested. I had to concentrate so much that I had to ask my mom and Trent to be quiet when they were talking during my contractions, because it was distracting me.<br />
<br />
It was kind of like those labor movies that you watch during your childbirth prep classes, when they show you the stereotypical "natural" labor. The one where everyone rolls their eyes because there's no possible way that the stars would align so well that it would <i>actually </i>happen like that in real life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnUjeD8MP7nAKhuoYLBUoKzA6hLuCHvGwHRXOhXQ1CbUZgszEfy2xD2njKyC2wbvyiaRX0LwDvAOw-sDGHLU-SzHgZKGTz6SEm-lZgv0STFHz61U3LiGyNZzX_XIHdeu1cK60zX6JWvE/s1600/IMG_0377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnUjeD8MP7nAKhuoYLBUoKzA6hLuCHvGwHRXOhXQ1CbUZgszEfy2xD2njKyC2wbvyiaRX0LwDvAOw-sDGHLU-SzHgZKGTz6SEm-lZgv0STFHz61U3LiGyNZzX_XIHdeu1cK60zX6JWvE/s1600/IMG_0377.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going home from the hospital. Most babies<br />
scream when you put them in the carseat for<br />
the first time. Mary was pretty chill about it all</td></tr>
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But it did. It was kind of textbook, actually, in a way. Around 3 or 3:30 (I think) I started to get a little crazy. The pain was getting to a whole new level and I was ready to get that baby OUT. They checked me, and they told me I could try pushing. I don't remember a whole lot of details at this point because I all I was really thinking was "GET THE BABY OUT GET THE BABY OUT GET THE BABY OUT." They told me I would "know" when I was ready to push. For some reason this freaked me out because how would I <i>really </i>know? I wanted them to just tell me when I should push. Apparently I had a "lip," which meant that I was just about fully dilated to 10cm but there was a tiny bit of my cervix that didn't want to cooperate. And I remember that stupid lip. It made things a lot more painful. I think I even shouted, "Ahhhhh, that stupid lip!!!" But I'm not sure. I kept pushing, but I had yet to feel that insatiable urge that everyone had told me about, where your body just takes over and starts to practically push for you because there's no way you can hold it back.<br />
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And then, all the sudden, my body just took over and started to practically push for me because there was no way I could have held it back. It was weird, actually. It was like my muscles had a mind of their own and just decided they would do their thang, thank you very much. And once that happened, that baby came out like BAM.<br />
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It was pretty awesome because since there weren't any complications so far, my midwife let Trent deliver the baby. She was there, guiding him and telling him what to do. But he was the one who got to bring her out! I obviously don't remember this actually happening, because I was too busy concentrating on AHHH GET THAT BABY OUT OF ME PLEASE RIGHT NOW I WANT TO BE DONE!!!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7-UmoJ9kCHMHYTo3vn8wE3Ghaq68RF7pru1-iHQQR4-BrEhsCtZZ5dUFzRJyWDjwPrnJ_d2fukx9oaGcH0S6eLG1TP6KXypL2vfxgjXdl7giDllPkTZVj7LcAMi3BGqF_CqhyphenhyphenPdrGCM/s1600/IMG_1636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7-UmoJ9kCHMHYTo3vn8wE3Ghaq68RF7pru1-iHQQR4-BrEhsCtZZ5dUFzRJyWDjwPrnJ_d2fukx9oaGcH0S6eLG1TP6KXypL2vfxgjXdl7giDllPkTZVj7LcAMi3BGqF_CqhyphenhyphenPdrGCM/s1600/IMG_1636.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About to go home from the hospital</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy with his girls</td></tr>
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And then, just like that, at 4:37pm, my precious baby Mary was born. IT'S A GIRL! Trent said. We were all actually shocked. Because obviously we didn't learn the first time that even though we might have a "feeling" that it's a boy, it doesn't mean a darned thing. And I was sooooo happy to have another girl, because that's secretly what I really wanted (insert caveat that obviously I didn't really care, and I would have been just as happy if the baby was a boy, etc etc etc).<br />
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She cried two small squeaky cries, and then was done. She laid on me, so calmly and peacefully. I was so much more emotional with this baby and I actually felt that immediate connection that everyone always talks about.<br />
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And that's Mary for you. Punctual, by the book, and calm. Born on her due date. With a labor that I always wanted but never actually thought would happen. Sweet Mary. She's my little lamb. (Ehhhh? See what I did there??)<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-44542467416030740672014-08-30T11:02:00.003-07:002014-08-30T11:02:49.851-07:007 Quick Takes: Chub, Cobbler, and Traumitization<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/7_quick_takes_sm1.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1387" src="http://www.conversiondiary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/7_quick_takes_sm1.jpg" height="430" title="7_quick_takes_sm" width="640" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Awkward....a few weeks ago when Mary was 2 weeks old, a woman came up to me at church and asked when I was due. I explained to her that I had given birth two weeks prior, and she was completely mortified. I wasn't actually offended because I knew she wasn't trying to make me feel bad, and after all, that belly doesn't just magically disappear overnight. It made me wonder how I would react if I made that mistake with someone.</span></div>
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Mary is changing so quickly. She's more alert and she's becoming an adorable chubby baby. The chub warms my heart because Elizabeth had so many weight gain issues...eat, Mary, eat!!!</div>
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Christmas gift planning. DONT JUDGE! Yes I know it's August but hear me out for a sec. My goal this year is to be completely done with all Christmas gifts before Advent. That way I can really focus on the actual season of Advent, rather than spending Advent worrying about what I'm going to get everyone for Christmas. Plus, since we are living on one income now, I plan to make a lot of gifts myself. This is going to take time, obviously, so I figured I'm going to kick my procrastinator self in the butt and try to get going early.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3sntwQLuwpFKDB0TlWb3TSG_guZMve584kMFRlvReCiEKVzgtJx6akjqGwxLMdoMdj444gcP74UST-vDkebLGMqyXEUsovV0l9IiPnDIEYxSfHhKZbTqzBduez-zshArd81UdCFDPe4/s1600/blackberry+cobbler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3sntwQLuwpFKDB0TlWb3TSG_guZMve584kMFRlvReCiEKVzgtJx6akjqGwxLMdoMdj444gcP74UST-vDkebLGMqyXEUsovV0l9IiPnDIEYxSfHhKZbTqzBduez-zshArd81UdCFDPe4/s1600/blackberry+cobbler.jpg" height="212" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/08/the_great_cobbl/" target="_blank">This recipe</a>: Berry cobbler. It's not actually <i>real </i>berry cobbler, since cobbler technically means a dish with fruit and sweet biscuits dropped on top. This recipe is actually more of a berry "cake" of sorts. But oh my it is soooo good (it's 3am while I'm writing this and talking about it is making me want to go into the kitchen right now and make some) and it pairs wonderfully with vanilla ice cream. It's also ridiculously easy to make. It's my "go-to" cobbler recipe. I strayed from it yesterday when a friend and my mom came over for lunch, and I tried a different recipe. Gross. I will never again abandon you, my delicious cobbler friend. Oh...you don't talk to your food? Right. Carry on.</span></div>
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Room decorating...why am I so terrible at it? We are in the process of planning Elizabeth's room decorations for when we move her out of the baby room. I was thinking ocean, just because that's what I like. But then I remembered that Elizabeth really doesn't like being in the water all that much. So perhaps surrounding her with pictures making her feel like she's underwater isn't the best idea. Traumatized child for the win!<br />
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There are actually four girls living in our house: me, Elizabeth, Mary, and our 100 lb Bernese Mountain Dog, Cocoa. She is a great family dog. The other day, Elizabeth climbed on her back like a horse and started pulling Cocoa's hair out. Cocoa just sat there and didn't care. The problem recently has been that the poor dog needs exercise. Annnnd it's been grossly hot and humid outside recently. 90+ degree weather + massive dog with fur coat meant to brave the harsh winters in the Swiss alps = not a happy dog. So what are some other ways my horse can get a small workout? </div>
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Nap time, the most important time of day for baby <i>and </i>mom. Elizabeth has always had meltdowns of epic proportions starting at around 4pm. Trent usually does not get home until around 6pm. That's TWO HOURS, you guys...the longest two hours I have ever experienced. And by the time Trent walks in the door I shove Elizabeth in his arms and lock myself in a closet just to be alone for a few minutes. So recently I've been trying to give Elizabeth a later nap, starting around 2:30. To avoid morning meltdowns, I also put her in her crib around 10am for a bit of quiet time (even if she doesn't actually sleep). It seems to be working really well so far. 4pm meltdowns have not entirely vanished but they happen at a much, much smaller scale. So now probably only our neighborhood can hear her scream, rather than the entire city. Progress!<br />
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For more Quick Takes, visit <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/">Conversion Diary!</a></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-29747998061906645302014-08-29T13:58:00.000-07:002014-08-29T14:40:50.969-07:00Not Everything Happens For A Reason<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLvsureJeErQhX_TZqKJlQNWKlF3NAixSRA7Yn9ZN7K0-Zl9goWW432UdO_aEH3WRSSkjlC_j54D3PlJ4NcD_GwBQJh71VudsTUVQO7BHDB4gIOYKqRTfeaAyKBVrnWnuw9LFwd5nXd4/s1600/Reason.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLvsureJeErQhX_TZqKJlQNWKlF3NAixSRA7Yn9ZN7K0-Zl9goWW432UdO_aEH3WRSSkjlC_j54D3PlJ4NcD_GwBQJh71VudsTUVQO7BHDB4gIOYKqRTfeaAyKBVrnWnuw9LFwd5nXd4/s1600/Reason.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm sure you've all heard or said at one time: "Everything happens for a reason."<br />
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And I say to that: nope. Not true.</div>
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Before you dismiss me, thinking I'm trying to depress everyone, take heart! This is actually <i>good </i>news!</div>
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<a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Harry_Belafonte_singing_1954.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Harry_Belafonte_singing_1954.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Harry Belafonte singing 1954.jpg" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c2/Harry_Belafonte_singing_1954.jpg/1200px-Harry_Belafonte_singing_1954.jpg" height="200" width="137" /></a>Let's take a journey back to my college days. I was struggling immensely in my faith. But I was also struggling on a basic physical level: I was having extreme vocal pain every time I sang or talked for an extended period of time (anything longer than 15 minutes). I was seeking vocal coaching and was going to a voice therapist, learning exercises to help, and trying to figure out how to relax my throat muscles. I went on vocal rest, where I couldn't sing or talk for awhile. And let me tell you, vocal rest sure makes you appreciate your ability to talk.</div>
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Nothing was really helping. For months and months, I was trying to figure out how to solve the problem. It eventually got to a point where I had to seriously consider whether or not I should continue my degree in music education. Because let's face it...a music teacher who can't talk or sing can't really teach at all.<br />
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I began to get angry. I resented the fact that something that came so naturally for everyone else was a daily struggle for me. I didn't understand why this huge obstacle was preventing me from doing what it was a <i>knew </i>was the right path for me: becoming a music teacher.</div>
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It got to a point where I became angry with God. After all, <i>He </i>was the one who gave me this burden, right? In my mind, it just wasn't fair. How could a loving God bring harm on anyone, even if it was for a greater good?</div>
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I reached a breaking point at a Mass I was supposed to sing at. I knew I was supposed to be resting my voice, but I wanted to try and sing to see if things had gotten any better. As the Mass went on, and the searing pain in my throat became worse and worse, it was clear that things were not better. If anything, they were worse.<br />
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It took all the concentration I could muster to not break down in tears in the middle of Mass. Afterward, I ran out and drove home. I needed to be alone.</div>
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I went outside and sat down, looking heavenward. I started to mentally tell at God...I couldn't, after all, actually yell, so yelling inside my head was the best I could do. "Why are you doing this to me? What kind of God <i>are </i>you?"</div>
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After holding this anger in my heart for awhile, I realized I needed to talk to someone about this issue. I also needed to confess my sin of harboring anger in my heart. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone and go to confession. It is, after all, kind of like free therapy.</div>
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I explained to the priest what my issue was. And I said, "I know God is giving me this burden for a reason, but I just don't understand it yet." The priest then said something that completely altered my view on God, and life in general.</div>
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<i>"<b>God does not cause bad things to happen to us. He does, however, bring good out of any bad situation. But the root cause of any bad or evil situation is not from God, because God is only good."</b></i></div>
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I thought about it. And it began to click. God's original plan did not include anything bad or evil. It did not include death, sickness, sin, disaster, or evil. In Adam and Eve's free choice to sin, they opened the door for all this. And we continue today to suffer from those consequences. Some bad things happen as a result of original sin that are out of our control, like natural disasters and serious illness. But these are not from God...they happen because we live in an imperfect world as a result of Adam and Eve's choice. And other bad things happen because<i> </i>of <i>our own </i>choices, not God's: health issues from poor nutrition (assuming we actually made the choice to eat poorly) and lack of exercise, losing a job because we were lazy, relationship problems from us refusing to swallow our pride, etc etc etc.</div>
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The point is, <i>none </i>of it is caused by God. He allows bad things to happen, yes. But He does not <i>cause </i>it. He does, however, make good come out of any bad situation if we allow Him to. But it is only because He is infinite goodness, not because <i>He</i> put us in a bad situation only so that He could make something good come out of it.</div>
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So what good did God bring out of my situation? Well, for starters, because I went through a period of over a year where I could not use my voice (talking or singing) without extreme pain, I certainly do not take this ability for granted now that I can. Using our voices is something most people don't even think twice about, but I am so incredibly thankful for it. My struggles have also made me a better teacher. I had to learn, from scratch, about how to correctly use my voice and relax my throat muscles. This means that I can better explain to students exactly <i>how</i> to sing and use their voices, which is something many teachers simply assume students know how to do. </div>
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So next time someone says, "If God leads you to it, He will get you through it," think twice. God is not "leading" us anywhere bad. But in His loving goodness, He always finds a way to bring us out of the storms.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"<a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Harry_Belafonte_singing_1954.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Harry_Belafonte_singing_1954.jpg">Harry Belafonte singing 1954</a>" by <a class="extiw" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Van_Vechten" title="en:Carl Van Vechten">Carl Van Vechten</a> - <a class="extiw" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Library_of_Congress" title="w:Library of Congress">Library of Congress</a>, <a class="external text" href="http://www.loc.gov/rr/print/" rel="nofollow">Prints and Photographs Division</a>, <a class="external text" href="http://www.loc.gov/pictures/collection/van/" rel="nofollow">Van Vechten Collection</a>, reproduction number LC-USZ62-103726 DLC (b&w film copy neg.).. Licensed under Public domain via <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/">Wikimedia Commons</a>.</span></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-30541746865476274912014-08-23T08:59:00.000-07:002014-08-23T08:59:03.951-07:007 Quick Takes: Gardens, Milk, and the Best Chicken EverTo help me get back into the post-baby blogging routine, I'm going to try something new! I'm linking up with <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/" target="_blank">Jenn at Conversion Diary</a> for 7 Quick Takes Friday. And I'm doing it on a Saturday because I am a rebel like that. Basically, it is what it says: I write 7 short blurps about whatever I want. Random=me, so this should be fun. At least, it will be fun for me. It might make you want to run away and gouge your eyeballs out, who knows? Don't say I didn't warn you.<br />
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<a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/7_quick_takes_sm1.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1387" src="http://www.conversiondiary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/7_quick_takes_sm1.jpg" height="430" title="7_quick_takes_sm" width="640" /></a>
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<a href="" name="qt1"></a><strong><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=69267270425391163#qt1" style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">--- 1 ---</a></strong></div>
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Newborn sounds are so wonderful. I forgot almost everything about what newborns are like, and all those adorable grunts, squeaks, sighs, and snorts were some of those things. I think God gave newborns the ability to make those sounds so that the cuteness factor overweighs the neediness factor. So when your newborn has been crying for hours and hours, and you're about to march right in and inform your husband that he needs to start wearing thick iron underwear with a lock and key because you are never, ever going to have another baby...at that moment, your baby decides to make a little squeak, and your heart melts and you forget (for a moment) about those hours of crying. I really do think newborn sounds are part of what has preserved the human race.<br />
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THIS.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNDpMZ3eI6_CSe90xLGoWCIwVTeU8iuFJMw6w4zVtaHjFHyXE6RoG-jg-yQRpmc52VBp8066V8t6JaRrR7zFg0mtjTKvLMnKI94O-9qyYMUMs-O029nrs0Rb3n_dhI9hRzsyCMESYmsc/s1600/milk+saver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNDpMZ3eI6_CSe90xLGoWCIwVTeU8iuFJMw6w4zVtaHjFHyXE6RoG-jg-yQRpmc52VBp8066V8t6JaRrR7zFg0mtjTKvLMnKI94O-9qyYMUMs-O029nrs0Rb3n_dhI9hRzsyCMESYmsc/s1600/milk+saver.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
When I first saw this, I was skeptical. I thought my laziness would far outweigh my desire to save every ounce of precious breastmilk that I could. But, without giving too many details that actually will make you want to gouge your eyes out, the leaking I was experiencing began to resemble the breastmilk flood of '93, and ain't nobody got time to do all the laundry after every single feeding. So I got this milk saver thingy, and I put it on the side that Mary is not nursing, and voila! The mess is gone, AND I save between 4-6 ounces every day! Laziness for the win!</div>
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Book I am currently reading: <i>A Sinner's Guide to NFP</i> by Simcha Fisher. If you are confused as to what NFP is, and are thinking "what the heck does that mean? Never Fish Plankton?" (Hey now, don't judge my acronym. I wrote this at 4am and it was the best thing my sleep deprived brain could come up with) then wander on over to <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/05/natural-family-planning-love-story.html" target="_blank">Ye Old Blogge Pos</a>t that explains NFP.</div>
This, in my opinion, is one of the best books about NFP out there. It is hilarious, real, and doesn't sugar coat it. I actually LOL every 2-3 minutes when I read it. This sentence I think sums up the book: NFP: <i>The worst method out there, except for every other method</i>. People who use NFP to avoid pregnancy hate it...I mean, who wouldn't hate abstaining? Probably the same people who enjoy saying no a delicious chocolate shake. But they also love it at the same time. If NFP had a Facebook page, its relationship status would read "It's Complicated." This book acknowledges the very real struggles of NFP (in a hilarious way), while simultaneously explaining its benefits. <br />
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You absolutely must try <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/perfect-roast-chicken-recipe.html" target="_blank">this recipe</a>! My mother in law made it for us last week and it is DELICIOUS. It's a simple roast chicken, and I know what you're thinking: "What's so exciting about roast chicken?" But you guys, the flavor in this chicken was UH MAY ZING. I was almost jealous that Mary would be tasting it later through my milk. Trust me on this one.<br />
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Visiting with out of town family is one of my favorite things, right up there with whiskers on kittens and warm woolen mittens. Yay for cousin time!</div>
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Plans for my garden next year: off the charts! The level of failure my garden this year has reached could possibly beat a world record. I planted corn, green beans, carrots, peppers, tomatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, potatoes, watermelon, cantaloupe, and pumpkins. What it has yielded: one tiny zucchini, two cucumbers, and lots of corn. Everything else is dead. So things are gonna be a-changing around these here parts. Stay tuned for the progress! For now, here's pitiful pictures of my mostly dead, weed filled garden:</div>
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Elizabeth conquered a fear yesterday: riding the carousel. Those Polar Bears can be pretty terrifying, you know.</div>
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For more Quick Takes, visit <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/">Conversion Diary!</a></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-90699365829359161652014-08-21T06:01:00.000-07:002014-08-21T08:46:40.945-07:00Boobies and Cow Duties In Public: Yay or Nay?Hi! My name is Ashley. I used to have a blog that I updated on a regular basis. Then this little thing happened where I had a baby. Here I thought copious amounts of time sitting and nursing would equal a PLETHORA of amazing posts! Buuuuut Trent and I started watching Downton Abbey. Annnnnd our Amazon Prime subscription was about to run out and we aren't planning on renewing it. Annnnnd we wanted to finish all four seasons before our subscription ran out.<br />
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Mission accomplished. Anguish level from events in show=high. Blog production level=nada. Well, never fear, I am here, and I'm going to TRY to get back into my blogging groove.<br />
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Mary Ellen, so far, has been a dream baby. She only cries when she's hungry or very tired, she sleeps pretty well for a newborn**, and she's sweet as pie. She's only 3 weeks old, so I do realize that this could all change. But for now, I'm thanking God for giving me such a calm, sweet baby.<br />
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**except when it's time to go to sleep at night. Then she only wants to be nursing at all times.<br />
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Almost every aspect of my pregnancy, birth, and postpartum experience with Mary has been completely different from my experience with Elizabeth. A big difference I have noticed (so far) has been with breastfeeding. <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/07/why-being-cow-was-hardest-thing-ive.html" target="_blank">I've written a post before about my past experience.</a> With Elizabeth, I struggled greatly with the transition to full time breastfeeding and had many issues with milk supply and Elizabeth's (lack of) weight gain. So far, Mary has been a great nurser and we haven't had any big issues. I'm now having the breastfeeding experience that I always envisioned, and I am so very thankful. I think having had a bad experience before has made me appreciate the good experience now so much more.</div>
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Lately, I have been noticing a lot of talk about breastfeeding in public. I'm wondering what people's thoughts actually are on this topic. It seems like there's always a few people on both sides who feel strongly about their opinion, but how do the majority of people actually feel?</div>
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I'll tell you what I think. Personally, I do not feel comfortable nursing in public without a cover. This can pose issues sometimes, since Mary does not seem to really like the nursing cover. But regardless of the annoyances that come with using a cover, I still am glad that I have one and will use it when I nurse in public.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GhazanBeingBreastfed.jpg#mediaviewer/File:GhazanBeingBreastfed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="GhazanBeingBreastfed.jpg" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c8/GhazanBeingBreastfed.jpg" height="320" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
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BUT, I also think people who do not want to use a cover should have a right to do so. Unfortunately, we live in a society where magazines of mostly naked women on the cover can be displayed at eye level in grocery stores with no issues, and PG-13 movies can contain graphic scenes with nudity (or almost nudity) with no complaints from anyone. But whoooooooa there, cowgirl, hold on one sec...if a woman decides to nurse her baby in public with no cover, suddenly everyone is uncomfortable and offended.<br />
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I was at the Science Center with my husband and two children (it sounds so weird to say<i> </i>the word "children" when referring to my family) and I sat on a little bench to nurse Mary. I used my cover. This woman came up to me and said, "I just want to thank you for giving nursing a good image. I was here a few weeks ago and this woman just popped out her boob for the whole world to see, and it was extremely offensive. So thank you." I just kind of left my mouth open in response, because while I personally don't feel comfortable with nursing without a cover, I have absolutely no problem with women who do choose not to use one.<br />
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I don't necessarily blame people who feel uncomfortable with the practice of uncovered breastfeeding. It's a societal problem, and it all stems back to our unhealthy and over-sexed view of the human body. We are so saturated with images of nearly naked men and women (nearly always meant to portray sex appeal), but when a woman is using her body part for something it was actually created to do, we suddenly become more prudish than the Victorian era.<br />
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My view is: if you don't like it, just don't look. Some babies are extremely finicky and have a very difficult time latching on. Covers just make it worse. So why can't a woman feed her baby without having to get nasty looks and comments from others?<br />
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<b>What do you think? Are you uncomfortable with uncovered nursing, or do you think it's fine? I'd love to hear your thoughts!</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"</span><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:GhazanBeingBreastfed.jpg#mediaviewer/File:GhazanBeingBreastfed.jpg" style="font-size: x-small;">GhazanBeingBreastfed</a><span style="font-size: xx-small;">" by Rashid al-Din - Rashid al-Din, "Djami al-Tawarikh", early 14th century. Reproduction in "Ghengis Khan et l'Empire Mongol", Jean-Paul Roux. Licensed under Public domain via </span><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/" style="font-size: x-small;">Wikimedia Commons</a><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="text-align: center;">"</span><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Breastfeeding-icon-med.svg#mediaviewer/File:Breastfeeding-icon-med.svg" style="text-align: center;">Breastfeeding-icon-med</a><span style="text-align: center;">" by Matt Daigle - Mothering.com. Via </span><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/" style="text-align: center;">Wikimedia Commons</a><span style="text-align: center;">.</span></span></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-47898648021616213512014-08-11T16:46:00.000-07:002014-08-11T16:48:33.454-07:00Answer Me This: Volume 12...Special New Baby Edition!Hey everyone! I'm happy to announce that we had our baby girl, Mary Ellen, on August 1 (ON my due date...can you believe it???)! She is named after my grandmother. She was 8 lb 8 oz and gave me the birth experience that I always wanted but never actually thought would happen! And, guys, she's the most laid back baby I have ever seen. I didn't know God made babies like this. I had a hunch she would be laid back, based on what my pregnancy was like, but...dang! Her sweet nature just makes me melt!<br />
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I'll write more specifically about her birth story later...but for now, pictures!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Zqbsi5V_V5hdWyJM0X8tQ36CrWpZhIOZPQs6YqVYiWys2B_66n2i0t8hL8ZVaGM1ZGCuPBGjguPB1GVcJcDXhytIFd-DkRWZzhc3PGl_aX0UzioxcePyxCTnky1pp74vMwCvgJdeXBs/s1600/IMG_1635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Zqbsi5V_V5hdWyJM0X8tQ36CrWpZhIOZPQs6YqVYiWys2B_66n2i0t8hL8ZVaGM1ZGCuPBGjguPB1GVcJcDXhytIFd-DkRWZzhc3PGl_aX0UzioxcePyxCTnky1pp74vMwCvgJdeXBs/s1600/IMG_1635.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What can I say...we have large lips in our family</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwX4dNxSxmxaRJLJbCyREMCAYMtnMuFPa1baQtLBzRffGItYLZ3rqidphCYQ1cNSiGQewmKis9nYe5_3Mw_LN11SHzLj-O-v6zIiMCwsIqd5uweLj498qUlUdj38Rb4K41meL_glxXeVQ/s1600/Mary+Ellen+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwX4dNxSxmxaRJLJbCyREMCAYMtnMuFPa1baQtLBzRffGItYLZ3rqidphCYQ1cNSiGQewmKis9nYe5_3Mw_LN11SHzLj-O-v6zIiMCwsIqd5uweLj498qUlUdj38Rb4K41meL_glxXeVQ/s1600/Mary+Ellen+collage.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis5ZyagVwx59oEfh8ovkdoxtpNfuB2hGYD5RcAnVc869N0qvrE74adQTPxQGheQHi5n3e25iTPOYiI08ICt3xnbRbe3OtSuOWcHOA3-mfyjOxU9lXIW3m1eH9LJMuAy5CFEzGf0BBjA4/s1600/Mary+Ellen+with+daddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis5ZyagVwx59oEfh8ovkdoxtpNfuB2hGYD5RcAnVc869N0qvrE74adQTPxQGheQHi5n3e25iTPOYiI08ICt3xnbRbe3OtSuOWcHOA3-mfyjOxU9lXIW3m1eH9LJMuAy5CFEzGf0BBjA4/s1600/Mary+Ellen+with+daddy.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy's girls :-)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjit1VcUM-fLycvZV1ckJ4qLUplhVPVfA2z4jreCfogSAtDjWg7kfspGAwPpXe7U_hpLWMGRrJoUNk4uwDGxaBtqN1MuhX0HOdaBJtoKuh9QNsqdFQ96m0ruINf1UWE0EpiwJpZEGnjCpg/s1600/Mary+Ellen+with+Elizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjit1VcUM-fLycvZV1ckJ4qLUplhVPVfA2z4jreCfogSAtDjWg7kfspGAwPpXe7U_hpLWMGRrJoUNk4uwDGxaBtqN1MuhX0HOdaBJtoKuh9QNsqdFQ96m0ruINf1UWE0EpiwJpZEGnjCpg/s1600/Mary+Ellen+with+Elizabeth.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elizabeth LOVES Mary...HUGE wave of relief from me!!!</td></tr>
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I've got a lot of hot topic issues I want to write about in future blog posts, now that I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. But for now...this week's installment of Answer Me This from <a href="http://catholicallyear.com/">catholicallyear.com</a>!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicuY1mRS5H7hczM5rRXaMbLdUGKdOdcVUnQn3S0pQmrk1FrqhZKevmysOFVfmB_-xYACkkIdgx338fqVwEfcppW0oqmuyT7MZsQpQsRcqHyGKbCwTIBbtfg40oCmJZM3pM6NqeUKC3vfk/s1600/Answer+Me+This3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicuY1mRS5H7hczM5rRXaMbLdUGKdOdcVUnQn3S0pQmrk1FrqhZKevmysOFVfmB_-xYACkkIdgx338fqVwEfcppW0oqmuyT7MZsQpQsRcqHyGKbCwTIBbtfg40oCmJZM3pM6NqeUKC3vfk/s1600/Answer+Me+This3.png" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 20px;">1. What do you still want to do this summer?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Well...the rest of my summer plans pretty much consist of nursing my newborn while making sure Elizabeth </span></span><strike style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px;">stays alive </strike><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> is provided with plenty of enriching and educational activities. BUT...if I am feeling particularly productive, I would like to can and freeze some of the produce from my garden (</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">shouldn't</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> be too difficult since most of my garden is dead....don't worry though, I have grand plans for my garden next year!</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">)</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 20px;">2. What's your favorite kind of pie?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaG-464vAZvrVh8WTN3v3wD-TQ3Gxlzgzj76GO66-bUr-3J2QOpZHBq6ad7lP_nX9HJNLeAbE-4h3jHhskKWUCMS0Jss0mioOJfiUMAnLn_ML1v5ffps3O7FbeEGALqmX29e7qO6mzFM/s1600/IMG_1265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaG-464vAZvrVh8WTN3v3wD-TQ3Gxlzgzj76GO66-bUr-3J2QOpZHBq6ad7lP_nX9HJNLeAbE-4h3jHhskKWUCMS0Jss0mioOJfiUMAnLn_ML1v5ffps3O7FbeEGALqmX29e7qO6mzFM/s1600/IMG_1265.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strawberry Rhubarb<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have mentioned this pie in <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/04/since-when-does-i-disagree-i-hate-you.html" target="_blank">previous posts</a>....there is absolutely no contest: strawberry rhubarb pie. It actually is in my top 5 favorite foods of all time. It is SO delicious...a mixture of sweet from the strawberries and sour from the rhubarb, all tied together with a sweet buttery crust (which actually is not technically a pie crust, but my motto is if it tastes good, who cares?). It really is perfect. Maybe someday I'll post the top secret recipe.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROfZFuUTLqIPzRc__AXHSL0oFNLUjBR7sxN1FRAT5cjTu1VJCPxYDAfyeWgOYyrxRY_1iBEVotUW4_Ki9KXAI8GKpvCGmBCCWrw190KuiXK-xK4ooMFJe8vXMGQa2Mni5NkxfTniXqv0/s1600/em0702_chocolatepie.jpg.rend.sni12col.landscape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROfZFuUTLqIPzRc__AXHSL0oFNLUjBR7sxN1FRAT5cjTu1VJCPxYDAfyeWgOYyrxRY_1iBEVotUW4_Ki9KXAI8GKpvCGmBCCWrw190KuiXK-xK4ooMFJe8vXMGQa2Mni5NkxfTniXqv0/s1600/em0702_chocolatepie.jpg.rend.sni12col.landscape.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chocolate Cream Pie</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If I'm looking for a completely rich, delicious, I-feel-like-I'm-going-to-have-a-heart-attack-after-three-bites kind of pie, it's going to be <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/emerils-chocolate-cream-pie-recipe.html" target="_blank">this chocolate cream pie</a>. It's a lot of work, but oh my goodness, it is so worth it. I usually make it during Christmastime every year. If you love chocolate, you absolutely must try this pie.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Ok, I know, I know, the question only asks for one favorite. But food is kinda my thang, so I must answer three times. If you are looking for a creamy, delicious pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, </span></span><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/michele-albanos-maple-pumpkin-pie-with-pecan-streusel-recipe.html" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">this is the ticket</span></a><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/michele-albanos-maple-pumpkin-pie-with-pecan-streusel-recipe.html" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px;" target="_blank">.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> Like the chocolate pie, it is a lot of work. You actually use fresh pumpkin. But it is SOOO good. I actually did a scientific test (what? me? SCIENCE? Yes, it's true!) to see which pie people prefer. I baked two identical pumpkin pies using this recipe, with only one difference: in one pie, I used fresh pumpkin. In the other, I used canned. Then I had about 10 people over, and they had a blind taste test and wrote down their thoughts about each pie, and which they </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">preferred. 9/10 people preferred the fresh pumpkin. Sooooo it's official then...you must make pumpkin pie with fresh pumpkin! (Seriously, though, try this recipe...it's REALLY good)</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 20px;">3. How much sleep do you need each day? How much do you get?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Honestly...I don't know the answer to this question. I have a newborn, so my sleep is getting disrupted, but honestly I feel pretty good most days. Right now I'm getting about 6 hours of sleep per day, </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">broken</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> up into 2-3 hour chunks. So maybe 6 is the magic number for me.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 20px;">4. Do you prefer to swim in a pool, lake, river, or ocean?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I think saltwater pools are the best. I love the ocean, but I'm kind of terrified of all the sea life that is potentially swimming underneath me. It doesn't stop me from swimming in the ocean, but still...in a pool, I know what's in there. There's lots of lakes where I live and I find </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">them</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> to be muddy, smelly, and gross. Rivers are pretty cool but I've never been in a river that's good to "swim" in...I'm more familiar with floating, </span></span><span style="line-height: 20px;">canoeing, or kayaking rivers. Or dangerous don't-set-foot-in-that-river-unless-you're-completely-nuts type rivers.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 20px;">5. Do you know any poems by heart?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Roses are red, violets are blue...pretty much the only one. I'm terrible with this sort of </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">thing and as much as I hate to admit it, I have absolutely zero interest in poetry. I think it's a really great thing, and I admire people who can write it and appreciate it. But I'm kind of impatient with poetry because I feel like there's always some really deep meaning, and when I read, I just want to relax. Me=uncultured and lazy.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 20px;">6. Do you use the public library?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately, the city in which I live does not have a public library, so I have to pay for a library card from a nearby city if I want one. However, now that I have two babies, I'm going to get a library card soon because I absolutely love libraries. Especially the way they smell. Come on, don't say I'm weird...doesn't anyone else like the smell of libraries and old books??? ***cricket noises*** Anyone????</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-52581469494392595012014-07-31T11:04:00.001-07:002014-08-23T08:38:21.305-07:00I'm THAT person...Why I Don't Give Money to Charities<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You know the scenario. I'm in line at the grocery store. I put my groceries on the conveyer belt. I watch sadly as the total gets higher and higher. I get out my credit card and slide it through the card reader.<br>
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Then, the cashier asks the inevitable question: "Would you like to donate $____ to the _____________ charity?"<br>
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And I, with my "Catholic Radio" bumper sticker, and crucifix on my neck, and rosary in my purse, always say the same thing, with incredible guilt bubbling to the surface as I say the words:<br>
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"No, thank you."<br>
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I feel all eyes on me, including (and especially) the cashier's, judging the living daylights out of me and my crucifix necklace: <i>Typical Christian. Talks the talk, but doesn't walk the walk. </i><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How can you say no to me??</td></tr>
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I always hate this. I hate passing by the bell-ringing Salvation Army people without giving change. I hate turning away the sad eyes from those puppies who need medical help. I hate saying no to the children in third world countries who don't know where their next meal is coming from.<br>
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But for me and my family, we know it's the best thing to do for us. Because here's the thing: do we ever really know where our money is going?<br>
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To me, giving money is like voting. You can't just walk into the voter's booth and randomly fill out circles, not knowing a thing about the candidates. Well, you <i>can, </i>but it's not a good thing to do. I personally do not feel comfortable giving money to any organization that I know nothing about. So I say no. Because I'm sure that some of it will go to that good cause...but do I really <i>know?</i><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfl5sRZW9CxU_9kqYEyNRoxRc3a8Fgs8Ea-WxKuwk5u7523Y7G1s1LD7eOAPQD-79NqYyFZdIc6djKltZKtOl38_oq-aLKNWHt-mIT5wwIs-oCvuzyQorg0Y57fz5cY_v12L_fQY2i-k/s1600/ben+and+jerry's.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfl5sRZW9CxU_9kqYEyNRoxRc3a8Fgs8Ea-WxKuwk5u7523Y7G1s1LD7eOAPQD-79NqYyFZdIc6djKltZKtOl38_oq-aLKNWHt-mIT5wwIs-oCvuzyQorg0Y57fz5cY_v12L_fQY2i-k/s1600/ben+and+jerry's.jpg" height="320" width="320"></a>I'll never forget the day I decided to stop buying Ben and Jerry's ice cream. It was (and still is) my favorite store bought ice cream in the world. Just typing about it right now is making my saliva production substantially increase. I used to eat it <i>all the time. </i>Then I found out that they give a substantial amount of their profits to Planned Parenthood. And the internal battle inside of me raged: <i>Really, do your $4 per pint make any difference at all? Surely it doesn't matter.</i><br>
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I ultimately decided that it did matter. And from that day forward, I resolved never to buy it again. (I will admit that people have bought it for me as gifts, and I accept it and eat it....but that's the only time I eat it).<br>
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But here's the thing: if I were to boycott every single product, business, or organization that gave money to something I didn't agree with, it would be virtually impossible for me to live. Disney. Whole Foods. American Airlines. Oreos. Amazon. Cheerios. Google. The list goes on and on.<br>
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So what do I do? Do I live in a bubble, become completely self sufficient, and never buy another product again?<br>
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Again, I'd like to compare this to voting. When we vote, we must decide what political subject is most important to us. Because the reality is that no perfect politician exists. And every one will probably stand for at least a few things that we disagree with. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't vote. We must simply make the best informed decision that we possibly can which aligns with our beliefs.<br>
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So I do believe there's no doubt that a lot of those charitable organizations to which I do not contribute certainly do a lot of good. (Did that sentence make any sense at all?) But I must pick and choose which organization is the most aligned with what my priorities and beliefs are.<br>
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We choose one organization to give our money. We have chosen the Catholic Church, because it is the biggest charitable organization in the world. It feeds, educates, clothes, houses, heals, and supports more people than any other charity. We trust that when we give the Church our money, it will be used in the best way possible. Of course, there's <i>always </i>going to be a level of trust when you give money, and you will never know for sure if it's being used wisely. But we have been doing it for years, and we feel like it's the best decision for us.<br>
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So next time you see me at the grocery store, hanging my head in shame as I softly mutter "no" to the picture of the near extinct tropical birds, please don't judge...I promise, I do give as much as I am able. I'm just picky.<br>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-83880399456599486992014-07-27T19:16:00.000-07:002014-07-27T19:16:11.973-07:00Answer Me This: Volume 11This week's installment of Answer Me This from <a href="http://catholicallyear.com/">catholicallyear.com</a>!<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;">1. What’s your favorite thing on YouTube?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I do love a good laugh. And I love dogs. And I like cats, but think they are strange. So I picked this:</span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/GbycvPwr1Wg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;">2. Who taught you to drive?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzinhyhaWgJRmKd6mJkAVtAmdHsgaapnnH7zw2V-HVMrNjfBDUHTM_NGVWXt-9xgP5wWxRSKxug1XHG0H8dDLQ6gtxKf5-GFsmT7invepgfDxi-qwek4Zk5eRkuzj6d53HYmwv17E9Tw/s1600/piano+van.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzinhyhaWgJRmKd6mJkAVtAmdHsgaapnnH7zw2V-HVMrNjfBDUHTM_NGVWXt-9xgP5wWxRSKxug1XHG0H8dDLQ6gtxKf5-GFsmT7invepgfDxi-qwek4Zk5eRkuzj6d53HYmwv17E9Tw/s1600/piano+van.jpg" height="118" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My dad taught me to drive in his piano-moving van. He figured if I could drive in that, I could drive in anything. And he's right...most cars are easy to drive compared to a huge piano van.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;">3. What’s your favorite thing to cook?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRq0vqHDq-xA1pHAUQJsOJZ6G4OmvgFYANXHhFaM5lRwzBI_vENW5U66UlQ9bocVBfPQtqel1DVVdVMmIoaHnh6yecNvefftb9_MTcanoNxDvZc2qboQJP_Ett6p_hCQksOy3w8GmaVxM/s1600/pecorino+romano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRq0vqHDq-xA1pHAUQJsOJZ6G4OmvgFYANXHhFaM5lRwzBI_vENW5U66UlQ9bocVBfPQtqel1DVVdVMmIoaHnh6yecNvefftb9_MTcanoNxDvZc2qboQJP_Ett6p_hCQksOy3w8GmaVxM/s1600/pecorino+romano.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This kind of cheese, this brand.<br />Makes ANY pasta or vegetable<br />UH-MAY-ZING</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh my gosh....that is a hard question. Because really, I love to cook everything. Cooking soothes me and calms me and makes me feel like I'm accomplishing something. Plus I love to eat. So I want to answer this by saying "EVERYTHING."</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">If I HAD to choose, I think I would pick leftovers pasta. Usually once a week we have pasta for dinner and I just throw together all of our leftover veggies in the fridge with some meat in there. Add some olive oil, nice cheese (Pecorino Romano is the best and I use it for everything), and garlic, and voila...it's </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">incredibly</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> delicious, every time.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;">4. Are you a hugger or a non-hugger? Why?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm definitely a hugger...in fact, I have actually freaked out a few people in the past who don't like to be touched and asked me not to hug them. Oops. But if someone sticks their hand out first before I can hug them, I'll just shake their hand.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;">5. Where do you pray best?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think in the morning when I am walking my dog outside, by myself. I'm still bad at it then because I get incredibly distracted by even a speck of dust floating in the air. But I'd say that's my most concentrated place of prayer.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;">6. When is the last time you saw/spoke to your grandparents?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">All of my grandparents </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">have</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> passed away, but I was able to visit all of them right before they died. I was actually there for both my grandfathers' deaths, and they were both peaceful moments. The last thing I remember saying to my father's mother before she died was to go to the light if she saw it. I was maybe 10 at the time. She was in a coma, but I still like to think she could hear me.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Century Gothic', Georgia, Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69267270425391163.post-81023456153581168212014-07-23T12:47:00.001-07:002014-07-24T11:09:28.800-07:00A Letter: To Those of You Who Complain That Parents Nowadays Aren't Good DisciplinariansI had a particularly difficult time-out session yesterday. Oh wait, did I say "I?" I meant Elizabeth. But really, it was just as hard for me as it was for her. It's in no way fun or easy to sit there and listen to my little girl cry for 50 minutes straight. But I knew that, since we are starting to implement new rules based on her growing understanding of (and attempting to get away with) unacceptable behaviors, the first few weeks (and especially days) would be the hardest. It's like ripping off a band-aid. Once she realizes what's going on, she'll get it. Even today was better...she only cried for 35 minutes straight. But PHEW, this consistent discipline stuff is not for the faint of heart.<br />
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It got me thinking about the different discipline techniques that are out there, and which ones are and aren't effective. That's a difficult subject to tackle, because really, a lot of it depends on the family and what they feel comfortable with. But a lot also depends on what produces results. When I look back on how parents used to discipline their children, it seems so great and simple to me. But it bothers me when people complain about how other families discipline their children. Sure, if their discipline methods are not producing results, perhaps they should try something else. But, <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/04/my-parenting-style-may-raise-eyebrows.html" target="_blank">as I've said before</a>, what's right for my family might not necessarily be right for yours.<br />
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So if you find yourself grumbling about how "things just ain't what they used to be," this blog post might just be for you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-_UntwTD2b_dpa-TBub6tqSiy83rOo8bpYSEWlRpJxPzYLYN51BNN4EOEGJdMKl0ADvzDD1WqlIB7VQt_SUoiqFJkHzFPJOQ2jlDZXrCdbWPk9TwCPj1c6Q6n_eKfeLlptN_FUfhulQ/s1600/typewriter.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-_UntwTD2b_dpa-TBub6tqSiy83rOo8bpYSEWlRpJxPzYLYN51BNN4EOEGJdMKl0ADvzDD1WqlIB7VQt_SUoiqFJkHzFPJOQ2jlDZXrCdbWPk9TwCPj1c6Q6n_eKfeLlptN_FUfhulQ/s1600/typewriter.png" height="556" width="640" /></a></div>
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Dear Person Who Thinks Discipline Has Gone Down the Drain,<br />
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Hi! I'm Ashley. I'm glad we've met. Because I think we have a lot in common. I, too, think that parents back in the day had the right idea. Children were expected to behave, and quite simply, if they didn't, there were consequences. That was that. Things were simple. Both parents and children knew what was acceptable and what was not. Both parents and children knew what would happen if and when rules were broken. And for the most part, a majority of parents agreed with each others' parenting styles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-dVTCVmEzvohQqMNbRw9gZuJc57Vq_Wjljo_RFHnsDQ2m6Ovwvste4SMYWmq_FRvXHy_dHWFHziyW8yi6_sRHFNqz4Gi1WO-VAoYBWazEOgsKurh27rAJD3icb38OyQHt1vnWafg-kg/s1600/time+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-dVTCVmEzvohQqMNbRw9gZuJc57Vq_Wjljo_RFHnsDQ2m6Ovwvste4SMYWmq_FRvXHy_dHWFHziyW8yi6_sRHFNqz4Gi1WO-VAoYBWazEOgsKurh27rAJD3icb38OyQHt1vnWafg-kg/s1600/time+out.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></a>I'm all about disciplining the "old-fashioned" way. It fits me. And, having a strong willed child, I find that it is much easier for me to be consistent when I have clear cut rules: "If you do action A, consequence B will happen, every time." I have no problem with spanking, and think for some families, it can work very well. I have a hard time believing that if you give children time-out for longer than the recommended "one minute for every year of age" that they will completely fail to understand the consequences of their actions. I have learned that, when done appropriately, I CAN let my child cry and work out her own problems, and it won't result in long term brain damage or emotional instability like so many "researchers" say it will.<br />
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Bottom line: disciplining your child is the most loving thing you can do for her, because it teaches her how to deal with real life. Agreed? Yes? Cool.<br />
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But. Here's the thing. Times are much, much different now than they used to be when a smack in the behind would suffice for proper punishment. It's very easy for anyone to sit back and say to himself, "If <i>I </i>were that child's parent, things would be quite different. If <i>I </i>had done that when I was a kid, my parents would not have tolerated it for one millisecond. Back in <i>my </i>day, that kid would have learned respect." Etc, etc, etc.<br />
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Again, I agree with you. But you must keep in mind what our current society is like, and the pressures parents now face that were never even on the radar of parents 50 years ago. Sure, we have a lot of things easier than parents back then did. Life is much more convenient. But we have different difficulties than they did. Especially those of us who want to implement good ol' fashioned discipline for our children.<br />
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<b>1. Parents back then did not have the constant worry of DCFS showing up at their doors</b><br />
Please understand that I am in no way saying DCFS is a bad thing. Of course, there are unfortunately so many neglected children who need assistance and benefit greatly from this organization. But sometimes, parents who are just doing their job and raising their children appropriately and lovingly are accused of doing the exact opposite. I am terrified of giving Elizabeth a "time out" somewhere in public, because someone could potentially see that as "child neglect." I always hesitate to leave her be in a store aisle while she throws a fit, because I know someone could easily report me for abandonment. I never spank her in front of strangers, even though I sometimes do when we are by ourselves at home, because in their eyes, that would make me a child abuser.<br />
I think it's pretty obvious where the line is. You can tell the difference between a parent who disciplines in a firm but loving way and one who does so in a totally inappropriate and harmful way. At least, you would <i>think </i>people can tell the difference. But it's not so anymore.<br />
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<b>2. Appropriate spanking was normal and common</b><br />
And maybe, some of you might say, <i>inappropriate </i>spanking was considered normal. I know my parents have told me that if they would have done to me what their parents did to them, it would have been easily considered "abuse." But they have never talked about their parents with fear or trepidation in their voices, and they do not feel emotionally stunted or damaged from the way their parents disciplined them. Nowadays, if you even <i>say </i>that you spank your child, you are given looks. When I spank Elizabeth, it involves a swat on the hand or the behind. And yes, it is hard enough so that she gets the message. But then it's over and done. And we both move on. It is an effective way for me to communicate to her when something she does in not acceptable, because she is not able to communicate with words yet. I don't enjoy doing it. And she doesn't enjoy receiving it. But it works for our family.<br />
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I'm certainly not trying to suggest that spanking is a good disciplinary tool for everyone. Some families might be very uncomfortable using it with their children. And that's fine. But it's a shame that I have to feel judged and even frightened to use my completely appropriate disciplinary tool in public just because others don't agree with it.<br />
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<b>3. Most mothers stayed home with the children</b><br />
This is a big one. When I was a full time working outside the home mom, I found it very difficult to consistently implement my own discipline techniques, when during the day my child was disciplined in a completely different way. I think it's safe to say that most, if not all, day care facilities (rightfully so) would never dream of spanking a child in their care, even if a parent gave them permission, for fear of getting sued or fired. Some people think time-out is not a good thing. Regardless of who thinks what, the fact of the matter is, if <i>I </i>am the parent, it is ultimately <i>my </i>responsibility to discipline my child. And this is much harder to do when I am not a near constant presence in the child's life.<br />
This is not, of course, to say that moms who work outside the home should just throw in the towel and give up. It is definitely possible to implement your own disciplinary methods on your children, even if they are cared for by someone else for much of the day. But it is impossible to deny that it is much more difficult.<br />
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<b>4. Fathers played a much bigger role in the family</b><br />
Unfortunately, nowadays, the amount of single moms out there is frighteningly high. And the feminist movement has made it seem that men are no longer needed to raise a family. <a href="http://www.wannabecatholic.blogspot.com/2014/03/man-bashing-culture.html" target="_blank">I've written before about just how important daddies are in raising children.</a> 60 years ago, divorce was rare. Fathers were a much more constant presence in the lives of their children than they are today. And as a result, a child received discipline from <i>both </i>parents. Even in families today who have both a mom and a dad present, the mother is usually the disciplinarian. It is now politically incorrect to refer to the father as the head of the household, even though it makes Biblical and logistical sense.<br />
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<b>5. There were not "experts" coming at parents with copious amounts of research, all stating different things</b><br />
Don't spank your kid, or she will think violence is acceptable. Don't let your kid cry, or he will develop severe trust issues. Don't do time out, or the world will explode.<br />
I'm so. sick. of. all. the. research. It's overwhelming, exhausting, and confusing. Because every "expert" says something different. 50 years ago, parents just did what their instincts told them. But now, you've got people coming at you from all over telling you that what you are doing is WRONG and it will affect your child for LIFE. Talk about insecurity.<br />
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<b>6. It was considered a <i>good</i> thing to let your child learn by doing.</b><br />
This one, probably more than anything, irks me the most. I am a very "hands off" parent. When I say this, I mean that I am perfectly fine with allowing Elizabeth to do things many other parents would (and do) think are "dangerous." Now, obviously, I am smart about this. I do not allow my child to do anything that is downright unsafe, like playing with electrical outlets, knives, fire, or anything like that. But I realize that there are risks with everything, and I cannot let my fear of a small risk outweigh the benefit of Elizabeth learning how to do common tasks or activities. Typical occurrences in my house:<br />
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Freaked out person: "Elizabeth, NO! Don't close that drawer! You'll smash your fingers!"<br />
My response: "Maybe then she'll learn that closing the drawer that hard is a bad thing." </blockquote>
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Freaked out person: "Elizabeth, NO! Don't run so fast down the driveway! You'll fall and scrape your knee!"<br />
My response: "Uh....she's going to fall in her life. Many, many times. A scraped knee is not concerning to me at all." </blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ikKTtPZLXwopCnHIWQn8UBL2Uhwsu3LZ8XPrQL8Wu5wsw5opJeF6RS5OCNVZBBwtvhalzwXsx_AFli9EbfXh4L1_35B_t2Ziuq6JxRuOLJjiDhlVGKyCrT-zX25WRTvMGVaRk34wqHE/s1600/steps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ikKTtPZLXwopCnHIWQn8UBL2Uhwsu3LZ8XPrQL8Wu5wsw5opJeF6RS5OCNVZBBwtvhalzwXsx_AFli9EbfXh4L1_35B_t2Ziuq6JxRuOLJjiDhlVGKyCrT-zX25WRTvMGVaRk34wqHE/s1600/steps.jpg" height="292" width="320" /></a>Freaked out person: "Elizabeth, NO! Don't help your mom unload the dishwasher! That fork could poke you in the eye!"<br />
My response: "Elizabeth, YES. Help me unload the dishwasher. The pain it saves my 9 month pregnant back from not having to bend over is well worth the risk of your eyeball." (Just kidding...kind of...) </blockquote>
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Freaked out person: "Elizabeth, NO! Don't go up the stairs! You are going to fall down!"<br />
My response: "And...how else is she supposed to learn to go up the stairs? Perhaps we can learn to to apparate like they do in Harry Potter."</blockquote>
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So, person who complains about how kids just aren't disciplined the right way anymore, I'm right there with you. But I also know better than to automatically assume a family's situation. And I realize that, as nostalgic as I am about the way things "used to be," it's just not realistic to assume things are that simple. Discipline is not a sprint...it's a marathon. It lasts until your child leaves your home, and perhaps even past that point. It's a complicated thing, and more of a learning experience than I ever imagined it would be. Certain things will work for some families and not for others. And we must figure out what is best for us.<br />
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Much love,<br />
AshleyAshleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01632120461604588811noreply@blogger.com0