tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28525824103202543872024-03-13T13:20:00.461-05:00Holding the DistaffMaking sense out of life's unspun fibers.Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-55938284032603439342015-11-26T16:55:00.001-06:002015-11-26T16:55:40.616-06:00Under ConstructionHello faithful followers and new visitors. I have some exciting news...this site is getting a complete makeover! I have been doing a lot of soul searching, prayer and research and I am planning on relaunching Holding the Distaff. The content will be coming regularly--and my hope is that it will encourage and inspire you in your everyday life.<br />
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My current plan is to have everything ready to go in January 2016. In the meantime I will be updating old posts and engaging on social media, so please connect on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/HoldingTheDistaff/?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/GinaPoirier" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/holdingthedistaff/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> and <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/ginapoirier/" target="_blank">Pinterest. </a><br />
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See you soon!<br />
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-Gina<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-32799399843433457202015-08-18T15:26:00.001-05:002015-08-18T15:32:19.533-05:00Everything You Want To Know About Our Homeschooling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4OnBennhMCTPZ2NHR6EXwyCSxoUpM2CShpsxwiQGLrSzw6w3VS-_fCHn1lYSLuaM-7EYFcDdkjpkx8R8ln6Icz8xDS67UITd-G2MyIolpjlE8ufVr-NPPNiS0UQm2lQOM5Z3nHrRoEfL/s1600/FullSizeRender-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="homeschool questions" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4OnBennhMCTPZ2NHR6EXwyCSxoUpM2CShpsxwiQGLrSzw6w3VS-_fCHn1lYSLuaM-7EYFcDdkjpkx8R8ln6Icz8xDS67UITd-G2MyIolpjlE8ufVr-NPPNiS0UQm2lQOM5Z3nHrRoEfL/s640/FullSizeRender-7.jpg" title="about homeschooling" width="632" /></a></div>
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Hi there Internet family! I took an unintended summer vacation from blogging. I know that you're totally shocked that I disappeared for several months--because I <b>never do that </b>as a committed blogger, right?<br />
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Now summer is wrapping up and I intend to get back into the swing of things as we transition to fall and school. Fun!<br />
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Speaking of school, I'm finding that as the kids get older, new acquaintances always ask me where they go to school. You may recall that we don't "go" to school. Some people think this is really weird and I don't disagree.<br />
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Homeschooling<i> is </i>weird. It's perfect for us.<br />
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When I bring up that strangely provocative word, "homeschool," I inevitably get one of several responses. I'm almost sure that whoever you are, you will at some point or another do or say one of these things:<br />
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<br />
<ul>
<li>"Wow, good for you!" (that's a nice way to respond, by the way).</li>
<li><i>Face contorts into speechless expression of shocked confusion. </i></li>
<li><i>"</i>I could never do that." Followed by detailed explanation of why not.</li>
<li>"You're brave."</li>
<li>No reaction at all, maybe because it's either not that weird after all?</li>
</ul>
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<br />
After the initial response, most people have a lot of questions. So I thought it might fun to do something like "FAQ" responses:<br />
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<b>Why?</b><br />
I explained a lot of the why in my first post about this (<a href="http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/2014/08/were-alternative-education-rebels.html" target="_blank">We're Alternative Education Rebels)</a>. The short answer is that it's a good option for our family. I still feel like the benefits outweigh the risks. These benefits include personalized instruction, time spent with my kids, more opportunity for character training, and educational freedom. One of my goals is to not only teach my children educational material, but to train them to love learning--so that they will be lifelong, self-guided learners.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><br />
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<b>Will you do it through high school?</b><br />
I would like to, but since my oldest is in first grade we have a long time between now and graduation. As long as it continues to be the best option for our family, I plan to continue doing it.<br />
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<b>How do you do it with different ages in the house?</b><br />
It's not that hard. I am way more impressed with teachers who successfully instruct 30 six-year-olds all day, every day. Kids are very capable of being independent learners, so I can provide instruction to one while the other is working by himself. We also do a lot of activities together, like reading aloud and projects. Admittedly it is difficult at times with a toddler, but she adjusts to our daily routine fairly easily. And there's also this magical stretch of time called "nap."<br />
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<b>What does a typical day look like?</b><br />
We're still determining this. Last year was a grand experiment and this year I think I have a better vision for our family's style. We have a scheduled period of time for each subject we will cover in a given day, with age-appropriate assignments for each child. Subjects for the upcoming year include reading, handwriting, spelling, piano, math and various read-alouds about anything I want to cover. We are also joining a co-op this year and we will be covering geography, history, science, fine arts and Latin (yes really). That sounds like a lot, but realistically we only spend a little bit of time on each subject. I build a lot of breaks into our schedule.<br />
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<b>Aren't you worried about social interaction?</b><br />
No. My husband was homeschooled and is not an anti-social dweeb. We will have plenty of interaction in our neighborhood, through extracurricular activities, at church and through our new homeschool co-op community that will meet once a week.<br />
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<b>What do you think about the Common Core?</b><br />
This is the hot topic, right? As far it relates to our family I'm not terribly concerned about it. The purpose of the Common Core is to prepare children to enter the workforce as competent adults, and I'm try to accomplish that too. One of the big complaints about the Common Core is that it forces teachers to do test-driven instruction. When the time comes I will prepare my kids for college-entrance exams should they want to go to college, but test prep isn't going to guide our day-to-day learning. My goal is subject mastery at the pace appropriate for each child. I will keep my eye on Common Core standards as we progress and adjust if it seems like we are way off target, but I have a feeling it's not going to be a big issue.<br />
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<b>How can you be qualified to teach without any teacher training?</b><br />
I'm not qualified to teach in a classroom, but I am more than qualified to instruct my own kids. Here are a few factors that help:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>There is a lot of guided curriculum available that makes teaching fool-proof. </li>
<li>By the time kids reach higher levels they will be primarily self-directed, which prepares them for college. </li>
<li>There are a lot of community resources available so that I'm not the only one providing instruction.</li>
<li>I can learn along with them. All I have to do is take a peek at the math or whatever subject a day in advance and refresh my memory, or learn it completely new. While they will likely surpass me someday, I'm still a step ahead of the little guys.</li>
</ul>
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I know there are a lot more questions I could answer but these are the ones I am asked the most. I'm always happy to talk about it. What are some of your thoughts or questions on homeschooling?</div>
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<i><br /></i><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-28825847480923010482015-05-22T23:02:00.000-05:002015-05-22T23:40:30.730-05:0010 Positive Behavior Words for Young Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ky0P3BxMsI2MoKNJtzTP_a6jfT4pYvq294UNRGL53IGLqdZI_XVj4vYU8_ceXK82bOVW2ijVMt_5TRB7EfymwaNYwRLWkXL1bdPUtsWS_D2LtwMsRaTnua1js4jWgkyI4xMtBUE29Ij4/s1600/Grace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ky0P3BxMsI2MoKNJtzTP_a6jfT4pYvq294UNRGL53IGLqdZI_XVj4vYU8_ceXK82bOVW2ijVMt_5TRB7EfymwaNYwRLWkXL1bdPUtsWS_D2LtwMsRaTnua1js4jWgkyI4xMtBUE29Ij4/s640/Grace.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Once upon a time, I saw a video somewhere on social media that went something like this:<br />
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Father of young toddler: "What does a cow say?"<br />
Little girl: "Moo!"<br />
Father: "What does a doggy say?"<br />
Little girl: "Woof! Woof!"<br />
Father: "What does a duck say?"<br />
Little girl: "Quack! Quack!"<br />
Father: "What does Mommy say?"<br />
Little girl: "No, no, no, no, no!"<br />
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Poor mommies. It just comes with the territory: constantly setting limits and saying that two-letter word. It's no wonder that "no" just happens to be one of the first words that enters a young child's vocabulary.<br />
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If you're a parent, hopefully "no" is not the only word you're using. The problem with "no" is that it only takes you so far. Not only does the kid eventually wizen up and start fighting the "no" with the formidable "why?", but it ultimately leaves you with a void.<br />
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Unless your kid is content sitting with their arms crossed and smiling (a highly suspicious behavior in my opinion), they have to direct their energy elsewhere whenever they hit a limit. And unless you've taught them where to direct that energy, they ultimately end up committing another crime. You say "no" again, they get frustrated, you get frustrated, and on and on and on you go all day until your husband comes home and you hand them over so you can go collapse and order pizza because there's no way you're cooking dinner after a day like that. Not that I'd know what that's like (that's sarcasm, by the way).<br />
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We're three kids into this parenting game, and I think we've pulled together some pretty good strategies to avoid spiraling out of control like this too often. <b>Instead of focusing on the don'ts, everybody is happier when we spend the majority of our time on the dos.</b> The way we do this is to provide our kids with a <b>positive behavior vocabulary</b> from an early age. When they misbehave, they know how they need to be focusing their energy. And when they do behave, we can praise them for it!<br />
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These words also help our kids form good habits, which they'll hopefully take with them as they grow older.<br />
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<b>1. Obey</b><br />
Sound a little intense for a two-year-old? Think again. This is one of the first words we taught our kids in matters of discipline and it's often one of our first go-tos when dealing with behavior. We expect them to obey.<i> This is different from the popular word "listen."</i> Listening has to do with paying attention, while obedience has to do with responding appropriately to authority. Our kids are expected to obey parents, babysitters and teachers the first time they are asked (in case you're wondering, they can ask questions or request alternatives when appropriate, and there is grace involved. It's not an authoritarian thing).<br />
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<b>2. Gentle</b><br />
Kids are rough little creatures. They yank on you and walk all over you and other adults/children/animals. From the time my kids were interactive infants yanking on my hair, I would firmly pull their hand away, say "gentle," and guide the hand in demonstration of what gentle looks like.<br />
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<b>3. Kind</b><br />
I think we all use the word "nice" a lot, but "kind" as well as "loving" more specifically address how children should treat other people. Sharing and taking turns is to be praised as kindness.<br />
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<b>4. Friendly</b><br />
I really hope my kids have good manners when they grow up, and those habits start now. I'll admit friendliness can be a weakness of ours, so lately I've been talking more with my kids about making eye contact, smiling and greeting people. My two-year-old is shy and so we try to work with her to be "friendly," with a wave or a verbal "hi."<br />
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<b>5. Respectful</b><br />
This is such a great word, I wish I'd started it sooner! It applies to quite a lot of discipline situations, from talking back, to manners, to kids cleaning up after themselves. It's also an expansion of the obedience concept once they are a little older.<br />
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<b>6. Thankful</b><br />
Oooooh this is a tough one. It gets to the heart of a lot of attitude problems. While kids might not naturally feel or act thankful, getting them in the habit of saying "thank you" and not complaining is at least pointing their hearts in the right direction.<br />
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<b>7. Joyful</b><br />
Like "thankful," this word is tricky because it addresses a heart issue -- but then again, don't they all? This is a good word to use when kids are just having a bad attitude for no good reason (good for adults too!). <i>It helps them focus on the positive instead of the negative </i>so they can enjoy their surroundings, not to mention make themselves more enjoyable to be around for everyone else.<br />
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<b>8. Patient</b><br />
Okay, this was the word of the day once on Sesame Street so I know I'm validated here. My two-year-old asks me for crackers 5,247 times in 30 seconds and I repeat this word over and over again. It's starting to sink in. It also helps me.<br />
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<b>9. Self-control</b><br />
In our house we say, "no fits" whenever a tantrum starts. To counter the "no" in that statement, the kids learn to control their emotions and express them appropriately by being introduced to the "self-control" concept. Admittedly this is quite difficult for a two-year-old, but for a four-year-old who has been practicing deep breathing and counting backwards whenever he gets worked up, "self-control" is a big accomplishment that is highly praised.<br />
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<b>10. Helpful</b><br />
Who doesn't love a Mommy's helper? Last weekend my five-year-old poured his little sister a cup of juice so that I wouldn't have to roll my lazy bum out of bed. I was amazed and he was beaming. I've heard that they eventually morph into teenagers and that being "helpful" doesn't hold the same weight in their minds. But I'll take it while I can.<br />
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P.S. Do any of these sound familiar? Several of these just happen to be the "fruit of the Spirit" in Galatians 5:22-23 ;)<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-34421448083851343212015-04-24T22:39:00.001-05:002015-04-24T22:52:00.512-05:00Starting The International Adoption Journey<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/AVvXsEiwcIyy1dyQecGIxKmX1MtHDGpq0S1-UXMbwdjAd19vZRBnyLR8NQOoPESy6be2DwJ2Q4ZQpuUiYzSLH1XGJA5DhrCeRkya5X00qY-RjlhJbytca6bAPVqFBgbjsHwer_ZhIRtMJn5YlR9v/s1600/adoption+paperwork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="international adoption" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcIyy1dyQecGIxKmX1MtHDGpq0S1-UXMbwdjAd19vZRBnyLR8NQOoPESy6be2DwJ2Q4ZQpuUiYzSLH1XGJA5DhrCeRkya5X00qY-RjlhJbytca6bAPVqFBgbjsHwer_ZhIRtMJn5YlR9v/s1600/adoption+paperwork.jpg" height="480" title="adoption paperwork" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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"<b>We're just waiting</b> for the State of Illinois at the moment, to send the home study approval," I chuckled into the phone. I could almost sense Julie, our paperwork coordinator, nodding her head sympathetically. It was a short call earlier this week, just pulling together a few loose ends before we prepare to finalize most of our documents.<br />
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It's not so bad to be waiting sometimes. Recently Marc and I had spent multiple nights a week staring at a computer screen, envisioning every possible health/behavior/cultural scenario in an international adoption. This was an educational requirement to complete our home study. It was useful information, but the process was borderline torturous (didn't I graduate college already?). So doing nothing now is a nice change.<br />
<br />
Right now we're waiting for approvals, for background checks, for people to get back to us so we can fill out more papers.<br />
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How did we get here? Here feels like nowhere, but it's somewhere.<br />
<br />
It started in each of us separately. We agreed before we were even married that, if and when it could happen, we would look into adding a child to our family through adoption. It just made sense to both of us. Kids need families. We wanted kids. We could examine the adoption option when the time was right.<br />
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Three biological kids later, it was time to look at this option a little more seriously. After Grace was born, we began talking to agencies, saving money, scouring the Internet about, talking to friends who had done it, figuring out how this might work for us.<br />
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Our hearts led us internationally for several reasons. The whole thing terrified me, even though I wanted it. I prayed that if this was going to work, it had to come together in a pretty clear way. Otherwise there was no way it was gonna happen...*<br />
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This story has taken years to evolve, but in the past year several puzzle pieces have come together, including a lot of the funding, an agency and a country. And so last November we started the paperwork process, which should be wrapping up in the next several weeks.<br />
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And yet that's just the beginning. Before the beginning.<br />
<br />
I've hesitated to share this publicly until now because this information generates a lot of questions that I haven't felt ready to answer to just anyone. But I generated a lot of curiosity a couple of weeks ago when I<a href="http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/2015/04/relaunching-dead-blog.html" target="_blank"> revived the dead blog</a>. So here are the answers to your most burning questions:<br />
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<b>The "what": </b>we are pursuing an international adoption, as that's where we have felt the strongest pull based on our experiences and research. We wanted to choose a country that has significant need and is also "Hague accredited," meaning that it adheres to international standards in the adoption process. This criteria was important to us because we wanted to avoid any risk of child trafficking. It narrowed down our search significantly.<br />
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<b>The "where": </b>after much research and prayer, we chose Bulgaria (Eastern Europe). There are many children in orphanages in this country, although some are in foster care. While in college, Marc spent some time volunteering in orphanages in Romania and Russia, and he is familiar with this region of the world. I also focused on the region while obtaining my bachelor's degree in international studies.<br />
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<b>The "who": </b>we've requested a girl age three or under. We are open to minor/correctible special needs, many of which (like developmental delays) are almost unavoidable in children coming from institutions. I wrestled with guilt for not wanting to be open to more severe needs, older kids or siblings, but we're making a decision based on what we think we can handle with our three biological kids too.<br />
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<b>The "when": </b>after we submit our dossier (kind of like our adoption profile) to Bulgaria, we have much waiting to do. Like two years, three years or more. After receiving and accepting a referral, we'll take two trips to Bulgaria, the second of which will be to bring our daughter home.<br />
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<b>The "why": </b>I cannot even begin to explain how I've wrestled through this question, especially in the early stages. I remember a conversation we had with friends, in which I shared my hesitation about whether I was doing it for the "right" reasons. He simply replied that James 1:27 says to "look after orphans in their distress" and not to worry so much about the "why." Just do it in faith.<br />
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So that's our story, the beginning of it anyway. There won't be much to update until we actually bring a child home, which is obviously not for a (long) while. I truly appreciate all the support and encouragement we've already received. I'd only request that you pray for us as we continue stepping out on faith. Thanks, friends.<br />
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*As I read over this part, it dawned on me that these feelings were identical to what I experienced when I met Marc and the whole development of our relationship leading up to our marriage. So I already know what it feels like to take a leap of faith with something that seems a little crazy. That's encouraging!<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-7950991859457060562015-04-12T17:09:00.000-05:002015-04-12T17:09:31.539-05:00What Does It Mean To Be a Woman of Strength?<div>
I don't know about you, but I am bombarded daily with images of women telling me what I should do, whom I should be, what I should look like.</div>
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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/AVvXsEiQEH5XzBeg1Q5tjK3u7RbhjLnoFft_DJGSECRDDruXqBoOQYlZ0Nwop95vOIae8MWKnF4xtPaH-SBPeDcA6bEsBHFef-ncvNqIMRYJduk4WKn6nLB2nhivsRMfSXgpKSwnGWi276DdPyvZ/s1600/IMG_4173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="True strength for women" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEH5XzBeg1Q5tjK3u7RbhjLnoFft_DJGSECRDDruXqBoOQYlZ0Nwop95vOIae8MWKnF4xtPaH-SBPeDcA6bEsBHFef-ncvNqIMRYJduk4WKn6nLB2nhivsRMfSXgpKSwnGWi276DdPyvZ/s1600/IMG_4173.jpg" height="424" title="What does it mean to be a woman of strength?" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Image courtesy of marcolm at FreeDigitalPhotos.net</em></td></tr>
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It used to just be the magazines in the checkout line; now it's Pinterest, online advertising, articles in my Facebook newsfeed, and of course the videos.<i> The videos about how to do anything,</i> available at the tap of my finger!<br />
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As a blogger, of course, I would shoot myself in the foot if I took a strong stance against social media. As a matter of fact, I've spent some time this past week updating my various accounts so that I can be more engaged with my readers (wink!).<br />
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Not all of the messages we receive through various media, whether printed or electronic, are inherently evil. Media is just a tool, and it can be used for good or bad, on both the publishing end and the consumer end.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing about all of these messages: they only go viral when people want to see them. I know I certainly perpetuate the trends. For example, I generally feel pretty good about my body image; I've had three pregnancies and I'm not overweight, I eat pretty well and I exercise. <i>Yet I don't look like those other strong, beautiful women.</i> And so I click on the fitness tips, the healthy eating suggestions. I'd like to say it's because I'd generally like to be healthier, which is a good thing. But sometimes something else lurks behind my motivation. Is it jealousy? Discontent? Idolatry? Probably all of the above.<br />
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The body image thing is a whole issue in itself which is important but beyond the scope of one post. But it's not just those types of messages that are alluring. The messages that burn can be anything: how to be the best parent, wife, chef, fashion maven, blogger, and generally the most balanced, righteous female alive.<br />
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For a <i><b>recovering perfectionist</b></i> like myself, these messages can be pure poison if I'm not careful. While a lot of media is meant to be inspiring (and it actually is!), we can misinterpret it as<i> <b>condemning </b></i>because we just don't measure up to the standards we see.<br />
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Lately I've noticed one theme in particular about women across every type of media: <b>strength. </b>A lot of popular TV shows and movies, comedies and dramas alike, now feature woman protagonists. Think Liz Lemon, Leslie Knope, Carrie Mathison, Jess Day, and of course Elsa and Anna to name a few. I think that these are positive developments for women in popular culture, and I hope the trend continues because I could use about ten more comedies written by Tina Fey.<br />
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Yet, sometimes along with the positives we hear the ever so slightly deceitful whispers: "To be strong enough you have to be as good or better than a man. Be powerful, be a b****. Be muscular, both physically and mentally, and you will be beautiful." I saw a book recently called <i>Strong is the New Skinny.</i><br />
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I have to admit, the concept of being strong is exciting and pulls me in. But what do I have to do to be this "strong woman?" Do I have to workout like an Olympian, hold a powerful position in my career, all while perfecting my role as a wife and mother?<br />
<br />
And let's not forget that the Internet has plenty to say about<i> strong motherhood,</i> which includes things like breastfeeding, reading lots of books to your kids from the time of conception, limiting electronics and cultivating an organic garden so you can live off the land and avoid all chemicals. If you're strong enough, you will be the pillar that upholds the ideal family (but you better not break or they'll all go crashing down with you!).<br />
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<div>
Again, these ideas are not bad in and of themselves. But the way they are presented and/or interpreted can be devastating.<br />
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Many women know they can't have it all or do it all (a healthy admission), but we're left with this disturbing question: <b>when am I enough?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
And this is where our lives, careers, bodies and families fall short. Because the truth is, when we continue to hold up the standards we love so dear from the media, or even from our own minds, we're never enough.<br />
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I wrestle with this dilemma daily. I write from a Christian perspective, so the "Christianese" answer is to be strong in the grace of God, which is absolutely true (study the book of Romans for a thorough explanation of the subject. Or anything by Philip Yancey). Grace is the answer and is more than enough. I could stop writing here.<br />
<br />
But what I've been pondering for quite some time (recall that I took a break for several months) is what that grace looks like today, amidst all of these messages. <b>What exactly does grace mean to the modern woman? </b>Whether you're single, married, with kids or without? If I'm living my life and embracing my shortcomings because of my understanding of this grace, what does my self-image look like? How am I responding to that bombardment of messages?<br />
<br />
<b>Can we really be strong?</b><br />
<br />
The short answer is: yes. We can be strong. But not in the ways you might think. <b>True</b> <b>strength </b>does not look like the way most media portrays it, and it does not look like the way that even a lot of spiritual thinkers portray it.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately (for me, anyway), strength isn't something I can achieve by checking items off a list. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've discovered that biblically, God provides strength through several means, including:</div>
<div>
<br />
<ul>
<li>character</li>
<li>suffering</li>
<li>rest </li>
<li>grace</li>
<li>humility</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hmm, I don't see many of those themes on Pinterest very often...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What do you think? Am I on target here? What are some of the deceitful messages you hear through media?<br />
<br />
Where do you find your strength?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">You then, my [daughter],</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29829A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29829A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"> be strong</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-29829B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29829B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"> in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">2 Timothy 2:1</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></i></div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-34448984418861611302015-04-03T21:14:00.000-05:002015-04-08T19:29:17.693-05:00Relaunching a Dead BlogHello? Hello.<br />
<br />
You might remember me. I last clicked the "Publish" button about...seven months ago. The year was 2014, and even my kids know that was ancient history.<br />
<br />
So tonight I'd like to announce that <b>I am not dead. </b>In fact, I'm in my Starbucks office right now. I have a hot chocolate stain all over my shirt because that seemed to be an appropriate way to celebrate my relaunching.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbp6ozc2bOmVYy7cbxQbhrGHAyO_xtJoMljCl-Ftzs7eok2j79PGx6dIf5r66_NuxbL972PS8w7HWmBaE-heqNrB6y7lTjOXX5Gk_C9qU-59HZb40KduxnWeF4P7rs-ZQUk5KmzBETeFc/s1600/IMG_4103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Starting over with a blog" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbp6ozc2bOmVYy7cbxQbhrGHAyO_xtJoMljCl-Ftzs7eok2j79PGx6dIf5r66_NuxbL972PS8w7HWmBaE-heqNrB6y7lTjOXX5Gk_C9qU-59HZb40KduxnWeF4P7rs-ZQUk5KmzBETeFc/s1600/IMG_4103.JPG" height="480" title="Relaunching a blog after a break" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going high-tech with photo editing now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Admittedly, the blog was dead (or else the title of this post would make no sense...). There are a lot of reasons why I didn't write, and I'm not sure I need to go into all of them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
To catch you up on my life, I'll do a little recap:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>We started homeschooling. Ummm, we play a lot of Legos and read books sometimes (calm down, don't send CPS, I use curricula).</li>
<li>Christmas happened.</li>
<li>Marc and I went to Europe for his sister's wedding. And we left the kids behind for ten days. Maybe I'll write more about that sometime.</li>
<li>I've been writing and editing a lot. Which means more money but little time for leisure writing.</li>
<li>Something else, sort of big...we've been applying for an international adoption. <b>What did I just say???? </b>I'll explain more sometime. But that has been extremely time consuming.</li>
<li>Just normal life raising three kids, Marc working for a small business, being very active in our church and community, so...busy.</li>
</ul>
<div>
While it may seem like I have forgotten about this whole blog thing, I haven't. At first I didn't miss it much. I think that I was kind of turned off from it for a while because it didn't have much purpose. I was just writing whatever came to mind whenever I felt like it. This was after I had been blogging a couple of years already...prior to that I was getting sucked into trying to attract more followers and whatnot, without a lot of direction other than "I hope people like me!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>If an endeavor doesn't have a meaningful purpose in my life, it doesn't last.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But lately I've been thinking about blogging again. I miss it. I miss sharing my thoughts and interacting with people and seeing what they think about what I think. And I keep coming up with post ideas. I journal some of them, which is therapeutic to an extent, but there's something more daring about putting it all out there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So here's the deal, folks. I'm going to try this again. I think I have a clearer vision for what I want to accomplish here. My hope is that through my writing:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>God will be honored</li>
<li>Others may be encouraged and inspired</li>
<li>I have an outlet to share my creativity</li>
</ul>
<div>
I can accomplish this through:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Humor</li>
<li>Advice</li>
<li>Sharing my observations about life.</li>
</ul>
<div>
I just spent a whopping $12 on a domain name, so I am committed now. That would have been like three lattes. We'll see what happens. I'd really like to post once a week if I can.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Talk to you soon! Love you all</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Gina</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-80601978960616332672014-09-13T16:30:00.001-05:002014-09-13T22:33:24.811-05:00Soccer Mom ConfessionsMinivan: check.<br>
<br>
Lots of kids: check.<br>
<br>
Extended family in attendance: check.<br>
<br>
Soccer ball, shin guards, oversized uniform: check, check, check.<br>
<br>
Folding chairs: check.<br>
<br>
Snacks and water bottles: check.<br>
<br>
Five-year-old with limited capacity to know which way the goal is: check.<br>
<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFsGhk-irY9V1sPusmB2l18vFWEduDfGZiCnp_aQE05Umb3SEo7c_fdxBGBgMxH9FdtF0j-CSU7nMXU2y3JTbDkXWEyajS9-SvJjP0ytGrJ-8q2e4raRL6oxD8gpmVFl2-p6lrIYWjdQb/s1600/IMG_2886.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFsGhk-irY9V1sPusmB2l18vFWEduDfGZiCnp_aQE05Umb3SEo7c_fdxBGBgMxH9FdtF0j-CSU7nMXU2y3JTbDkXWEyajS9-SvJjP0ytGrJ-8q2e4raRL6oxD8gpmVFl2-p6lrIYWjdQb/s1600/IMG_2886.jpg" height="400" width="355"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where's the ball? Who cares?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWlzrpXSvx1OXuIz4dHkQAsec9-p9xZzLQK9dN0sB5UUsC9N08Ovw7iuhJJdCtCVStB3I6rU1agHXOEuBRVbJzRO2-pj05RYyDoMeh2oFz8lwsGdJnVRJT1mMXG0tJW4gSt-hWmqmBvKg/s1600/IMG_2898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWlzrpXSvx1OXuIz4dHkQAsec9-p9xZzLQK9dN0sB5UUsC9N08Ovw7iuhJJdCtCVStB3I6rU1agHXOEuBRVbJzRO2-pj05RYyDoMeh2oFz8lwsGdJnVRJT1mMXG0tJW4gSt-hWmqmBvKg/s1600/IMG_2898.jpg" height="526" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heeeeeeeeey!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<br>
It's here. I'm a soccer mom. Little did I know that after my adolescent years of intensely competitive soccer, this was my destination. Forget being a collegiate athlete when you can be sitting on a sideline clenching your fists watching people 1/3 of your size, trying not to laugh when they have to stop the game because the players are too distracted watching a plane take off.<br>
<br>
We parents try to play it cool. Like we don't care who wins or who contacts the ball last before it rolls into the net. But inside we cringe when the giant Goliath child on the other team scores another goal, and we cheer when our littler guys sneak around him.<br>
<br>
True story. Goliath child. I think his name was Kyle.<br>
<br>
We parents try to practice some sort of weird mind control method in which we sit on the edge of our chair and forcefully will our kids to move their bodies in such a way that they actually navigate a ball using a foot and not a hand and move said ball in the general direction of a net -- the right net. We yell, "Kick it! Kick it!" And then wonder, W<i>hy would I say that? </i>Think about it.<br>
<i><br></i>
I never wanted to be one of those moms who lived vicariously through her children and screamed her lungs out on the sidelines and lived for Saturday soccer. I don't think I'm there. Please stage an intervention if I ever am.<br>
<br>
James' first game was last weekend. They didn't officially keep score, but man, Goliath child really slaughtered them single-handedly. Or singe-footedly. Really, he just mowed them over with the brute force of his whole eight-year-old-posing-as-a-five-year-old body (Poor Kyle. It's not his fault he's huge, but he wasn't very popular with the parents on our side.).<br>
<br>
I was supposed to leave early to go to a meeting, as one of the directors for some nonprofit work done in partnership with our church. We had planned to send the kids home with their grandparents after Marc and I left. My pre-mom self comes back to life in such scenarios, and I feel like I'm doing something important and meaningful outside of wiping noses and studying the deep significance of vocabulary words like "cat" and "bat."<br>
<br>
But James' team was getting slaughtered, as previously noted. Marc and I debated what to do. After a somewhat disheartening first game, he wanted to stay and be there for our son to make sure he knew how much we supported him and loved him. I had a mini identity crisis meltdown on the spot. I hated to look unprofessional in the only opportunity I EVER have to look professional, but I hated equally if not more abandoning my oldest son when he might need me.<br>
<br>
We decided to stay. We gave James a big hug after the game and told him we had to go but were proud of him. I don't think he cared that they got slaughtered because he was pretty proud of himself for every time he touched the ball. But he cried because he couldn't come with us. Fail.<br>
<br>
Oh well. At least my friends/colleagues didn't tease me for being late. Oh wait, they did. Fortunately, I think they had all been there. Hooray for kids' sports!<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*********</div>
<br>
I originally wrote this post a few days ago but didn't have any good pictures, so I decided to wait until I got those gems at the top of the page (notice no ball in any photos? Hmmm...) Here's some more news from today: Game 2. I think they tied. Or something. At least it was closer than complete decimation and there was no giant this time.<br>
<br>
The best part was when James cried at the end of the game. Again. Because he was really sad that it was over.<br>
<br><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-76740847731001983502014-09-05T16:35:00.000-05:002014-09-05T16:35:35.332-05:00When You Have a Slow Poke KidI don't think I truly understood the meaning of patience until I became a parent.<br />
<br />
Particularly, a parent of this one:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WAq_TPeZE4c9C4ZoRWHvGg-qxMmrckhZQEhojOTrDi45T-LJs25qePL3xV0Ef1Gq0Bdijuv61ehvUBWIMGe3I9qafg199F0JlkgwXzsPl5q3GhN_1h_gSO8lv4ty0rQMevlnSiKofmFq/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WAq_TPeZE4c9C4ZoRWHvGg-qxMmrckhZQEhojOTrDi45T-LJs25qePL3xV0Ef1Gq0Bdijuv61ehvUBWIMGe3I9qafg199F0JlkgwXzsPl5q3GhN_1h_gSO8lv4ty0rQMevlnSiKofmFq/s1600/photo.JPG" height="452" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guess how long it took to eat this breakfast...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
He's not a bad child; on the contrary, he's sweet and affectionate and respectful and obedient...umm okay maybe not always. He just has the occasional epic meltdown that puts my sanity in jeopardy. You know, normal 3-year-old antics. We're working on it.<br />
<br />
But here's the real thing. He is. So. Sloooooooow. Not in the intelligence realm. He knows his ABCs, numbers, shapes, colors and can work a jigsaw puzzle like nobody's business.<br />
<br />
I'm talking about <i>take an hour to eat your breakfast</i>. <i>Sit on the toilet for 30+ minutes</i>. <i>Get dressed in 10-minute phases for each garment. Consume a bowl of rice one precious morsel at a time.</i><br />
<br />
It's enough to make even the most easy-going mom want to rip her hair out. Yes, it drives me absolutely crazy. Especially when we are trying to go anywhere beyond our walls.<br />
<br />
My husband pointed out to me the other night that if I am constantly thinking of my frustration when I think of him, then <b>I need to start thinking differently.</b> I quickly responded that of course that isn't the only way I think! Just sometimes.<br />
<br />
But how much frustration is acceptable when you're thinking about your children? That's a real head scratcher.<br />
<br />
The flip side of my slow poke's pokiness is that he is fascinating to watch. He savors every bite. He inspects every detail. He completes every task down to the finest detail. He understands at a very young age what it is to be deliberate and diligent.<br />
<br />
It's when I exit my normal whirlwind of task-oriented existence and sit and observe him that I realize that maybe he has something figured out. He can't tell time, so what's the rush to do anything? Why not savor every moment? Why not appreciate the finer aspects of life's details?<br />
<br />
It's not easy to change the way I think. But these kids sure help me out. Now if only I could convince him that you can successfully consume and enjoy more than one grain of rice at a time...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-18192036651810659232014-08-28T16:44:00.002-05:002014-08-28T16:45:11.940-05:00How To Be Productively LazyI had one of those days this past weekend when nothing was planned all day. So what did I do? Whipped out the to-do list, of course! I was on a roll all day long and got a ton done. Until about 7 p.m. And then I pretty much became a vegetable.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I'm not the only woman in the world who works herself into complete exhaustion trying to <b>get it all done </b>(when really the work is never all done). Sometimes I just don't know when to stop until I practically pass out.<br />
<br />
I felt bad on this particular day because I could barely peel myself out of my chair to put the kids to bed, let alone give attention to my husband, whom I'd effectively ignored most of the day. Oops.<br />
<br />
We talked about it. Fortunately, it wasn't a despairing conversation. The problem was not how to work harder and get more done, but rather how to find a place where I could feel good about what I accomplished and still have time and energy left over to give more to my relationships. I knew what I needed: <b>to chill out. </b>Rest. As we like to say, have some "<a href="http://www.holdingthedistaff.blogspot.com/2012/06/secret-to-eliminating-excess-stress.html" target="_blank">Sabbath time.</a>"<br />
<br />
Since then, I've pondered what it looks like to incorporate adequate rest into my daily schedule. And I've come to the radical conclusion:<b> I need to be <i>productively lazy.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
For as hard as I work, I have no problem being lazy once my energy level is zapped. But what do I do during my lazy time? Do I surf the web, watch TV, or just zone out? Nothing is inherently wrong with those things, but if I don't use my down time to recharge my own batteries and get refreshed, then I'm setting myself up for failure later. Here's what I mean:<br />
<br />
<i>Example 1</i>: I'm decompressing after a long day by scrolling through Facebook on my phone, taking those worthless personality quizzes or reading dumb articles. So I stay up half an later than I intend, sleep in the next day, and start the morning grumpy because I didn't get up before the kids.<br />
<br />
<i>Example 2: </i>For an evening together after the kids are asleep, Marc and I binge watch our favorite shows on Netflix. We have no meaningful conversation, stay up too late, and feel distant from each other the next day.<br />
<br />
<i>Example 3: </i>I get up early to do some yoga, read the Bible and have some time to myself. Instead of meditating or praying I start thinking of all I have to get done...and I begin the day feeling stressed.<br />
<br />
<i>Example 4: </i>I'm doing dishes so it's technically not "down time," but the kids are occupied elsewhere so I at least have my thoughts to myself. I start thinking about how hard my day has been or how lonely I feel being home all day or how I'm missing old friends and family...and I start down the road of negativity, which deflates my spirits for the rest of the day.<br />
<br />
<b>Since my lazy time is limited, I want to be sure that I'm making the most of it. </b>Yeah that makes perfect sense.<br />
<br />
Productive laziness can include mindless activity like TV and social media and random thoughts, but it cannot consist entirely of these things. I do much better when I limit myself. When I'm doing well, I'm not watching an hour or more of TV every night. I'm limiting social media to no more than five to ten minutes at a time. I'm taking control of my negative thoughts and finding more positive things to think about. I'm putting the to-do list away temporarily (even the mental one).<br />
<br />
<b>Productive laziness often includes conversation</b> -- with my family, friends or God. It doesn't have to be deep conversation, but it has to be something besides (or at least in addition to) staring at a screen together.<br />
<br />
<b>Productive laziness involves taking care of myself. </b>That means I allow myself to sleep if needed, I enjoy good food, have a long shower, exercise in ways that I like, and just sit and be quiet and peaceful.<br />
<br />
<b>Productive laziness is positive and refreshing. </b>I like to read and write. Occasionally I play the piano, go for a walk or grab a latte. Some people like to do art, garden, work out, do puzzles, or work on a hobby. Negativity is not allowed!<br />
<br />
<b>Productive laziness takes discipline. </b>I know. I contradict myself. But it's true. You have to at least think about it a little bit. And even plan it. And ask your friends and family to watch the kids.<br />
<br />
When I'm productively lazy, I don't feel guilty about "me time." What's more, I don't need a whole lot of it! Once I've been refreshed, I'll be more motivated and energized to get back to my tasks -- and be more productive. I'll also be a better mom, better wife, better daughter/sister/friend. And while there might be toys scattered around the room or dishes in the sink, I'll generally not care so much.<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-1887043175732106262014-08-20T11:40:00.000-05:002014-08-20T11:40:32.358-05:00We're Alternative Education RebelsSurprise! I don't believe I've officially announced that we are bailing out on educational institutions and fully exploring my <i>inability to facilitate craft projects</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Homeschooling!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
James is of the kindergarten age. So instead of going through the ritual of sending my darling baby off to school, I decided to keep him all to myself and try to educate him that way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzgr6LA1aDMAJvoC9X3fK-UENBt5UExdbQVV95IaWaRibZuobyFN2gR4BEni64xTa0ktg4yGnnrh7d6yGIUS-ksLL7jvYM54xPcU0pGMZeNvF3GNlkY6hf_3fiXncwkdT_yIGU-l7-Vu_/s1600/IMG_2810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzgr6LA1aDMAJvoC9X3fK-UENBt5UExdbQVV95IaWaRibZuobyFN2gR4BEni64xTa0ktg4yGnnrh7d6yGIUS-ksLL7jvYM54xPcU0pGMZeNvF3GNlkY6hf_3fiXncwkdT_yIGU-l7-Vu_/s1600/IMG_2810.jpg" height="395" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could not get a good picture to save my life on our first day of school. There are so many funny things about this picture I can't even begin to explain...</td></tr>
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Good luck to me, right???<br />
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I brace myself a little bit every time I announce this. While a few people accept this method of education as completely normal, many respond with astonishment, skepticism, admiration, fear, confusion, pity and/or wonder.<br />
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So I have to explain and defend myself to some extent. But it's okay. I had to get over my own skepticism to begin with. You see, <b>I married a homeschooler. </b>If it had been any other way, I probably wouldn't have even considered it. But after years of hearing him explain his upbringing and advocating for this odd educational technique, I decided to do at least look into it. And I never really looked back.<br />
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<a href="http://holdingthedistaff.blogspot.com/2012/02/why-i-stay-at-home-part-1-double-burden.html" target="_blank">It was already a huge step for me to leave the workforce</a> when I had kids, but the homeschool thing just takes me to a whole new level of domestication. It's rather frightening.<br />
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So why, you ask. <i>WHY? </i><br />
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It's not because I hate public schools or think they're going to ruin my children's lives. I love a lot of teachers, I admire their work, and I think my kids would be fine in a classroom. I excelled in public school myself.<br />
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It's not because I want to smother my children and hide everything evil from their eyes and ears for as long as possible -- although I have to admit I'm glad their exposure to topics too mature for them will be limited for at least a while longer. So call me overprotective if you want, but I suppose that's a matter of opinion.<br />
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It's not because I've had this lifelong dream to sing songs and draw rainbows and butterflies all over my house, reliving some lost childhood fantasy.<br />
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It's not because I think homeschooling is the end all be all, superior method of education for everyone and that my children are better than everyone else's and anyone who thinks otherwise can take a hike.<br />
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<b>So here's why I'm choosing to homeschool</b><b>,</b> although I don't think I can fully explain it:<br />
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There are several good education options for my kids in my community. However, <b>this option seems the best -- for us -- at the current time. </b>I can provide my kids with a lot of individualized attention, help them learn at their own pace with their own style, explore their interests, and foster a love of learning. I don't know that we're going to do this for the entire K-12 stretch, but I think it's a good place to start.<br />
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<b>Homeschool is an extension of our parenting. </b>We can seamlessly blend our family's values with everything the kids are learning. This isn't just about being able to read the Bible or pray together during school hours. This is about talking about heart issues, life's challenges and the real world in every context (Deuteronomy 6:4-9). Kids grow up fast and I want to take every opportunity I can to help them excel in life -- not just in academics and work, but in relationships and character. There are some wonderful teachers out there who can help kids in this way to an extent, but nobody does it better than a parent.<br />
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Oh yeah, and as I mentioned, Marc was homeschooled and <b>I think he turned out pretty good</b>. Plus if this just doesn't work (as homeschooling doesn't work for everyone), we fortunately have other options.<br />
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Isn't it great that we have options to help our kids learn and grow?!! I think so. We're trying this one first.<br />
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Now I know you might be thinking things like, "But aren't you worried they won't get enough socialization? I could never do that, I'm not that organized. I couldn't be around my kids all day. Have you been trained as a teacher? Aren't you afraid they'll miss something? Aren't they going to turn out naive and unprepared for life? How could you possibly teach while you have a toddler running around?"<br />
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Sheesh, it's just kindergarten. I'll let you know how it goes.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-4944981757628761852014-08-06T17:10:00.000-05:002015-12-09T08:13:34.251-06:004,000+ Miles Later: Surviving an Epic Road Trip with 3 Kids<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: normal;">
<i>Disclosure: this post contains affiliate links. </i><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><i>See here</i></span><i> for more information.</i></div>
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Well, obviously I haven't posted in an embarrassingly long time. Ummm....so I'm still here, doing great actually. I thought I'd re-enter the online universe by sharing about the most epic trip we've ever taken, completed successfully about a month ago.</div>
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It all started last winter as we were planning out our year because I was feeling a little homesick. I hadn't been west of the Rockies in four years. <b>Four years! </b>I've had a couple of kids since then and I was due to see a few folks and show them off.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN-DAlFe_my7Royqe52MwEX-nf4F9Rpg4ksV2yizvvcx9PT_-wrFEtXFm3TH5DiNNaSrB_k7IbvuordDeOdYJ8Rh4I9NGgaAYmOq9cvavWPiIlvTIBOMr9kJx9pjZCAZJsQP0c6EuHD1_/s1600/IMG_2117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN-DAlFe_my7Royqe52MwEX-nf4F9Rpg4ksV2yizvvcx9PT_-wrFEtXFm3TH5DiNNaSrB_k7IbvuordDeOdYJ8Rh4I9NGgaAYmOq9cvavWPiIlvTIBOMr9kJx9pjZCAZJsQP0c6EuHD1_/s1600/IMG_2117.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road warriors</td></tr>
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Why fly when you can drive a few thousand miles and multiply the fun?<br />
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Here was our route:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVU0UU-CDCKJ5OemLIIDdrT3zxIfk39h0d-0cgi6ej5qC_ac6zMw6gOhNnwcO1kEFWhlt9Pj2QzqxU4aqJbXmc2k_2dig24mN_1LD7W9FSDqZ-blXctIKe4R9w0Nu6D1OM2bAQDyRlQhwq/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-08-02+at+2.33.34+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVU0UU-CDCKJ5OemLIIDdrT3zxIfk39h0d-0cgi6ej5qC_ac6zMw6gOhNnwcO1kEFWhlt9Pj2QzqxU4aqJbXmc2k_2dig24mN_1LD7W9FSDqZ-blXctIKe4R9w0Nu6D1OM2bAQDyRlQhwq/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-08-02+at+2.33.34+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We took the southern route out and the northern route home.</td></tr>
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In case you didn't notice, Google Maps estimates 64 hours of road time. This doesn't include stops or any excursions at some of our destinations. Don't you think we're crazy? I thought I was. But the hotels were booked, the plans were made and we were going.<br />
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The number one bit of advice I'd give to anyone planning this kind of trek with children under five is to <b>take it slow. </b>The whole purpose of this trip was to visit our family in the Northwest, including in Boise, Spokane and Priest Lake (see above). But we figured, as long as we were headed out that way, why not enjoy the journey and see some old friends along the way?<br />
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<b>Fun stops: </b>I won't detail every leg of our journey, but the drive to the Spokane area took seven days, including a full day in Denver and two days in Boise. If there was an interesting place to stop on the road, we took it. This included places on the way out like a <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g44460-d4689575-Reviews-Big_River_Train_Town-Hannibal_Missouri.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><b>model train museum</b></span></a> in Missouri, a <a href="http://sternberg.fhsu.edu/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">natural history museum</span></b></a> in Kansas and an unplanned side trip to <a href="http://www.nps.gov/arch/index.htm" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">Arches National Park</span></b></a> in Utah. We gave ourselves enough wiggle room in our schedule to enjoy some spontaneity (although the Arches detour took four hours and we didn't get to Boise until about 2 a.m. that day. Whoops!).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBt3md-pwVY9ZD9-ldXWPbJ2KUuKKhAOi7SByBxh-ASs4wsBcuwMWZ1qTs3OkkpVYikeFrgj3Xc_n1qEzWLFF9E-GnxsDvF9LFnobRi2Q8WLdjkC09Mj04lfPHAGwZrZnRX7rCsYIiQOA/s1600/IMG_1040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBt3md-pwVY9ZD9-ldXWPbJ2KUuKKhAOi7SByBxh-ASs4wsBcuwMWZ1qTs3OkkpVYikeFrgj3Xc_n1qEzWLFF9E-GnxsDvF9LFnobRi2Q8WLdjkC09Mj04lfPHAGwZrZnRX7rCsYIiQOA/s1600/IMG_1040.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arches National Park was one of my favorite scenic excursions!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9QSHynyaEr4SNOrxjPhAJSxW9-V9PwwYr7v332-1iG64AnfZchc7yhlgHW3bQec6AzyPLBbuLwb2bjsbDPOp3FHk5vLHUztKXUhy3EjqOv18JEzWcDEBGaAsps4Pv1Vid88h6fZAOr67/s1600/IMG_2138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9QSHynyaEr4SNOrxjPhAJSxW9-V9PwwYr7v332-1iG64AnfZchc7yhlgHW3bQec6AzyPLBbuLwb2bjsbDPOp3FHk5vLHUztKXUhy3EjqOv18JEzWcDEBGaAsps4Pv1Vid88h6fZAOr67/s1600/IMG_2138.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trains. Lots of trains.</td></tr>
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The ride back wasn't as fun, but we made the most of it, particularly in South Dakota. Our favorite stops were <a href="http://www.walldrug.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">Wall Drug</span></b></a>, the kitschiest tourist trap on the planet, and <a href="http://www.nps.gov/badl/index.htm" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">Badlands National Park</span></b></a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMlmp7sDkgoRYUNQw6LvTBCfMmVDMHEDLwAKu7RdyDCGOajI9HgFmjJGwDzoH6UsSS8yKt63ODThLseTD441KVK47qHoJbd0Z_0kWBVlvLxV7-V_RwbUEoFJQMeCMPoaKNI1tu7MWOwoJ/s1600/IMG_2626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMlmp7sDkgoRYUNQw6LvTBCfMmVDMHEDLwAKu7RdyDCGOajI9HgFmjJGwDzoH6UsSS8yKt63ODThLseTD441KVK47qHoJbd0Z_0kWBVlvLxV7-V_RwbUEoFJQMeCMPoaKNI1tu7MWOwoJ/s1600/IMG_2626.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just one of the attractions at Wall Drug</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSWLMFxKCMhyphenhyphenn0I6uYPsS8dFm_aNzMkiO8TCH-1yGBmOVugdoPsP4kdVCGYdIbjDGs_JG4nNr7n6JRydZrNJLfZV2iL_fKsDmYpPLRkIESKwzo8Se66JhNxyFUcb7XnuyorRkj7-b4bQ9/s1600/IMG_2656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSWLMFxKCMhyphenhyphenn0I6uYPsS8dFm_aNzMkiO8TCH-1yGBmOVugdoPsP4kdVCGYdIbjDGs_JG4nNr7n6JRydZrNJLfZV2iL_fKsDmYpPLRkIESKwzo8Se66JhNxyFUcb7XnuyorRkj7-b4bQ9/s1600/IMG_2656.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Badlands</td></tr>
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Oh, and if there was anywhere interesting to eat, we found it. And ate it. I highly recommend<a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/" target="_blank"> <b>Trip Advisor</b></a> for finding good restaurants.<br />
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<b>Surviving the Ride: </b>In spite of our frequent stops, we spent a lot of time in the car. We were loaded with games and activities. When it came down to it, I sheepishly admit that the iPad and the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00CS1WDBI/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00CS1WDBI&linkCode=as2&tag=holdthedist-20&linkId=Y5DCDS5D4WJJZB7C" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">Leap Pad</span></b> </a>made everything much easier. I limit their exposure to electronics at home, so the fact that they were given a lot more screen time was a special treat. And it kept them quiet so Marc and I could enjoy books on CD! Hey, it was long ride for us too!<br />
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And just so I don't feel like a complete sellout to electronics, I'll mention that we sang songs and played road games and had "quiet time" every afternoon after lunch. We made them turn the games off when the scenery was interesting. They also actually self-regulated at times and turned the devices off themselves (gasp!). And of course they did a lot of coloring and played with little gadgets that I stuffed into their backpacks like the Etch-A-Sketch and a magnet board.<br />
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Grace, being 16 months old, did miraculously well. She dozed, she looked out the window, she looked at me in her little mirror, she watched her brothers. We also had a huge bag of board books and manipulative toys. As long as her diaper was clean and her tummy was full, she wasn't terribly miserable. Except for the worst diaper rash I've seen in my life. That was the worst problem of the whole trip, and she was a little trooper.<br />
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<b>Friends and Family: </b>Seeing the people we love was by far the highlight of the trip, including my college roommate in Kansas City, friends we knew in Anchorage who now live in Denver, and of course parents, siblings and extended family in Washington and Idaho.<br />
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Warning: photo dump! And there are tons more I'm not posting!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQcamvUqyMvY6Oy6Nro7dNPzHrXxnpQNL5yOTV_zRlLFcoSmW2Rr-amLE3nch8Bue-pqBWx7OGCld7ngMMNAhfzbhIIQhN-2LYIqrFf11tVc6zdCkiLVrAAnCLKbmCI9EJAf09NYmkjMI/s1600/IMG_2369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQcamvUqyMvY6Oy6Nro7dNPzHrXxnpQNL5yOTV_zRlLFcoSmW2Rr-amLE3nch8Bue-pqBWx7OGCld7ngMMNAhfzbhIIQhN-2LYIqrFf11tVc6zdCkiLVrAAnCLKbmCI9EJAf09NYmkjMI/s1600/IMG_2369.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister! And me on the left looking very tired after a full day of driving</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Hv86L6JFay7-CpjZFBNgERF3wmoucpiop6ruO78Y38wHRtrFdbAu5ChPy_l0kpnKXSSPGlFhWQ2DlirDcum4adhgoKwMp05VsaTo8F4PpCn_HMSaQjmGAfRFxgEYSgl51twFD7HC6_9Z/s1600/IMG_2381.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Hv86L6JFay7-CpjZFBNgERF3wmoucpiop6ruO78Y38wHRtrFdbAu5ChPy_l0kpnKXSSPGlFhWQ2DlirDcum4adhgoKwMp05VsaTo8F4PpCn_HMSaQjmGAfRFxgEYSgl51twFD7HC6_9Z/s1600/IMG_2381.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having a firefighter uncle is awesome</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayoRujEdMkVOFlU8vZCCw0RnKJ1o7skUinxLxjfcmUGOdlQsoB16RZ4aYtkgpzhtv3hCzNFVNf68-Sic4Tk_lqbGOwFSINivONUIW65ZU3ovvZe7LAzbmKeRKd74xBxkMm0_xqwoC383R/s1600/IMG_2397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayoRujEdMkVOFlU8vZCCw0RnKJ1o7skUinxLxjfcmUGOdlQsoB16RZ4aYtkgpzhtv3hCzNFVNf68-Sic4Tk_lqbGOwFSINivONUIW65ZU3ovvZe7LAzbmKeRKd74xBxkMm0_xqwoC383R/s1600/IMG_2397.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nana trying to coax Gracie to sleep</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQelzZszVEcDVDZHfX4P-G4a4nhO47xjiCiDmK73oZSNuh1EajY_N-EFlD6Zu6U6ST_XbdDGKDQR6Bfbp1y9ziLD28a7pBmUcWDgcaiqLI-LnuPmj9x08HVIU28NOZkNb7o2Ljiq_bJu1o/s1600/IMG_2403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQelzZszVEcDVDZHfX4P-G4a4nhO47xjiCiDmK73oZSNuh1EajY_N-EFlD6Zu6U6ST_XbdDGKDQR6Bfbp1y9ziLD28a7pBmUcWDgcaiqLI-LnuPmj9x08HVIU28NOZkNb7o2Ljiq_bJu1o/s1600/IMG_2403.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Papa teaching James manly skills</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1-K3-iD_9yEQOFA88ScsziGgDsOneWqMusULEUluCRblMpooZPHaoBGAwca69CsXFko77X-duVLwCxLk-G0cPRAG5QLICwe8Y7XuOqbFKUQnrx3a3_C1d5whCJEmGabW_l03zYfHkTRhA/s1600/IMG_2426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1-K3-iD_9yEQOFA88ScsziGgDsOneWqMusULEUluCRblMpooZPHaoBGAwca69CsXFko77X-duVLwCxLk-G0cPRAG5QLICwe8Y7XuOqbFKUQnrx3a3_C1d5whCJEmGabW_l03zYfHkTRhA/s1600/IMG_2426.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My other sis and her husband (and unborn child, heehee!)</td></tr>
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At times I felt sad or guilty that I didn't get to see <b>everyone</b> I would have liked to, especially in the Seattle and Portland areas. But we had to press on. Maybe next time!<br />
<br />
<b>Scenery: </b>If you have not taken a road trip through the western U.S., you are missing out. The Rocky Mountains, the red rocks of Utah, the wilderness of Idaho, the inland lakes of the Northwest, the Badlands of South Dakota...all of them are absolutely breathtaking. The kids didn't appreciate it as much as I did, but I hope that we can foster in them an appreciation of nature as they grow up.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KT7SN60nfOXZB0fXQivVUYp8QWYwnrYmbAuYZ_Qhkif2SoDCFkDDSU68K7MDXokZlDF_-lba0p7u-864t1LeeDNC28lIsmcsewSn051DLKiXEW5KGHFziA4z39KI-elzVaIkfdra8gjB/s1600/IMG_1055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KT7SN60nfOXZB0fXQivVUYp8QWYwnrYmbAuYZ_Qhkif2SoDCFkDDSU68K7MDXokZlDF_-lba0p7u-864t1LeeDNC28lIsmcsewSn051DLKiXEW5KGHFziA4z39KI-elzVaIkfdra8gjB/s1600/IMG_1055.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucky Peak just outside Boise, probably my favorite scenic shot taken by Marc's aunt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So that's my story that I lived to tell. Would I do it again? Absolutely.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-11113808691937506262014-04-14T20:23:00.000-05:002014-04-14T20:34:39.356-05:00Advice From a ToddlerDear Mommy,<br />
<br />
We need to talk. I have a lot I need to communicate but it seems like you're just not hearing me. To make things easier for you, I thought I'd compile a list of thoughts that go through my head each day. Perhaps this will help us come to a better understanding and make our days run a little smoother. Enjoy.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Grace (12.5 months, in case you forgot)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
My Thoughts</div>
<br />
We're out of the house and you forgot to pack me a change of clothes? This is an opportune time to execute the biggest poop of my life.<br />
<br />
I don't know why you bother cooking dinner. This is clearly the time of day when I need to pull your pants off and graft myself to your leg.<br />
<br />
Your head is turned! I gotta climb something now, GO GO GO!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I see you're on the phone. I GOTTA SCREAM!!! Can't you hear me?! I gotta do it LOUDER!<br />
<br />
Did you just change my crib sheet? I want to make sure it's clean before I vomit all over it.<br />
<br />
That particular brand of cereal is not at all appetizing unless it is on the floor.<br />
<br />
I know you work so hard to keep choking hazards off the floor. Don't worry, let me help you...I'll immediately find all the tiny little pieces you miss. You're welcome.<br />
<br />
I don't understand why you are always messing up the house. I am constantly putting my toys and other things away, right in the middle of the floor where they belong, and you keep messing them up by putting them in bins and baskets. Can't you see how hard I work to keep things organized?<br />
<br />
Why on God's green earth would I ever willfully go to sleep? Are you crazy?<br />
<br />
My older brother has left his carefully crafted masterpiece just within my reach. So clearly it's mine and I'm going to destroy it with glee.<br />
<br />
Socks. I just...no. NO. Just so we're clear on this, I'm going to leave one in the corner under my dresser and the other in stuffed into the back of a cabinet. Okay?<br />
<br />
Hats. Seriously? They suffocate my three strands of hair. You expect me to keep this on for more than 1/25 of a second? Are you crazy? You seem to like hats, so I'll leave a collection for you under the back seat in the car.<br />
<br />
Shoes, on the other hand, are wonderful. I love shoes. They're unmatchable for teething.<br />
<br />
Someone left the toilet lid up! GO GO GO!!!<br />
<br />
Someone left the baby gate open! GO GO GO!!!<br />
<br />
Someone opened the dishwasher! GO GO GO!!! (I have uncanny intuition for these things).<br />
<br />
Pick me up, pick me up, pick me up, waaaahhh, pick me up!<br />
<br />
Put me down, put me down, put me down, waaaahhh, put me down!<br />
<br />
Don't you dare, under any circumstances, rub the bristles on that toothbrush over my precious teeth or I will scream bloody murder. I'm warning you now. I will clamp my mouth shut with the strength of a vise to prove my point.<br />
<br />
Don't you dare, under any circumstances, attempt to clip my fingernails. You should know better by now.<br />
<br />
Pouring water over my head. Do we even need to discuss this? Are you insane?<br />
<br />
What to you mean, I'm a "picky" eater? I think it's pretty clear that I dislike pretty much everything.<br />
<br />
Now that we're clear on all of this, I just wanted to let you know that I love you, Mommy. Don't leave me for a second. Not. Ever.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-48351805658752577362014-04-09T16:06:00.000-05:002014-04-14T20:34:09.739-05:00One Thing Almost Every Mom Does WrongWell friends, I've made it. Somewhere.<br />
<br />
Highlights of the last few months include my baby turning one, surviving bitter cold for weeks on end, annoying chronic back pain, surviving the stomach bug from Hades and writing a lot of things that people pay me for, like what type of underwear to wear with a bridesmaid dress (not kidding).<br />
<br />
And here we are, it's spring, and I've arrived. Right here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qETjG4rB-dUhQW4QZJpprz-f1DVa0SqifQE_cBuJP_7GPD0YIqVuh7956MiES9HYcO4Gmkj1TfKlefoQ-dQLeeOnd81nSdxkjMAtJfEOepo0Ro0GL77ZqMAifQmQc50ReiVYBJTyYiwL/s1600/1187083_10102884314602318_1881259219_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qETjG4rB-dUhQW4QZJpprz-f1DVa0SqifQE_cBuJP_7GPD0YIqVuh7956MiES9HYcO4Gmkj1TfKlefoQ-dQLeeOnd81nSdxkjMAtJfEOepo0Ro0GL77ZqMAifQmQc50ReiVYBJTyYiwL/s1600/1187083_10102884314602318_1881259219_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy birthday, Grace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
In the meantime, during my pondering, pontification and philosophizing (usually occurring in the shower or while cleaning), I've come to a place where I simply enjoy where I'm at. I take one day at a time, some good and some extremely tiring, but overall I watch with wonder at these little beings called my children.<br />
<br />
I was talking to fellow mom soldiers about a month ago when I noticed a pattern in our conversation. We went back and forth with the same dance, worrying about our worthiness as mothers and trying to console each other to no avail.<br />
<br />
Things like:<br />
<br />
"I let my kids watch too much TV and play too many video games."<br />
"We don't get out enough."<br />
"We don't have enough down time."<br />
"I don't spend enough quality time with my kids."<br />
"I'm not reading to them enough."<br />
"I'm not disciplining them the right way."<br />
"We don't eat healthy enough. They get too much sugar."<br />
"They don't play outside enough."<br />
"I'm too exhausted to talk things through with them."<br />
"As a parent I am failing at __________."<br />
<br />
And so on. In other words:<br />
<br />
<b>guilt</b><br />
<b>worry </b><br />
<b>fear</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
(And then there's my personal favorite: feeling guilty about feeling guilty. <i>O vicious cycle, we hate thee.</i>)<br />
<br />
So I'm going to say it, friends: STOP. Let's stop the madness.<br />
<br />
Guilt is a joy-sucking evil and you know what? <b>It doesn't work. </b>It might motivate you for a little while, but kids are just too needy and demanding for us to be fueled by guilt and fear and succeed in the long run.<br />
<br />
I have a lot to say on the subject, and hopefully I will soon.<br />
<br />
For now, I've got this gem for you:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear,</span><span class="crossreference" style="background-color: white; font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30622AN" title="See cross-reference AN">AN</a>)"></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. (1 John 4:18)</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-688606717210698552014-01-16T16:02:00.004-06:002014-01-19T20:22:50.310-06:00Too Cute Not To ShareConversing with individuals under five years of age can interesting, to say the least. For all the times my kids or I have felt frustrated or confused by our communication skills, I have to remember these gems...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiMvAsP6BDnz4dRwcEsw5nebpYOrifZ2JOgvUm4T6h6XohVmzQLuGj9Vva6SE2778oMl5Ngg_xOMkyTu7pxembFOhEicUBGLU0aoGlGne4vLQ3jBxDgAEJvKOCv-9ntg2ndlSeois5YUC/s1600/IMG_0893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiMvAsP6BDnz4dRwcEsw5nebpYOrifZ2JOgvUm4T6h6XohVmzQLuGj9Vva6SE2778oMl5Ngg_xOMkyTu7pxembFOhEicUBGLU0aoGlGne4vLQ3jBxDgAEJvKOCv-9ntg2ndlSeois5YUC/s1600/IMG_0893.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Read on to discover why they wear themselves out...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h4>
<b>James</b></h4>
<b><br /></b>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'm not breaking it, I'm just jumping in it." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Said from Grace's crib. Try that logic again when you jump on her stuff in 13 years.</i></span></span><br />
<br />
"Mom, you don't like to talk to me mad when I take things away from other people, do you?"<br />
<br />
<i>Well, I don't particularly like being mad at all, but I don't think you're focusing on the real problem here...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"Garbage trucks are really strong. I bet they carry mountains."<br />
<br />
<i>Yes, unfortunately, mountains of garbage, son. Mountains of garbage.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"I just have to get a little taller to see God, right?"<br />
<br />
<i>Nope, you've got it backwards.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"If it were one thousand, one hundred degrees, our house would melt, and then we would need to eat a lot of popsicles." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I'll have to remember to stock up on popsicles next summer.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Doesn't Santa need healthy food?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>That's my boy!!! But no, not tonight. Tonight Santa needs cookies.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"You don't have to tell Mommy what to do. It's not an option." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><i>Wise words to Jonathan about being demanding. </i></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Apparently I say the phrase "it's not an option" a lot.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Haha! Mom, Grace is playing in my pee!"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>This one happened this morning. And now I know we need to work on consistently flushing and putting the toilet seat down.</i></span></span><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<h4>
<b>Jonathan</b></h4>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;">Me: "Jonathan, get out of Grace's crib. Cribs are for babies. Are you a baby?" </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Jonathan: "No. I'm a monkey."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><i>I can't argue with him.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"I'm going number three!" </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Said from the bathroom. I have no idea...</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Waaaaaahhhhh!!! I want to ride the train!"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Screamed in the middle of the night. Apparently this is Jonathan's worst nightmare.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;">Jonathan: "I'm not awake!" Marc:</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"> "Oh, you're not?"</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Jonathan: "No, I </span></span><span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">sleepin</span></span><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">'."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><i>Well, he does talk in his sleep sometimes...</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Uh oh. I missed." </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Said from the bathroom. Is that what number three is, a missed shot? I think it happens more often than I know.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Owww!!!! I bumped my knee on the ceiling!!!"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>I really need to supervise this kid more closely.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"We're going to put candles on them and then put fire and then we'll blow them up."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>I like your vision for your birthday cupcakes, but I think you mean blow them "out."</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Are we gonna look for Santa in the window?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Spoken January 13th. Sorry, kiddo, not for many more days. In the meantime, keep working on your aim and please don't blow anything up.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #37404e;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span>
<br />
<center>
<a href="http://taoofpoop.blogspot.com/"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/FJIJWl.jpg" /></a></center>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-12494762758758424432014-01-09T14:07:00.000-06:002014-01-09T14:08:22.875-06:00Assessing Social Media and Life's PrioritiesHi. Remember me? I used to write here somewhat more frequently than every other month.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydOoRjAMLiSZWMbG1trWqIUK3XfnX2VoA-6PosOL4j_DKrFNEdhOLDkwbmmBuwd8WnkjStoz1nmEtFD8dZ3fm-eOT-lrLnOTsbSDsa0i0d1Bpy5ktR5Pn7Eds85YYFh6OV10hW4JSwexP/s1600/photo+(54).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydOoRjAMLiSZWMbG1trWqIUK3XfnX2VoA-6PosOL4j_DKrFNEdhOLDkwbmmBuwd8WnkjStoz1nmEtFD8dZ3fm-eOT-lrLnOTsbSDsa0i0d1Bpy5ktR5Pn7Eds85YYFh6OV10hW4JSwexP/s1600/photo+(54).JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've been really busy. So busy that some of us forget to fully dress.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When you've taken some time away from blogging, it's difficult to know where to start again. I have about a million half-baked ideas but lack the time or interest to write about them.<br />
<br />
I'm mostly okay with that. During this time I've done some reevaluation about what I'm trying to accomplish here. And I have about zero ambition to be the <i>Next Great Blogger</i>, work with a bunch of sponsors and attract thousands of followers. When I focus on those things, I quickly lose the joy in the process.<br />
<br />
So for those of you still following me -- I'm truly grateful for your interest and I'll do my best to keep up with you on a personal level when you respond to my writing.<br />
<br />
It's hard to say what 2014 will bring to this space. I'd like to post at least once a week, but these days when free time is so rare and precious, I only want to post content that is interesting, meaningful and well-written. I also want to read and comment on other social media posts that are interesting and meaningful. I simply can't keep up with everything everyone posts, but I am not going to feel guilty about it.<br />
<br />
Social media is a funny thing. It's a great tool -- it has helped me find adult human connection during some of my lonely times. It helps me think; it helps me laugh.<br />
<br />
It's also a time-sucking, soul-dulling vortex. Shame on me for the times when I ignored my children or snapped at them because my day's first priority was "me time" on my phone or laptop. "Me time" is certainly important, but its purpose is to help me recharge so that I can focus on what's <b>more</b> important.<br />
<br />
So what is my purpose here? I started doing this two years ago and jumped in completely blindly -- primarily out of curiosity and the desire to put some of my work out there. Now, I've gotten a good feel for this whole realm and I think I know what I want.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b><a href="http://holdingthedistaff.blogspot.com/2013/09/creativity-beyond-luxury.html" target="_blank">Create. </a> </b>As I wrote about a few months ago, I need to be in touch with my creative side in order to thrive as a human being. This blog is a great outlet for me, regardless of who reads it, likes it, comments on it or shares it.</li>
<li><b>Connect. </b>Blogging has helped me stay connected with old relationships and forge new ones in ways I never would have imagined. While my first priority is the people I can connect with in the flesh, social media is a tool for connecting with the rest of the world.</li>
<li><b>Encourage. </b>There's a lot of stuff I could write about, but as I said above, I want to post what's interesting, meaningful and well-written. I hope you never feel like I'm wasting your time as a reader. While content will resonate in various ways with different people, my ambition is to make you smile, help you think outside the box and feel connected to me on some level.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't have any goals to attract followers or sponsors -- although I will continue to make effort to connect with other websites and creators when I can.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm looking forward to the upcoming year. Hopefully I'll have lots to share. We'll be in touch!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-7079634275727167272013-11-18T15:55:00.000-06:002013-11-19T11:23:29.813-06:00Too Close To HomeYesterday was really weird.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's local paper.</td></tr>
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We were at church and there was a buzz about a tornado warning. Service was over and most of the congregation quickly dissipated to the safety of nearby homes.</div>
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I had to stay a little later, as I had been teaching in the kids' ministry and had to close up shop. We meet inside of a mall with no immediate outdoor access -- thus, no windows. No view of the storm.</div>
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We walked to the exit and were faced with one of those crucial decisions: stay or go. Others around us were looking at their phones, listening to the radio and trying to figure out what to do. The storm was to the west of us. It was hard to know how much immediate danger we were in because a tornado warning for the whole huge county could leave certain areas untouched.</div>
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Home was a five-minute drive.</div>
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A break in the rain translated into "go-time." We piled into the minivan and I fought Jonathan into his carseat, despite his protests to do it himself (stubborn independent stinker!). We started driving with tears flowing inside the car and rain slamming the outside. My mom followed nervously behind in her car.</div>
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It wasn't pretty out. The clouds were dark and low and glowed somewhat eerily. My heart quickened as we pulled onto the main street and the rain came harder.</div>
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The streets had little traffic but the going was slow as more and more water came crashing on all sides. I had never seen flash flooding in my life but it was suddenly apparent how it happens. I said a quick prayer and then was at a loss for words. Because what else can you say beyond a simple "help"?</div>
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The rain was pounding loudly and I heard an alarm. "Are the sirens going off???" I panicked, regretting our decision to leave. Marc stayed calm and gripped the wheel, though we could hardly see more than a few feet in any direction. </div>
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It wasn't the tornado sirens after all; it was my emergency weather app, which was angrily shouting at us to find cover. It went off several times and I wanted to smash my phone on the dash. As long as the real tornado sirens didn't go off I had at least a little sense of security in my head.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
"Where's my mom?!!! Is she still behind us?" I couldn't see her but Marc assured me she was okay. I felt terrible that we convinced her to drive instead of ride with us. Every decision seemed bad, very bad.</div>
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<div>
Marc held steady and the kids quietly commented on the rain. He had us all sing "Jesus loves me" while I continued my subdued panic attack. And then...the eternal stoplight. We were so close, only a few blocks from home! I stared down that traffic signal with my best death look but it didn't turn. I was relieved to see the blurry outline of my mom's car pull up behind us. I hadn't given her a death sentence after all.</div>
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I strained to hear the sirens -- would we be able to hear them with the howling wind and the rain pounding so hard?</div>
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Green light! And we turned down our street, pulled into our driveway in one piece. <i>Hurry kids, hurry! Inside! Inside!</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Getting kids to hurry is like herding cats.</div>
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But just like that we were inside...soaking wet but presumably safe. I hugged my mom and thank God I hadn't killed her -- or any of us.</div>
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I was shaking from the adrenaline. And then, minutes later, the sun came out. It almost made me angry. <i>Really, after all of that? We should have just stayed a few more minutes?!!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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After some serious relaxing I sat by window and looked out at the leaves, which were still blowing around furiously.<br />
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I tried not to think too hard about what this scene would have looked like under different circumstances.</div>
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Over the course of the afternoon, the power flickered and we heard about the stories from around town. Hail the size of baseballs. Trees and branches down everywhere. Tens of thousands without power for most of the day.</div>
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And then...Washington. F4. Only forty miles away. Complete devastation.</div>
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I'm shaken up but grateful. Feeling stupid but grateful. And eager to help. <b>Eager to build up my community.</b></div>
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If there's a silver lining, it's that. Community. </div>
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Everyone in Bloomington, Normal and the surrounding areas has a story from yesterday. And we're all waiting to see what's next, wanting to help our neighbors. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGe7l6oqq5ZIN3-FfyF7vQ6xvn1RBm-2G2hYPKWl2nXjNbY74PkHZlotXD10x0BcszCmybYzXeqlQP_t2xXcHCpEPq5W-ZYBOgbdC8hIOeD44ONye6ww0BesBfi6P0cQ49zhmVtuniSTN/s1600/574672_197497993767455_204009819_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGe7l6oqq5ZIN3-FfyF7vQ6xvn1RBm-2G2hYPKWl2nXjNbY74PkHZlotXD10x0BcszCmybYzXeqlQP_t2xXcHCpEPq5W-ZYBOgbdC8hIOeD44ONye6ww0BesBfi6P0cQ49zhmVtuniSTN/s640/574672_197497993767455_204009819_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=197497993767455&set=a.197446607105927.1073741828.197441467106441&type=1" style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">Post</a><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;"> by </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/IllinoisRecovery" style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">Illinois Tornado Recovery</a><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">.</span></td></tr>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-49495137185462349952013-11-14T15:42:00.000-06:002013-11-14T15:43:28.694-06:00Baked Oatmeal - It's That GoodA few days ago I woke up to James tripping all over himself and crying as he came into my room. <i>Yeah, good morning to you too, buddy.</i><br />
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This isn't all that typical of an occurrence anymore now that he's four, so we had a serious issue on our hands.<br />
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He would not reveal what the problem was. After repeated prodding it finally came out...<b>we were not having baked oatmeal for breakfast. </b>If we were, it would already be baking in the oven.<br />
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That's right. I have a nutritious breakfast food that my son cries about if he can't have it.<br />
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Don't you want to know what it is and how to make this miraculous food? Would it totally blow your mind if I told you it was <b>very easy? </b>And that there are multiple ways you can moderate it to your liking?<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/AVvXsEjtCm1tH4YP6WpiRFRme2qegfffdaOQ9WdtoROF1ytMZjDf48vn-bpVmiFOXGWyCQCjSlvPT9-uObGPJxLtkh9p3EwAp2aCv5zj-7hp_lZNvxZd1xUD01a697xHaoBtoe_q5tHqJx2g6-_-/s1600/IMG_1330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtCm1tH4YP6WpiRFRme2qegfffdaOQ9WdtoROF1ytMZjDf48vn-bpVmiFOXGWyCQCjSlvPT9-uObGPJxLtkh9p3EwAp2aCv5zj-7hp_lZNvxZd1xUD01a697xHaoBtoe_q5tHqJx2g6-_-/s640/IMG_1330.jpg" width="520" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple cinnamon baked oatmeal. And coffee (highly recommended but not required).</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Baked Oatmeal Recipe</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(adapted from <a href="http://moneysavingmom.com/2012/05/4-weeks-to-fill-your-freezer-baked-oatmeal-day-4.html" target="_blank">Money Saving Mom</a>)</div>
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<b>Ingredients</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1/3 cup melted butter or applesauce, or combo (I usually do half of each)</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">2 eggs</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">3/4 cup of sweetener (sugar, brown sugar, stevia, maple syrup, whatever you like)*</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1 teaspoon cinnamon</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1/4 teaspoon salt</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1 cup plus 2 Tablespoons milk</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">3 cups oats (regular or quick)</li>
<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1 - 2 cups of cut up fruit and/or other toppings</li>
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*I've played around with the sugar and I think the recipe is still good with only half a cup. But do what you like.<div>
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<b>Preparation</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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One of the great things about this recipe is that I recommend preparing it the night before! It takes five to ten minutes, depending on what fruit or toppings you put in.</div>
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<div>
1. Mix butter/applesauce, eggs and sweetener</div>
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2. Add baking powered, vanilla, cinnamon and salt</div>
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3. Stir in milk and oatmeal</div>
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4. Stir in desired toppings</div>
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<br /></div>
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Store it in the refrigerator overnight! You can also freeze it for later and then thaw it overnight when you're ready for it (I don't know about you, but if I make something yummy I pretty much want to eat it <b>as soon as possible</b>).</div>
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In the morning, heat the oven to 350. Pour the mixture into a greased pan (the bigger the pan the faster it cooks). Heat for 25 to 35 minutes, until the top starts to get a little crispy.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3PSsxMOlukvxmSQImHjHVtijCxoAvcfogcvLRdJXGCM28W6zDjJ-d0ygkiJ4Ry-C2svMGCjxNfqltcbW2cwSAK6CtTwMaNYjjtVnZ5XePU2xp4bDR8V5IznIScRtimU1mGXIk8btyilT/s1600/IMG_1329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3PSsxMOlukvxmSQImHjHVtijCxoAvcfogcvLRdJXGCM28W6zDjJ-d0ygkiJ4Ry-C2svMGCjxNfqltcbW2cwSAK6CtTwMaNYjjtVnZ5XePU2xp4bDR8V5IznIScRtimU1mGXIk8btyilT/s640/IMG_1329.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half-devoured pan of goodness.</td></tr>
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Serve it up in bowls while it's hot! My kids like it as is, but I like to pour milk over it.</div>
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Mmmm. I think I might make some tonight....</div>
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<b>Variations</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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As I mentioned, you can change this up a lot. Here are some of the variations I do:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Butter, oil, applesauce...use what you prefer or some sort of combination.</li>
<li>Use whatever sweetener you like, in the amount you like. I typically do half sugar and half Stevia in the Raw (trying to cut back our sugar intake - have you tried stevia??? It's great). I'd like to try it with maple syrup too.</li>
<li>You can mix in practically anything: fruit, nuts...I've even heard of somebody mixing in zucchini bread! Some of our favorites are blueberry/peach, blueberry/rhubarb, plain blueberry, plain peach and just apples. When I'm feeling lazy I put in raisins. It's also tasty just plain, but not as fun.</li>
<li>For kid fun, put the oatmeal mixture into muffin tins. This is the way I convinced mine to try it initially...I disguised it as muffins. Fool-proof.</li>
<li>You don't have to prep it the night before. On the particular morning when James was flipping out, I caved and decided to make it. </li>
<li>You can double the recipe for a crowd. It was a big hit when family was in town for my sister's wedding a couple months ago.</li>
</ul>
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That's it! I hope you enjoy this very useful recipe!</div>
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<b><br /></b><b><br /></b></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-25636616841961176052013-10-24T22:20:00.000-05:002013-10-25T13:15:02.729-05:00Throw Your Good Intentions In The TrashThe other night, in a stroke of homemaker over-ambition, I decided to make some homemade chicken stock. To my shame, I can't remember the last time I did this (in spite of cheerily blogging about it quite some time ago).<br />
<br />
So I dug the chicken bones that had been in my freezer for God-knows-how-long. I then:<br />
1. Put them in a pot to soak for an hour, after which I planned to<br />
2. Skim some of the scum off the top,<br />
3. Bring to a boil, and then<br />
4. Simmer overnight in the slow cooker.<br />
<br />
I woke up the next morning and realized I had forgotten steps 2-4. Because I was doing important things like watching TV. Meaning there was a pot of cold chicken scum juice sitting on the counter.<br />
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While I was tempted to pretend like this would be no problem and I should just boil away whatever bacteria had spawned overnight, my fear of certain death convinced me otherwise.<br />
<br />
So I threw away these chicken bones that I had saved for months. It was like they were symbolic of all my life's good intentions. The debacle put a grand stink on my morning. I got over it and laughed about it, but the way it made me so angry at myself got me thinking...<br />
<br />
I don't know about you during this time of year, but I have been battling. I've been sick, the kids have been sick, I don't get enough sleep, my house isn't clean enough, I don't get enough time with my husband, I don't pray enough, blah blah blah, insert your complaint here:___________. And in spite of my last post (seriously, a month ago?), I was seriously just not in the mood to write. Not here anyway.<br />
<br />
Have you ever felt like there's just not enough of you to go around? Like...you try to do everything, and in doing so, you just scrape by, survive -- and you excel at nothing. <br />
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<a href="http://www.someecards.com/usercards/nsviewcard/MjAxMy1mMGRkYzIyNzc1MjIzODYx"><img alt="someecards.com - Good thing they don't know I'm so tired I can sleep with my eyes open." src="http://static.someecards.com/someecards/usercards/MjAxMy04MjlmYzE0MDU2NjFmY2I0.png" /></a>
</div>
<br />
<br />
I'm extremely jealous of Olympic athletes. Even if their sport is really obscure, they have the ability to say that they are among the best in the world at <b>something. </b><br />
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Wouldn't it be great if I were something like the best chicken stock-maker in the world? I bet I wouldn't have cold chicken scum juice for breakfast.<br />
<br />
As a recovering perfectionist, I've been struggling with this concept for years. My whole life. <i>Why can't I just be amazing? No matter how hard I try, I can always do more.</i><br />
<br />
Now don't go stroking my misguided ego. I was praying one morning about this recently -- seriously praying. I don't get to do this as often as I need/should/want to because I have small humans clinging to me for almost every waking moment and they're a bit of a distraction. But on this particular morning I dragged myself out of bed early and was really lamenting my perception of myself as an all-around sub-par being.<br />
<br />
I can't wrap my mind around the ways God works or how he speaks to people. But just at the moment when my frustration with my "I shoulds" reached full crescendo, a thought popped into my head:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>Says who? </b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Who says you have to be the best at anything?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i>Ummm...I don't know.</i> <i>I do? But why can't I be the best?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I argued with myself for a little while, but I fell quickly to the sheer logic of it. <b><i> </i>No one ever said I had to be the best or perfect or even great at anything.</b><br />
<br />
This is such a profound thought to me. I mean, even just writing it out here blows my mind.<br />
<br />
A scripture also came to mind, an old standard for me:<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="text 2Cor-12-9" id="en-NIV-29032" style="background-color: white;">But he said to me, <span class="woj">“My grace<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032P" title="See cross-reference P">P</a>)"></span> is sufficient for you, for my power<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032Q" title="See cross-reference Q">Q</a>)"></span> is made <b>perfect in weakness.</b><span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032R" title="See cross-reference R">R</a>)"></span>”<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29032S" title="See cross-reference S">S</a>)"></span></span> Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span class="text 2Cor-12-10" id="en-NIV-29033" style="background-color: white;"><span class="versenum" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;"> </span>That is why, for Christ’s sake, <b>I delight<span class="crossreference" style="vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29033T" title="See cross-reference T">T</a>)"></span> in weaknesses</b>, in insults, in hardships,<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29033U" title="See cross-reference U">U</a>)"></span> in persecutions,<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29033V" title="See cross-reference V">V</a>)"></span> in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong</span></i></span><span class="text 2Cor-12-10" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2 Corinthians 12:9-10 (NIV)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A fairly stressful time of year is coming up with the busy-ness of the holidays. How do you handle "it all?" If you're anything like me, then let's be intentional about breaking the cycle of self-deprecation. As a matter of fact, let's go ahead and throw those good intentions in the trash on purpose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let's embrace those so-called weaknesses; delight in them. They are the only places we will truly find perfection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.thedwellingtree.com/2013/10/lets-be-friends-blog-hop-36.html" target="_blank">Let's Be Friends Blog Hop</a></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;" target="_blank" title="Imperfect Prose"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-3s5KmhxpIYU/T4Inziu4R4I/AAAAAAAAENk/LTq221viFVc/s200/imperfectprose.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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<i><b><br /></b></i><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-18098164001768556292013-09-30T14:46:00.000-05:002014-01-09T14:08:43.959-06:00Creativity: Beyond LuxuryFor most of my adult life, I've considered myself to be the <b>non-creative </b>type.<br />
<br />
When I first got married, I couldn't cook to save my life, beyond pushing microwave buttons. I don't <b>do </b>crafts. Pinterest and Hobby Lobby intimidate me and give me nightmares.<br />
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I can play the piano and sing...but I leave no room for interpretation or improvisation. I only practice when I am going to perform. I read notes. I follow directions. I don't stray.<br />
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You get the idea. This is how I thought. I also thought that I didn't have time anyway. I had things to do, problems to solve, lists to check off.<br />
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<b>To be creative would be nice. But it would also be a luxury -- with the time I couldn't afford.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
And then, a couple of years ago, I rekindled an old idea...<br />
<br />
<i>I like to write.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I like to write.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I like to write.</i><br />
<br />
I knew I was good at it, through college term papers and growing opportunities as an online copywriter. Then, in a bold stroke of whimsy, I started a blog.<br />
<br />
<i>And I just kept writing.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And I keep doing it -- online, offline, for business, for pleasure. I immersed myself in it (well, in the small amount of free time I had. I am still a mom, of course).<br />
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It occurred to me at some point that this process is necessary. <b>It is more than just a luxury</b>. It is good for my soul.<br />
<br />
And it makes sense. For who is more creative than the ultimate CREATOR? And how can I know him better unless I step out of my busy life -- regularly -- and attempt to capture a little of that creative vision?<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/AVvXsEi_OiBsOY7HylOruHoUdpL0_hsKrWUT6yknVxVUz_qLyU4rz0ulvs_IWa_UgpX-2GfoHYA87tu5i-gEaeS8KWaNeebygnWAl6ZSay0f1R1083BM-N_jKMw62J0yxEZYherxdS8xk4pFcHMv/s1600/photo+(53).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OiBsOY7HylOruHoUdpL0_hsKrWUT6yknVxVUz_qLyU4rz0ulvs_IWa_UgpX-2GfoHYA87tu5i-gEaeS8KWaNeebygnWAl6ZSay0f1R1083BM-N_jKMw62J0yxEZYherxdS8xk4pFcHMv/s640/photo+(53).JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even in Illinois....</td></tr>
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<i>For am I not created in his image? And what is more like his image than being a creator myself?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Fellow blogger <a href="http://www.amylsullivan1.com/2013/09/what-cartoonist-gamer-and-new-mom-have.html" target="_blank">Amy Sullivan</a> helped inspire this post, so I'd encourage you to read her thoughts if you feel like you <b>just don't have the time.</b><br />
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<b>What do you think? Do you make the time necessary to create?</b><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-57964740859465840232013-09-22T13:43:00.001-05:002013-09-30T14:46:34.735-05:00Six Months Just Sorta HappenedI'm so confused. Speaking of old news, remember this sweet face?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_m7w2XZcQBDN18jefX33yEE3Obj7_CucZKlpzufZusk9V8frdV3FfwzT418TVI98iahYgBvs9DJk5cyXiKrOEAxV1bRY4jQxZNBlre5mPg-MPe8w5CdLq2nP7DjHQzC_TQnjJWo2CMZm1/s1600/photo+(50).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_m7w2XZcQBDN18jefX33yEE3Obj7_CucZKlpzufZusk9V8frdV3FfwzT418TVI98iahYgBvs9DJk5cyXiKrOEAxV1bRY4jQxZNBlre5mPg-MPe8w5CdLq2nP7DjHQzC_TQnjJWo2CMZm1/s640/photo+(50).JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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She was born March 20 and she no longer exists. She's been eaten. By this pudge:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEiN85wCTmILSCLA430Pt8Kv4JLQj1pUtq-dLKUjXDIDjhNdQOxGkFckG_Q-q5ZMPepU2z_W-i_b9dz9RpI9dLSZua_RHS_MKGsfjjySi9iEGkKatVg05E34jC_twAhatCRxYzY7uuZjG/s1600/photo+(51).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEiN85wCTmILSCLA430Pt8Kv4JLQj1pUtq-dLKUjXDIDjhNdQOxGkFckG_Q-q5ZMPepU2z_W-i_b9dz9RpI9dLSZua_RHS_MKGsfjjySi9iEGkKatVg05E34jC_twAhatCRxYzY7uuZjG/s640/photo+(51).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Where did my little baby go?<br />
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Three kids into this parenthood thing, and it still shocks me how this happens. The only resemblance I see to the newborn that she ate is the (lack of) hair. It's technically there; it's just so blond you can't see it.<br />
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A lot of bloggers give all the stats and stuff with each month, but I'll not bore you too much. She's big. 15-16 pounds, maybe? She eats food like pears and sweet potatoes. She likes it so much that she cries when the bowl is empty. She sits up too and all of a sudden has a new personality since she can control her environment a bit more.<br />
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Unfortunately, she has also decided that I am boring. Since there is way too much to look at and explore, cuddling with me is not high on her list of priorities.<br />
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I love those chunky thighs and cheeks. Who wouldn't???<br />
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I'm simultaneously proud that I could have grown such a plump person on breast milk, yet grieving over the fact that I have piles of adorable clothes that she just blew through.<br />
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Don't even talk to me about the next six months. I don't want to hear about it!<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-14767862811546169832013-09-18T13:55:00.001-05:002013-09-18T13:56:01.013-05:00When Your Little Sis Gets Hitched"Would anyone be willing to pick us up from Chicago?"<br />
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It was Sunday night, September 8. I looked at this text groggily, as I had just returned from a weekend women's retreat up in Wisconsin. It was difficult being interrupted from my date with the couch, the TV and my equally groggy husband who was being attacked by killer allergies.<br />
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A two-hour drive and back on Monday night to pick up my sister Shawna and her new husband returning from their honeymoon wasn't on my list of exciting things I wanted to do. Fortunately they found a cheap rental car.<br />
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I called Shawna later to figure out exactly what their game plan was. She had my luggage and I had her mail.<br />
<br />
"So are we going to see you?" I asked. "If it's easier would could try to drive out to Le Roy and pick up my bag while you're loading your car so you don't have to come back into town."<br />
<br />
"No, we'll come by your place. We have to drop the rental off at the airport anyway."<br />
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If you are completely lost and confused as a reader at this point, don't worry -- so was I. I am confused all the time. Especially when Shawna and I try to coordinate things.<br />
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We must have figured something out. Shawna stepped through our front door somewhat anxiously Monday night a little after 11. I awoke from the couch where I was waiting for her. We exchanged hugs, said goodbye, and I reminded her jokingly (sort of) that I thought she and Joel were crazy. Then off they went, loaded on caffeine, to their new home together in Atlanta. <i>Atlanta, Georgia</i>. That's several states away. They drove overnight (after flying from Las Vegas earlier that day and then driving from Chicago) in Shawna's 1996 Toyota Tercel (tin can death trap) to their new place together so that Joel could go to work the next day.<br />
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Either they're crazy (perhaps as evidenced by the absurd amount of parenthetical asides) or <a href="http://holdingthedistaff.blogspot.com/2013/08/30-is-new-80.html" target="_blank">I'm getting too old</a> for these kinds of shenanigans. Two and half weeks after their wedding now, Joel is on a business trip in Russia while Shawna tries to figure out city life in midtown Atlanta.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQHt3yxTuNnCw3o7knpqxLtkSvgPjxCO423gD74keB-atmKDS-A4TIMHIYH6d1KUSKmiP3OBIFsWRLv4OHWnPC-x0pznK8lZQrWSRNeVdWXyIoumwviMaoyRAe-8o0P1IQIv-uoz6griv/s1600/DSC_0275+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQHt3yxTuNnCw3o7knpqxLtkSvgPjxCO423gD74keB-atmKDS-A4TIMHIYH6d1KUSKmiP3OBIFsWRLv4OHWnPC-x0pznK8lZQrWSRNeVdWXyIoumwviMaoyRAe-8o0P1IQIv-uoz6griv/s640/DSC_0275+(2).JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
These two were made for each other.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sidenote: this assessment of insanity coming from the one who moved to Alaska on a whim with a guy she'd been dating for a few months, got married a couple months later, then four years later drove across the continent while pregnant and with a one-year-old in the back seat. We all might be due for psych evals. But I digress.</span><br />
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I missed Shawna terribly the instant after she left. They blew through town like a tornado and then they were gone. It was fitting, representative of my view of Shawna on a broader scale.<br />
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Two and a half years ago, Shawna blew into town in a similar fashion from Montana--almost overnight. She crashed at my house for a while. Somewhere around the time she met Joel, she decided the Midwest suited her and wanted to stick around.<br />
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She stayed at my house for a few months before hopping around to no less than three, maybe four other living arrangements over a couple of years. In the meantime we argued like sisters do about really important things like "I can't believe you borrowed my makeup without asking" and "you looked at me funny" and "you talked to me in a tone that made me feel really disrespected."<br />
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We disagree on a lot of things. Over the course of our lives we have competed on rival soccer teams, had different tastes in clothes and music, gone to different churches and butted heads about how to have healthy relationships.<br />
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But there are unspoken things we always agree on. We always apologize (and it usually goes both ways). And we always forgive.<b> Because that's what people who love each other do.</b><br />
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So while my adventurous sister continues to blow around like she does, I'll continue bossing her around and shaking my finger like a big sister should -- over the phone. At least now she's got a worthy travel companion in Joel, whom I happen to adore.<br />
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Sisters are special, and I plan to never take that for granted. I love these girls.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjleCq032WqL0wBt8aR-W_jL5CcvqHNWtTKI-t1S4idHUXzDOPqpJQGdnJ9cjTn6kJBAGokAPGYt3OhNW5TExmg-3Hv_va04ijSigz759iF4GbCYT7ASc63GF-PUEIANMRuxo4sb42qtBF/s1600/1187126_10201408814016170_803524504_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjleCq032WqL0wBt8aR-W_jL5CcvqHNWtTKI-t1S4idHUXzDOPqpJQGdnJ9cjTn6kJBAGokAPGYt3OhNW5TExmg-3Hv_va04ijSigz759iF4GbCYT7ASc63GF-PUEIANMRuxo4sb42qtBF/s640/1187126_10201408814016170_803524504_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leave it to me to stink-face a nice photo op. This is to showcase, by comparison, how pretty my sisters are.</td></tr>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-37411572172009419032013-08-23T20:49:00.000-05:002013-08-23T20:49:29.136-05:00What I Love About the MidwestWell, the seasons are gearing up to change again, and around here the earth has begun to swelter in anticipation.<br />
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I don't think I'll ever get used to the type of heat that makes you sweat <b>while you're resting </b>more than a marathon runner at mile 24.<br />
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By nature I consider myself a West Coast girl -- Northwest, to be specific. I love mountains, lakes, berry-picking, hiking, camping and Seattle city life from time to time. I also enjoy air that actually drops below 70 degrees at night.<br />
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But I don't live there. Haven't in years.<br />
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No, I live smack in the middle of the great state of Illinois. I can never tell which way I'm going because it looks the same in every direction.<br />
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However, as tempting as it is to complain about extreme weather and a flat landscape, recently I've tried to be more intentional about appreciating where I live. I'm not going anywhere, so being whiny and making snarky comments does not help me or anyone else.<br />
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And the truth is, THE MIDWEST IS WONDERFUL!!!<br />
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It really is. And here's why:<br />
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<b>1. The sky</b>. It's the most beautiful sky I've ever seen -- the moon, the sunset, the storm clouds. All that crop dust might make people sneeze but it does wonderful tricks to the eye.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvR666o4H8RXTyW8xcC5l_EVJRD5tvTkM4G86ksDSb9YRG-MAU0P0e-YQ3HN-sxV8Y8MwCrlovk6x15D5iTqFStDNwnedxb503CBwAdwvo4ee6wr_zVWYVdIinDHbAiYNpfpOJ9KXhPVy/s1600/photo+(45).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvR666o4H8RXTyW8xcC5l_EVJRD5tvTkM4G86ksDSb9YRG-MAU0P0e-YQ3HN-sxV8Y8MwCrlovk6x15D5iTqFStDNwnedxb503CBwAdwvo4ee6wr_zVWYVdIinDHbAiYNpfpOJ9KXhPVy/s640/photo+(45).JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>2. The friendly people. </b>I love living in a place where you are required to smile and say hello to everyone you meet on the sidewalk and where grandmas smile at your kids in the grocery store.<br />
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<b>3. Four seasons. </b>It can be extreme at times, but there's always something different to look forward to.<br />
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<b>4. The birds. </b>Don't yawn. I love watching and identifying those lovelies in our backyard, including cardinals, blue jays, and even the occasional hummingbird or hawk.<br />
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<b>5. Fresh produce. </b>Not only is our local farmer's market a slice of heaven, but people just shove their backyard produce in your face all summer long. It's pretty glorious.<br />
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<b>6. Small-city community. </b>This is particular to my location downstate. I've only lived here three years, and I always run into people I know whenever I go out. It's fun. We look out for each other. It's almost impossible to be lonely.<br />
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<b>7. You can drive to cool places. </b>We're within a three-hour drive from Chicago, St. Louis and Indianapolis. Back where I grew up, if you drove three hours in any direction, you'd be in the middle of the forest or the desert. The only big city within <i>thousands </i>of miles was Seattle.<br />
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<b>8. Agriculture. </b>Farms are cool. Farmers are cool. Visiting farms is cool. Kids love it. I think agriculture is really interesting. Plus our county fair really rocks.<br />
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<b>9. Family-friendly. </b>Water parks, zoos, museums, you name it -- this area is all about families and kids. We are never bored.<br />
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<b>10. <a href="http://holdingthedistaff.blogspot.com/2013/05/ugly-bugs.html" target="_blank">Fireflies</a>. </b>Obviously. Phenomenal.<br />
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Do you fully embrace where you're at, wherever that is? If you're in the Midwest, what do you like about it?<br />
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Linking with:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thedwellingtree.com/2013/08/lets-be-friends-blog-hop-27-is-now-live.html" target="_blank">Let's Be Friends</a><br />
<a href="http://www.caravansonnet.com/2013/08/the-petites-august-edition.html" target="_blank">The Petits</a><br />
<a href="http://summat2thinkon.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/ten-things-of-thankful-12-holiday.html" target="_blank">Ten Things of Thankful</a><br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-68605383530331857142013-08-09T15:51:00.001-05:002013-08-09T15:51:40.747-05:00This is SummerOh, hi.<br />
<br />
How have you been, friends?<br />
<br />
I like to fall off the social media map every now and then, don't you? It makes the inside of my head too noisy sometimes.<br />
<br />
Plus I've been busy. Life during the end of summer is way too fun to be wasted in front of a computer screen.<br />
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Doing things like:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwgmrolbaa4wjtxjlJumxcCa0l6yHCck4oQVciwZ8XP3cG_JRrIzesJTRwsfyrQwBNtgK9xcIcYPaG-eX8PZPe1Jsv2BhuJrVjEGJ9FtACfqNTzy4XhVboInideAPZ7S29pHMqLuUZ0et/s1600/photo+(39).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwgmrolbaa4wjtxjlJumxcCa0l6yHCck4oQVciwZ8XP3cG_JRrIzesJTRwsfyrQwBNtgK9xcIcYPaG-eX8PZPe1Jsv2BhuJrVjEGJ9FtACfqNTzy4XhVboInideAPZ7S29pHMqLuUZ0et/s640/photo+(39).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Going on pirate treasure hunts...<br />
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Watching baseball...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1a9hdYxuj0KoxhfXPGmz2z0DfWaZJ2fLluAN7-2LbGa60ydb1F6ReX5avOvoEuzdUfQnDufdFaf6ohICDibo6GDQPYsaDay7scylLOpWSzCn2erDBnUWNLRczOpsLNXqKChulkWUFJpN/s1600/photo+(41).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1a9hdYxuj0KoxhfXPGmz2z0DfWaZJ2fLluAN7-2LbGa60ydb1F6ReX5avOvoEuzdUfQnDufdFaf6ohICDibo6GDQPYsaDay7scylLOpWSzCn2erDBnUWNLRczOpsLNXqKChulkWUFJpN/s640/photo+(41).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Riding bikes (and for the record, I did <b>not</b> take this cute photo. This is not a Mommy-approved setup)...<br />
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Coloring...<br />
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Playing with our feet...<br />
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Eating junk food at the county fair...<br />
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Posing in front of tractors...yay for the Midwest...<br />
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And only <b>occasional </b>meltdowns.<br />
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What are some of your favorite summer memories in the making?<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-25756794960528559782013-08-01T15:43:00.001-05:002013-08-01T15:45:42.601-05:0030 Is The New 80So I'm turning 30 next month. You're either thinking, "Wow, she's so young" or "Wow, she's super-old." I'm going to take a rough stab at my readership and say you're split about half and half.<br />
<br />
Who cares, right? I like to think I don't.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7MBC4-C6J77_uYgRehROJSxkHqHKEuB-ZhtQPwwkwlHpba4DAWKZP65NSskRkfwdz7Q7ZJHZ801WY7UXNysI-QwKRjg5Zq4FSpCGE8iZgIhHykEIEhTmjOAr7uG5gZbLDtMOeXTc3UqlI/s1600/picard+30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7MBC4-C6J77_uYgRehROJSxkHqHKEuB-ZhtQPwwkwlHpba4DAWKZP65NSskRkfwdz7Q7ZJHZ801WY7UXNysI-QwKRjg5Zq4FSpCGE8iZgIhHykEIEhTmjOAr7uG5gZbLDtMOeXTc3UqlI/s640/picard+30.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">90s sci-fi references probably don't help</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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But for someone who claims she doesn't really care and embraces all stages of life, I've been spending a lot of time thinking and whining about age-related things.<br />
<br />
Example: my back. Ever since my first pregnancy, I've had issues with it. After spending considerable time and energy lying around and begging for back rubs this week, I finally caved and went to a chiropractor. He basically said, "Welcome. I'll be seeing you again. And again." Now I don't know that it's age-related, but the fact that I can reflect on 15+ years of possible back-stressing events indicates that I am no longer at the height of my youth. It turns out that years of contact sports, a car accident and three pregnancies can mess you up a bit. Someone who is 20 just can't relate (and probably has a better chance of recovering).<br />
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Here's another observation: in the past, when I was "young," everyone of importance had to be older. They just had to. But recently on Facebook I've been noticing all these friends and acquaintances who are all of sudden doctors and lawyers and have PhDs. Not to mention -- since when are all the doctors and nurses I see younger than me??? Since when is my congressional representative my age? Since when are pro athletes my age considering retirement...or already retired? Since when are people my age established billionaires (like Mark Zuckerberg)? Since when are celebrities young enough that they don't even remember things like 9/11???<br />
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Please note my current list of favorite things to do:<br />
1. Watch old TV shows with Marc.<br />
2. Go to baby showers.<br />
3. Water my flowers.<br />
4. Sleep.<br />
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Furthermore, since when do I rarely get carded? That used to be a compliment not to be carded...oh well. I only go out for drinks about once a year anyway.<br />
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Oh and one more thing. Since when do I have gray hairs? I yank those suckers out because I clearly don't embrace my age.<br />
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I could go on. And on.<br />
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If there's one thing I've learned while Googling things like "30 memes" and "aging," it's that many people, like myself, try really hard to have a sense of humor about it.<br />
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So I think I'll survive. We've got a long way to go on this life thing, God-willing. Viva la 30!<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2852582410320254387.post-322344266740324272013-07-18T19:25:00.002-05:002013-07-18T19:26:07.670-05:00When You Can't Take The HeatI was going through a rough patch earlier this week (snapshot <a href="http://holdingthedistaff.blogspot.com/2013/07/sputtering.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Nothing in particular was going horribly wrong, but I was cranky and moody and the kids were driving me insane.<br />
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It hit a low point yesterday when I set up the pool for the two boys, who played in it a total of 2.4 minutes before wanting to ride their bikes (WHY?). I sat in the shade in my semi-broken lawn chair in the <b>melt-your-face-off heat.</b> I snapped at the kids over and over and tried to cool down the irritable and equally hot baby. I probably should have just gone inside, but it took so long to set up the pool and the kids were so excited to play outside that I decided against it.<br />
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If you couldn't tell, I don't handle heat well. "I can't do this anymore," I repeated to myself, referring to nothing and everything. "I just can't. I quit!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJJS6j12fPjM8nV1KVMfdbnv6UtglS9ud0A0uXQFHWqJAok64ZDHlGK-tTAcjblNJJvNp4EUyb_M53K6klVre0p9h28dCHTAxHodvrMfGMQhItORZ-J5a1cy75ZaZjgTGwjlT4pMw0jpD/s1600/WaterGun.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJJS6j12fPjM8nV1KVMfdbnv6UtglS9ud0A0uXQFHWqJAok64ZDHlGK-tTAcjblNJJvNp4EUyb_M53K6klVre0p9h28dCHTAxHodvrMfGMQhItORZ-J5a1cy75ZaZjgTGwjlT4pMw0jpD/s640/WaterGun.gif" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gaaaaah!!!!! Someone hook me up with a squirt gun.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This is similar to the way I always felt in labor. You can't quit. You just have to push through.<br />
<br />
I was leaking my unshakable bad mood on the Internet. This is a bad idea, unless you want people who care about you to call you.<br />
<br />
My friend <a href="http://wonderfulmess.com/" target="_blank">Stephanie</a> called me. A little about her: she is the Tina Fey to my Amy Poehler, the peanut butter to my jelly time. She just moved away to Washington State a few weeks ago and I'm seriously depressed about it. So she asked me what was wrong, and I cried and said I don't know, except that I wanted to run away because being a mom is too hard, and she cried because moving is hard and change is hard...and doesn't it just feel good to cry together? Then we joked about how people in the Northwest are adrenaline junkies/hipsters and people in the Midwest are boring and lazy because it's so stinking hot.<br />
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It was such a refreshing conversation. I finally got out of my slump. Thanks, Steph.<br />
<br />
<span class="text Eccl-4-9" id="en-NIV-17391" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="display: block; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; position: absolute; vertical-align: top;">9 </span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two are better than one,</span></i></div>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Eccl-4-9" style="position: relative;">because they have a good return for their labor:</span></div>
</span><span class="text Eccl-4-10" id="en-NIV-17392" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; position: absolute; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">10 </span><div style="text-align: center;">
If either of them falls down,</div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Eccl-4-10" style="position: relative;">one can help the other up.</span></div>
</span><span class="text Eccl-4-10" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><div style="text-align: center;">
But pity anyone who falls</div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Eccl-4-10" style="position: relative;">and has no one to help them up.</span></div>
</span><span class="text Eccl-4-11" id="en-NIV-17393" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; position: absolute; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">11 </span><div style="text-align: center;">
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.</div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Eccl-4-11" style="position: relative;">But how can one keep warm alone?</span></div>
</span><span class="text Eccl-4-12" id="en-NIV-17394" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; position: absolute; text-align: center; vertical-align: top;">12 </span><div style="text-align: center;">
Though one may be overpowered,</div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Eccl-4-12" style="position: relative;">two can defend themselves.</span></div>
</span><span class="text Eccl-4-12" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><div style="text-align: center;">
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.</div>
</span></span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ecclesiastes 4:9-12</span></b></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.holdingthedistaff.com/feed</div>Gina Poirierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11682320213681800526noreply@blogger.com10