tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8723496607292530962024-03-13T11:09:57.989-07:00Simply Stated StacieMy name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-34537563600882294912011-08-23T18:32:00.000-07:002011-08-23T18:40:30.812-07:00For Maria...<em>This story has been rolling around in my head for a couple of years since Maria found a lady bug and had to let her go. God brought this incident to mind when Maria asked me if the reason her birthmom didn't keep her was because she wasn't good enough. It seemed to help Maria understand a little better.</em>
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<br />“What a wonderful surprise,” Maria delighted to herself. She could hardly contain her excitement as she leaned down to get a closer look at the tiny creature that had gingerly landed on her sleeve. The insect’s shiny wings, tucked closely to its body, formed a near perfect circle. It looked as if a single red polka dot had been meticulously painted to complement the bright pink of Maria’s favorite sweatshirt. Undoubtedly, this was the most beautiful ladybug that Maria had ever seen.
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<br />Maria gently nudged the ladybug with the tip of her polish-chipped fingernail. Quietly she cooed soothing words to the ladybug, encouraging her to begin a slow and timid ascent onto Maria’s hand. Thoughtfully, Maria brought the ladybug level with her own sparkling, dark eyes. Maria’s love for the ladybug was at once instantaneous and boundless. She vowed to herself and to her ladybug that she would do everything possible to keep her safe and happy. Maria was overwhelmed that the blessing of caring for one of God’s exquisite creations had been unexpectedly granted to her.
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<br />“First,” Maria thought to herself, “I need to make her a comfortable place to live.” With the ladybug tucked snuggly in the palm of her loosely closed hand, Maria worked quickly to fashion a home for her ladybug. She decided that a discarded purple and green striped, paper cup would make an ideal home. With great care, Maria painstakingly filled the recycled cup with an array of grass, leaves, and one smooth stick. “Perfect!” Maria exclaimed.
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<br />Satisfied with the ladybugs new home, Maria placed the tiny bug delicately inside of the paper cup. As one final precaution, Maria placed a thin piece of plastic wrap, pierced with tiny air holes, over the cup to make sure that precious contents would not escape from the safe confines of the newly crafted home. Maria hoped with all of her heart that her ladybug would be happy and content with her accommodations.
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<br />Maria watched with anticipation as her ladybug moved deftly about the leaves and blades of grass, exploring her new surroundings. The ladybug made quick work of climbing the stick to the very top of the paper cup. “She wants to get a better look at me!” Maria thought to herself. Grinning from ear to ear with a deep sense of accomplishment, Maria carried the ladybug in the cup to her own bedroom for extra safe keeping.
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<br />Next, Maria realized that she would need to find food for her ladybug. But what did a ladybug eat? She surely didn’t know. Maria decided to ask her Momma. After all, mommas know everything. “Momma” she inquired, “what does a ladybug eat?” Just as Maria had expected, Momma did know the answer. Her response, however, left Maria startled and feeling a little queasy inside. Aphids. They eat other bugs! How was a little girl such as herself going to find aphids to feed to her ladybug? The thought concerned her at first, but she quickly dismissed her worry, convinced that she could figure out how to give her ladybug what she needed.
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<br />From that very first meeting, Maria and her ladybug were inseparable. Maria carried her ladybug wherever she went, proudly showing her off to anyone who would stop to look. Maria delighted at each “oh” and “ah” as friends and family congratulated her on having a ladybug of her very own. The joy Maria felt inside was like none she had ever experienced before. She thought her heart might just burst with pride.
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<br />Maria did her best to fulfill her vow of taking care of her ladybug. Daily she provided her ladybug with a fresh supply of carefully chosen, green leaves and newly clipped grass. Maria desperately hoped that each new crop of vegetation might provide the aphids that her ladybug could eat. When none appeared, Maria thought that perhaps her ladybug might enjoy eating some of her own culinary favorites. From mangos and fried chicken, to strawberries and Momma’s spicy enchiladas, Maria persevered in offering her ladybug the very best she had. But nothing Maria could provide was what her ladybug needed.
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<br />Despite her concerns over what to feed her ladybug, Maria delighted in the joy of spending time with her. She never grew tired of watching her ladybug through the plastic wrap ceiling of the paper cup. For the first few days, Maria would often find her ladybug perched on the twig, waiting expectantly near the cup’s tattered rim.
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<br />Maria couldn’t, however, quiet the small voice inside of her, whispering unwanted doubts. Would she really be able to provide all that a ladybug needed? Adding to her doubts was the realization that with each day that she kept her ladybug in the paper cup, the less and less the tiny creature moved about. Her ladybug no longer seemed to have enough energy to climb the stick to its tippy-top.
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<br />Confused and concerned about what to do for her ladybug, Maria once again sought advice from Momma. “Loving something with all your heart doesn’t always mean that you are able to take care of it.” Momma counseled. The words were hard to hear and stung with a truth that Maria did not want to accept.
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<br />Although Maria loved her ladybug with all of her heart and had given her best to care for her, perhaps that just wasn’t enough. Maybe the only way to ensure that her ladybug would survive and flourish, was for Maria to let her go. Tears began forming shallow pools in Maria’s eyes which quickly over flowed, rolling down her mocha colored cheeks. She knew what she had to do. The small voice inside of her confirming the difficult choice she was about to make.
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<br />Energized by a selfless resolve, Maria carried her ladybug outside. Determined not to give in to her sadness, Maria stripped away the plastic wrap from the top of the paper cup. Reminiscent of the day when they first found each other, Maria placed her finger in front of her ladybug, nudging her to climb on. Maria surprised herself by giggling when her ladybug’s six tiny legs tickled her finger. Quickly, as not to change her mind, Maria blew a parting kiss to her ladybug.
<br />As if lifted by the breath from Maria’s final kiss, her ladybug opened its crimson wings and took flight for the first time. Maria watched through tears of grief as the ladybug flew farther away from her, but towards a future destined by God. As her ladybug vanished into the distance, Maria offered one final encouragement to her beloved. Her parting words came from a heart forever changed by loving completely and sacrificing much.
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<br />“Fly away home,” she whispered. Then slowly turned and walked away.
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<br />My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-15332705491147786192009-04-22T19:18:00.000-07:002009-04-22T20:07:23.004-07:00Week of WeirdMy findings while doing laundry on Sunday should have been an indication of just how bizarre some of this week's events would be.<br /><br />After washing several pens, packs of bubble gum and flash drives (among other things that ruin clothing), I've learned to check pockets before throwing clothes into the washing machine. While searching through a pair of pants that Zak wore on his weekend camping trip I found two bullets. A cause for concern? Possibly. Weird? Not until Zak told me what they were for. They're apparently used as ear plugs when firing rifles. I kicked into mom mode and was preparing the standard "never, ever stick anything in your ears" lecture but then thought better of it. It sounded like a guy thing that I wouldn't understand.<br /><br />With the bullets properly disposed of I then went to put the clean clothes in Zak's room. I was stopped short by the bag of Poise bladder control pads on his bedroom floor. This was just downright disturbing. I couldn't help but ask for an explanation on this one. Apparently they were used for some kind of prank. Whatever.<br /><br />Sunday was followed by a memorable day at work. I should explain that I work in an outpatient mental health clinic and I try to maintain a high level of compassion for our patients suffering from mental illnesses and personality disorders. Abnormal behavior is often the norm in our office. There's abnormal and then there's just plain bizarre. Like Monday morning when an incoming patient informed us that another patient was pulling up the azaleas in our gardens and putting them in the trunk of her car. Our doctor went out to confront the patient who thought this was perfectly acceptable. Apparently she needed some plants for her garden.<br /><br />Then later that day another patient became so enraged and distraught over having missed her appointment she began hitting herself in the head with a clipboard and spewing profanities left and right. The end of the day could not come quickly enough.<br /><br />Finally today. Caroline called to inform me that something dead was in Zak's car and it smelled awful. Upon further investigation Zak, his friend, and Alex found and removed a rather large cat from behind the engine block of the jeep. They disposed of the cat the only way my boys know how. I don't want to be graphic so I'll just type the words gasoline and fire pit. You get the picture. And I've spent the better part of the evening trying to explain to Maria where the body of this cat went.<br /><br />To top off the evening we think Caroline's guinea pig may have lost one of her front teeth and is having trouble eating. I do not want to find out what the cost is for guinea pig dentistry.<br /><br /><br />Simply stated: Truth really is stranger than fiction.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-33285138863903342882009-03-09T17:29:00.000-07:002009-04-17T14:20:40.383-07:00And the survey says...Is saw this post on a few of the blogs that I follow and decided to try it for myself. Seeing yourself through the eyes of your child can sometimes be dangerous but I think I came out fairly unscathed.<br /><br />This is mommy according to Maria...in her words.<br /><br />1. What is something mom always says to you? I love you<br /><br />2. What makes mom happy? That I don't lie to you.<br /><br />3. What makes mom sad? When I say bad things to her.<br /><br />4. How does your mom make you laugh? By tickling me.<br /><br />5. What was your mom like as a child? A little girl.<br /><br />6. How old is your mom? Umm, Umm, 25.<br /><br />7. How tall is your mom? Big<br /><br />8. What is her favorite thing to do? Hug me.<br /><br />9. What does your mom do when you're not around? Watch TV.<br /><br />10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for? Making lunches.<br /><br />11. What is your mom really good at? Giving money.<br /><br />12. What is your mom not very good at? Doing cartwheels.<br /><br />13. What does your mom do for her job? Help people.<br /><br />14. What is your mom's favorite food? Peas<br /><br />15. What makes you proud of your mom? She helps us get some food.<br /><br />16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be? Sleeping Beauty.<br /><br />17. What do you and your mom do together? Cuddle<br /><br />18. How are you and your mom the same? Hmm. That our hands look the same.<br /><br />19. How are you and your mom different? That she has brown eyes and I have black eyes.<br /><br />20. How do you know your mom loves you? She hugs me and kisses me.<br /><br />Simply stated: Kinda makes me go "hmmm."My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-70037238794055227322009-02-08T06:37:00.000-08:002009-02-08T09:09:39.813-08:00HousekeepingI like to think that my home is clean. I dust and vacuum, windex and scrub freqeuntly. Now that I'm working full-time I even have someone helping me keep the house as clean as possible. It's not that I WANT to clean. It's really more of a compulsion.<br /><br />Maybe I've watched one too many of those 20/20 specials where they go through a room with a blacklight and expose all the nastiness. Don't even get me started on hotel rooms. I'll save my germaphobia for another post. Suffice to say, it's rather remarkable that I leave my house at all.<br /><br />Anyway. If I catch sight of a wayward dustball or offending smudge it is hard for me to concentrate on anything else until I get rid of it. Sometimes it's even hard to sleep. It's not unusual to find me vacuumming at midnight or 6:00 a.m. I know. It's an illness.<br /><br />If I see it, I need to clean it. If I don't see it, I'm ok. This is one of the main reason I don't often venture into the "man cave" downstairs or Zak's bedroom.<br /><br />Inevitably, when I'm beginning to feel assured regarding the condition of my home, the brilliant morning sun shines through the wall of windows in the back of our house. And my smugness bites me in the butt. What's revealed are the places that I've forgotten. Even worse are the areas that I thought I'd cleaned thoroughly that remain smudged and soiled. Dust particles permeate the sun-streaked air taunting me as they land on floors and furniture.<br /><br />I can work myself into a frenzy trying to clean what the intense sunlight reveals. The task is overwhelming. Mercifully, the sun will soon disappear above the rooftop and with it the light of its harsh scrunity.<br /><br />And so it is with my life. I can keep myself and my character well-groomed and coiffured. At a glance, my life could at times appear squeaky clean. But in those moments when I get real with myself and allow for introspection under the light of the Son, my life is not nearly as antiseptic. Attitudes and motives, selfishness and laziness, all manifest themselves in the Sonlight. Areas that I've neglected are exposed. Weaknesses that I thought I'd taken care of become apparent.<br /><br />On my own, I can't clean the mess. My heart finds comfort in claiming God's promise to me that it's not by works but by faith that I am saved. That I'm washed clean. From this gratitude arises a new commitment and resolve to do better. To be better. To live a life that brings honor to the One who saved me.<br /><br />Simply stated: Jesus -- Mr. Clean for the soul.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-10826531799128354242009-01-09T18:17:00.001-08:002009-01-09T19:00:27.742-08:00My recent <del>addiction to</del> interest in Facebook has caused me to reflect quite a bit on high school and the years immediately following. I graduated in 1983. I'll save you from doing the math. I'm 43.<br /><br />I've found several classmates on facebook it's been fun to reconnect with my past.<br /><br />Tonight I pulled out my yearbook to assist me in my stroll down memory lane. I showed it to Zak who is one of the yearbook editors for his school. I told him this was the way they did yearbooks back in the "day". He wasn't impressed.<br /><br />Sadly, as I flipped through the pages of my past, I was reminded anew that I hated high school.<br /><br />For those of you who know me now as the outgoing women who can carry on a conversation with a tree and has never met a stranger, you might be surprised to know that I had very few friends in high school. And by very few...I mean none.<br /><br />There were a few people who signed my yearbook with generic sentiments such as "stay sweet" and "best of luck" but nothing more. Most of my lunch hours during high school were spent walking between the library and my locker "looking" like I had places to go and people to see. I didn't attend a single party. Only a handful of football games. I wanted friends. I guess I was too insecure to reach out.<br /><br />I couldn't wait to graduate and have never looked back.<br /><br />I think this is why I try to encourage Caroline to get involved at school. I'm trying to help her realize that to have friends you have to be a friend. It's taken a long time to learn these lessons.<br /><br />On a positive note, I read my goals that were listed by my senior picture. "Go to college, graduate, and be happy"<br /><br />Simply stated: I did and I am.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-17714903744373238282009-01-04T17:04:00.000-08:002009-01-04T18:15:42.549-08:00The JourneyIn 1999 Don and I attended a one day FamilyLife marriage conference called I Still Do. As much as the conference impacted us that day, only God knew how it would begin a chain of events that would impact one little life for eternity.<br /><br />From attending the event we moved on to leading HomeBuilders Bible studies and volunteering at the conference the following year. This led to us hearing and, in an uncharacteristic moment of obedience, following God's call on our lives to leave Maryland, raise our own financial support and move to Little Rock, Arkansas and work with the ministry of FamilyLife for 5 years.<br /><br />During our time with FamilyLife I felt led to participated in a FamilyLife sponsored mission trip to Guatemala where I visited orphanages and my heart was quite literally broken for the 100 million orphans in our world.<br /><br />This led to the beginning of our adoption journey. A journey that would stretch our faith and finances and take us to the very limits of ourselves. As we waited the 3 1/2 years to bring our precious Maria home, watching her grow up in pictures without her family, we often questioned God's purposes. I don't think we will ever know the why for our wait.<br /><br />During one of the lowest points of our wait, plagued by concerns of whether or not her adoption could be completed, someone asked what would be the worst outcome from this experience. Without hesitation I answered that Maria would never come home. I pondered and prayed over my answer and realized the worst that could happen would be if Maria never met her Savior and spent eternity separated from him. From then on my attitude changed and I began praying first for Maria's salvation and secondly that we would be blessed to be the family that would lead her to Him.<br /><br />It's been 17 months since Maria joined our family and today our prayers were answered with Maria's baptism. Not only will we have the blessing of sharing this life with her, but eternity as well.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SWFjEjAuuvI/AAAAAAAAAPc/KtZgmJTbTlk/s1600-h/IMG_4775.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287616367278602994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SWFjEjAuuvI/AAAAAAAAAPc/KtZgmJTbTlk/s320/IMG_4775.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SWFc3tfTLkI/AAAAAAAAAPU/ooP9n24wh5Q/s1600-h/IMG_4777.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287609549683109442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SWFc3tfTLkI/AAAAAAAAAPU/ooP9n24wh5Q/s320/IMG_4777.JPG" border="0" /></a> 9 years of putting plans into motion, a move halfway across the United States, thousands of dollars, 4 trips to Guatemala, a family changed forever. The list goes.<br /><p>I'm in awe of a God who loves so deeply that He would go to such great lengths for one life. That before Maria's life even began God knew that this would be her story. That we would be her family. That she would be His child.</p><p>I'm blessed that He would use someone as flawed as me as His tool. </p><p>I'm sobered by the thought that we could have disobeyed.</p><p>Simply Stated: The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9</p>My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-82389705688237745932008-12-16T12:44:00.000-08:002008-12-16T13:07:49.630-08:00"Ice" DayA bit of freezing rain and ice arrived in Little Rock yesterday afternoon just in time for my Christmas party at work. About half of the folks headed for home early while the rest of us enjoyed a quick meal and then joined the masses in traffic. Living close to work definitely has its advantages.<br /><br />Today we were blessed with an unexpected day off of school and work! Nothing makes you feel more like a kid again than a day off of work because of weather.<br /><br />We've been staying busy decorating cards and cookies. I'm so enjoying the day that I didn't even freak when I dropped the bowl of egg yolk and food coloring that we were using to paint on cookies. My favorite pajama pants and demin shirt however did not survive quite as well.<br /><br />While taking pictures of the days activities I also took a few pictures of our decorations to share.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgV-4-p6nI/AAAAAAAAAPE/V0Fg2Ami3sQ/s1600-h/IMG_4755.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280494733283158642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgV-4-p6nI/AAAAAAAAAPE/V0Fg2Ami3sQ/s320/IMG_4755.JPG" border="0" /></a> This is our tree. At last count we had over 200 bear ornaments.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgVuhiqfWI/AAAAAAAAAO0/gyXdbQ30eHo/s1600-h/IMG_4754.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280494452113833314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgVuhiqfWI/AAAAAAAAAO0/gyXdbQ30eHo/s320/IMG_4754.JPG" border="0" /></a> This is the shelf in the living room. The stereo components and video games add a particularly festive touch!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgVn4PJjKI/AAAAAAAAAOs/NGmABotO2BQ/s1600-h/IMG_4753.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280494337946913954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgVn4PJjKI/AAAAAAAAAOs/NGmABotO2BQ/s320/IMG_4753.JPG" border="0" /></a>This is our mantel. I'm sure the boys love having teddy bear stockings. Santa still fills them though.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgVRfF9ZXI/AAAAAAAAAOk/6L1wqzo98Zw/s1600-h/IMG_4752.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280493953240360306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUgVRfF9ZXI/AAAAAAAAAOk/6L1wqzo98Zw/s320/IMG_4752.JPG" border="0" /></a>Finally, the mistletoe. Needs no explanation :)</div><div> </div><div>Simply Stated: Merry Christmas!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-80033433616891307082008-12-13T07:52:00.000-08:002008-12-13T08:12:10.154-08:00Tis the Season!I love the Christmas season. Last night was Caroline's Christmas Choir Concert and it was outstanding. I'd post a picture but after almost 20 years of parenting the camera rarely makes it to these events. Oh, but the memories will live on in my mind. Plus 20 years from now we'll have the liberty to embellish stories while those with video cameras and digital pictures can not. MY kids will have been the stars in every production. AHA!<br /><br />Back to Christmas. We got the house decorated last weekend...almost. As usual, there are a few loose ends that I need to finish. One of the best moments came when we put a new ornament on the tree. It looks like this:<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUPd2sevTQI/AAAAAAAAAOU/-wVOKdSDBPw/s1600-h/IMG_4741.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279307119931116802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUPd2sevTQI/AAAAAAAAAOU/-wVOKdSDBPw/s320/IMG_4741.JPG" border="0" /></a>Finally, our family of six. (Yes, we should have done this last year but better late then never).<br /><br />And the old ornament has been given a proper burial. <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUPeEYunaAI/AAAAAAAAAOc/FQxVZECzhf8/s1600-h/IMG_4742.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279307355147167746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SUPeEYunaAI/AAAAAAAAAOc/FQxVZECzhf8/s320/IMG_4742.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><p>Simply stated: Six is my favorite number!</p>My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-48150986997525391702008-11-13T08:22:00.001-08:002008-11-13T08:42:01.322-08:00Maria-ismsI love listening to Maria tell a story. The combination of being six and not having a complete grasp of English lends itself to some pretty entertaining story telling. For instance...<br /><br />(Note: if you are offended by stories about "tooting", read no further.)<br /><br />Several weeks ago our precious girl had an ear ache which required treatment with antibiotic. Unfortunately the antibiotic didn't set very well in her digestive tract and she started having some problems. Gas to be quite blunt.<br /><br />Since the day we brought Maria home she has been able to clear a room with one of her toots. I remember standing in line with her at a store and she kept tooting. And it was obvious. So let me ask you. If you are the cashier and there was a plus-sized woman at your register accompanied by a petite child who are you going to assume is causing the offensive odor? I finally leaned down to Maria and whispered in her ear that she could not let loose one more toot until we left the store.<br /><br />Fast forward to several weeks ago when she was on her antibiotic. I walked into her classroom on Wednesday night at church and the smell just about knocked me over. I knew immediately that it was Maria. Obviously we have fully and completely bonded to each other. I scanned the room and she was nowhere to be found so I headed to the bathroom where sure enough Maria was taking care of business. I asked her if she had pooped and she grinned and asked how I had known. I told her because she had stunk up the joint. She giggled.<br /><br />The next day when I picked her up at school I asked her how her tummy felt. She said "a little good" and went on to explain that she had tooted in class and all the children started grossing out. At which point she <strong><em>claimed it</em></strong> and apologized! Oh, honey girl, that's taking honesty a bit too far. I tried to explain that in a room full of people you don't really need to admit to tooting. Does that make me a bad person?<br /><br />The next day I picked her up and asked the same question. Yes, she had tooted. Yes, the class had groaned in disgust. No, she didn't admit to it. I asked her if she was tooting on person. And here's the best part...<br /><br />"Oh, no Mommy. I just couldn't wait any longer. So I relaxed and let the spray go!"<br /><br />Simply stated: What more can I say?My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-10542597707339692972008-11-13T07:30:00.000-08:002008-11-13T08:21:44.523-08:00An update of sortsHard to believe it's been almost a month since my last post. For as long as I can remember I have always had an over abundance of words and ideas. Many of which are not worthy of sharing, but they were there nonetheless. But working with the public for eight to nine hours a day seems to exceed my allotted words for the day. Consequently, when evening comes and I might find a few moment to blog, there are no words left. Just an overwhelming need to be quiet.<br /><br />I'm sure that the men in my life are loving this because they have always been a bit...how do I say this nicely?...challenged by my need to talk incessantly. Truth be told, since beginning my job I will often think of something I need to talk with Don about and I won't have the words or energy to start the conversation. Who knew that the woman who was once described as opening her eyes and mouth simultaneously each morning could be silenced?<br /><br />Today is a different kind of day. I'm home sick. It seems I've had a perpetual cough and cold for about 4 weeks now and just yesterday started getting congested, again, and running a fever. I'm gonna act like a grown up and go to the doctor's at 2:15. Hopefully I'll leave with some antibiotic.<br /><br />So while Maria is watching Noggin, after all it is "preschool on TV", I thought I'd write a quick post. A lot has happened.<br /><br />The Election. I hate election years because it divides my extended family like no other event. For the most part none of us talks politics but everyone knows where the other stands and the tension it creates is not good. I don't presume to know who's the best candidate for our country. Truly, I think we are subjected to a lot of rhetoric during the campaigns and the issues get lost in a bunch of polictical mumbo-jumbo. My Dad says that "figures lie and liars figure." I think this is true for most politicians. What is most important is that I voted and I did so with a clear conscience and no hidden agenda. Bottom-line. My God is bigger than any election or president. In Him I will trust.<br /><br />The Twilight Zone. Caroline just finished working on her first play at her new school. Even though she's only in middle school she tried out for a part in the high school play and she earned herself two small parts in two different episodes. The play was a compilation of 6 Twilight Zone episodes and was really fun to watch...twice. The schedule of practices, school, homework, and church activities just about did Caroline in but she prevailed and did a great job. Try outs for the spring musical "The Music Man" starts in a couple of weeks. Even though musicals are Caroline's favorite she says she's not ready for another production.<br /><br />Downsizing. The unemployment woes hit close to home last week. Don's company had lay-offs and Don was the last one hired so there was a brief moment of worry. Fortunately, his company took into consideration his years of working for Haagen-Dazs before our hiatus for ministry and he was spared. It was a wake up call and a reality check for me that instead of complaining about jobs or having to work that we need to be grateful that we are both employed.<br /><br />Grammy and Gram: Don's mom (Grammy) has been very sick and has been in and out of the hospital for several month's. I won't write much because they are a private family (unlike me who was born without the ability to self-censor) but it has been a very difficult time for her. I'm so glad that we made the decision months ago to spend Thanksgiving with them in Seattle.<br /><br />Gram (my grandmother) fell and broke her hip on Monday and had surgery yesterday. She's 86 years old and hasn't rallied well from the surgery. Although the family was warned about this we still hate to see her suffer. It's hard being so faraway from family at times like this. Please pray for Grammy and Gram.<br /><br />Simply stated: I need to go blow my nose.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-79226072592167262632008-10-17T13:45:00.000-07:002008-10-17T18:42:32.047-07:00Interesting ReadingWhen I'm not checking out patients or falling out of chairs at work, one will often find me reading the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (or DSM as we in the biz will call it). For those of you unfamiliar with the DSM it is a manual published by the American Psychiatric Association (APA) that includes all currently recognized mental health disorders.<br /><br />So what began as an earnest attempt to educate myself on the issues that many of our patients deal with has turned into a quest to diagnose myself. And everyone else around me.<br /><br />For example, I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have sleep terror disorder. The DSM describes this as night terrors, also known as pavor nocturnus, characterized by extreme terror and a temporary inability to regain full consciousness. The subject (me) wakes abruptly from slow-wave sleep, with waking usually accompanied by gasping, moaning, or screaming. It is often impossible to fully awaken the person, and after the episode the subject normally settles back to sleep without waking. Thereby leaving that subject's spouse to scrape himself off of the ceiling.<br /><br />For any of you who have had the misfortune of spending a night under the same roof as me, you know this to be all too true.<br /><br />For those of you who have had the <strong><em>extreme</em></strong> misfortune of sharing a bed with me, I am truly sorry.<br /><br />While often comical, my night terrors have proven to be dangerous as well. My "episodes" have inflicted countless bruises, nasty scrapes and even one round of stitches. My children have become immune to the sound of mom's pounding footsteps running down the hallway in the middle of the night. Even the blood curdling screams are no longer cause for alarm.<br /><br />Not so much for poor Don. I don't think one ever grows accustomed to being woken from a dead sleep by a screaming lunatic next to you.<br /><br />There is no cure. No telethon. No awareness campaign.<br /><br />Anti-anxiety meds are the only treatment. And, until Don is at the point of slipping a Klonopin in my late night diet coke, I don't see that happening.<br /><br />Simply stated: Do you think it's a coincidence that my co-workers took my manual away yesterday?<br /><br />P.S. I believe that mental illness and mental disorders are no laughing matter. I'm a strong proponent of therapy and medication for people suffering with a variety of mental disorders and illnesses. I also can't pass up an opportunity to use self-depricating humor to get a cheap laugh. Maybe some more diagnosing is needed.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-73334587871662509272008-10-08T09:39:00.000-07:002008-10-08T09:48:50.540-07:00What does it say about a person?Hypothetically speaking. What does it say about a person's wardrobe when their daughter sees her ironing a shirt and then inquires as to why she's getting dressed up. <br /><br />Or again, hypothetically speaking, when the other daughter asks why mommy is so "fancy" simply for wearing some $10.00 costume jewelry from Kohl's.<br /><br />Simply Stated: A "person" might get a complex.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-63353587744935607282008-10-06T16:59:00.000-07:002008-10-06T17:39:38.656-07:00Once a klutz...always a klutz.I've made it six weeks at my new job without revealing my clumsy side. I haven't fallen, tripped, run into a wall, or broken anything. Until today.<br /><br />Since the very first day that I pulled my chair up to my desk, I've known that today's display of my lack of grace was inevitable. You see I have a chair. With wheels. And this chair with wheels resides on a piece of smooth and slick plastic. Now, to most people this would not be cause for concern. I, unfortunately, am not most people. And today I made the worst kind of mistake. I tried to sit down. While carrying on a conversation. At the same time.<br /><br />Do you see where this is going? Let me describe the scene for you.<br /><br />My boss, Paula's, office is across the hallway from my window. I was perched over my desk having an uneventful converstion with Paula when in a moment of reckless abandon I decided to sit down. Without bothering to grab the handles of the chair my rear end merely grazed the edge of the seat thereby propelling the chair across the room leaving only gravity between me and the floor. I knew what was happening but by vain efforts to grab at something proved pointless. I landed on butt/back, the momentum of the fall causing my legs to skyrocket heavenward. I'm sure the bruises will be evident by tomorrow.<br /><br />It seemed as though I was falling in slow motion. Through the window I could see the panicked look on Paula's face as I disappeared from view. When I sat up I was surrounded by all of my co-workers in the front office, Paula, and one of our doctors. The chorus of gasps, "oh my gosh's," and "is she ok's" quickly turned to giggles once everyone realized that my convulsions were caused by embarrased laughter rather than a serious head injury.<br /><br />Someone said she'd thought I fainted. Why didn't I think of that?<br /><br />Simply stated: Nothing to see here folks.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-77384514722424978872008-10-05T14:31:00.000-07:002008-10-05T14:43:44.915-07:00Wedding Etiquette SurveyLast weekend we attended the wedding of a young couple at our church. It was a beautiful ceremony and we were honored to be included in their special day.<br /><br />At the reception I was searching for the gift table to place our card. A good friend of mine was curious why I would be giving a gift at the wedding since I had already brought a gift to the bride-to-be's shower. I must have looked a little confused by her question. She went on to explain that they only buy one gift even if invited to both functions.<br /><br />My question...is this a southern thing? I asked my friend from California who agreed with our east coast ways. I asked another Arkansas friend who confirmed that they, too, only purchase one gift. Please, please, please post your responses as to what your customs dictate. I'm really curious about this one.<br /><br />Another thing about southern weddings is that people don't use RSVP cards. Again...is this a southern thing or just a new trend in weddings?<br /><br />And while we're on the topic of north vs. south, I feel as though I've marked some right of passage into southern-womanhood as I've used Ro-tel in our last two meals and neither entree included cheese dip.<br /><br />We also drink sweet tea on a regular basis.<br /><br />I must admit as well that I've used the word "buggy" referring to a shopping cart and the work "sack" in place of the more northern alternative bag. Y'all are rubbing off on me.<br /><br />Simply stated: I best be fixin' to get ready for community group.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-63740636142215414722008-10-04T10:00:00.000-07:002008-10-04T10:23:42.934-07:00I haven't fallen off the face of the EarthCaroline has instructed me that I "have to sit down and post something this weekend." Plus,<br />I figured I'd better write something just to break the dry spell and get the momentum moving again. Truth be told, my eyes keep closing as I try and type. I'm just so doggone tired.<br /><br />All is well, however, just a new kind of busy. And oh, how I cherish our weekends like never before. As a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) the weekends held nothing new. Just more of the same laundry and housework. Now sleeping in until 8:00 a.m. as opposed to 5:30 a.m. on weekdays seems positively luxurious. I also appreciate being able to take control of my schedule over the weekend instead of having every waking moment being dictated by the next task. If I want to stop and watch football with the guys...so be it.<br /><br />I apologize for the lack of humorous posts. Hopefully something funny will happen soon. You'll be the first know. In the meantime I do have a few bathrooms to clean since company is coming tomorrow.<br /><br />One cute thing: As Maria continues to grow in her knowledge of matters of faith, she got a bit confused regarding the relationship between God and Jesus. At one point she said "oh, I thought Jesus was God's last name." I explained that God and Jesus are kind of a holy team that created us and takes care of us. (It will be awhile before we introduce the trinity concept). That night as she prayed she concluded by saying "I just love you guys" in referring to God and Jesus. I laughed silently. I'm sure God and Jesus smiled.<br /><br />Simply stated: Thanks for reading.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-44719662763337572782008-09-13T09:08:00.000-07:002008-09-13T10:06:22.750-07:00The Irony of it AllThis week I've been frustrated to the point of tears during phone conversations with both the speech therapy teacher and ESL (English as a Second Language) teachers at Maria's school. Apparently Maria doesn't qualify for either of these services. Say what?!?<br /><br />I pleaded her case and gave example upon example of the areas that we see at home that you would never detect in a cursory, 15-minute evaluation. The best I could get was a "we'll keep an eye on her." I did almost snap when the ESL teacher told me that in her 33 years of teaching experience she saw no need for services. I replied that having sent 3 other kindergarteners to school prior to Maria, I did see reasons to be concerned. Does mother's intuition trump classroom experience?<br /><br />With as much courtesy as I could muster I thanked her for her time and told her I was sure that she hadn't heard the last of us.<br /><br />I won't say much more because I try to only criticize myself or the wasps on my blog. Suffice to say that our public school system would rather be reactive than proactive. Makes no sense to me.<br /><br />And now for the irony. Yesterday Maria came bounding into the kitchen and for the first time seemed genuinely excited about something that she had learned at school. As we sat eye to eye for her to share with me her newly acquired knowledge she exclaimed...<br /><br />"I learned my colors...in Spanish!"<br /><br />Simply stated: OMG!My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-87754248535889559752008-09-10T19:12:00.001-07:002008-09-11T14:28:20.231-07:00Free to a good homeMiddle-aged mixed breed dog (old mutt).<br /><br />House-trained (except when he decides to pee on your brand new laminate floor.)<br /><br />Great disposition (except when cornered under a countertop avoiding being put in his crate for peeing on brand new laminate flooring at which point he tries to bite the hand that's dragging him from his hiding place.)<br /><br />Well-behaved (except when he escapes the confines of the kitchen when no one is home because someone leaves the gate open during which time he proceeds to pull food and trash out of every accessible trash can, drag stuffed animals from room to room, jump on the furniture as is evident by the pounce marks on the cushions, and eats underwear--these are just the things I know about.)<br /><br />In good health (except for the chronic anal gland infections and epilepsy requiring twice a day doses of medication).<br /><br />Only slightly neurotic exhibiting symptoms such as nail biting, leg chewing (his own) and chronic floor licking.<br /><br />Simply Stated: Any takers?My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-22542685797805321472008-09-07T13:42:00.000-07:002008-09-07T18:12:45.152-07:00Put on your party hats...and join the angels rejoicing in heaven! We have a new little sister in Christ...Maria Fernanda.<br /><br />Maria has been asking to be baptized since vacation Bible school but I've been putting her off. My concern was that she didn't really understand what baptism symbolized and was more excited about going for a swim at church.<br /><br />Over that past couple of months we have had many opportunities to talk about Jesus. During this time she has developed a keen sensitivity to matters of right and wrong and is quick to show remorse for her wrong doingings.<br /><br />On our way out of church this afternoon she ran up to our pastor for the umpteenth time and asked when she could be baptized. I told Maria before we talked to Brother Allan again that we needed to really talk about asking Jesus into her heart. I told her to remind me when we got home. I thought that would be it for a while.<br /><br />Nope.<br /><br />We had just returned from a Sam's Club run and I hadn't even had time to find a place for the 50 lb. tub of animal crackers when she asked me if we could talk. And so we did.<br /><br />Using the pamphlet "Do you want to belong to God's family?" we talked about sin, separation from God, hell (the bad place), the crucifixion and resurrection, God's gift of eternal life and how to accept His Gift. And she really got it. She prayed a sweet and sincere prayer asking God to forgive her and help her do right so that she can live with Him forever in heaven.<br /><br />All those years of praying for Maria to join our family and now she is part of God's family too.<br /><br />Simply stated: I have no greater joy.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-9921289321474671602008-09-06T18:56:00.000-07:002008-09-07T18:44:50.490-07:00I'm a Dot ComI have the coolest kids. And cool kids give cool birthday gifts.<br /><br />Alex bought me the domain name simplystatedstacie.com. For now it simply links you to my blog at blogspot but the possibilities are endless. He says tech support comes with the gift.<br /><br />Unfortunately Alex gave me the gift very subtly and I'm not so good at subtle. He sent me an email on my birthday including the link to my new website. I just thought it was a happy birthday email and didn't notice the .com at the end of my simplystatedstacie. It wasn't until lunch today that I discovered the gift within the email. And that's only because Maria asked Alex where his present for Mommy was. Sorry Alex. I LOVE my gift.<br /><br />Zak ordered me my very own MP3 player. I can't wait to get it. He says tech support comes with the gift.<br /><br />My teens are going to pull me into the 21st century despite my own ineptitude with technology.<br /><br />Alex also took Caroline and Maria to Kohl's to pick out gifts for me.<br /><br />Caroline bought me a bath set with one of my favorite scents. I also received a gift card. I see shopping in my future.<br /><br />Maria (with Alex's help) picked me out a really nice necklace. It reminds me of something that Betty Rubble might wear. It's really cute.<br /><br />And Don had roses sent to work on Thursday. The note that accompanied the cards made me cry. I don't have his permission to post what he wrote but if you ask me I'll tell you.<br /><br />Simply stated: I love birthdays!My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-35545498289739041132008-09-06T07:09:00.000-07:002008-09-06T07:12:00.027-07:00There's a yellow ball in the sky...Oh, it's the sun! I didn't recognize you.<br /><br />Simply stated: Welcome back, you've been missed.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-4369709978916013252008-09-05T14:38:00.000-07:002008-09-06T07:01:53.734-07:00I'm in a "place." I've been here before.<br /><br />The last time I was in this place was 4 years ago when our beloved student pastors announced that they were leaving our church. I mourned as if someone was dying. As I sifted through my emotions as to why their departure was so difficult I realized there was more to my grief than the loss of wonderful mentors. What I realized was that I had inadvertently relinquished all responsibility for the spiritual health of my teens to this couple. It was comforting to know that "professionals" were overseeing their Christian walk.<br /><br />I was scared spitless to resume the task although I never should have let go of it in the first place. So I "manned up" to the task and together with Don we've done our best to guide our boys through the rapids of adolescence. And although our efforts were less than perfect, I believe that God has honored our intentions.<br /><br />I've been feeling a similar loss since we left ministry with FamilyLife. For months I've been soul searching to unearth the reason for this unsettled feeling. I think I know.<br /><br />Somewhere along the journey I had allowed being "in" ministry to define me as a follower of Jesus. With it's absence came what can best be described as a bit of an identity crisis. My purpose seemed less important. Less godly.<br /><br />But God isn't allowing me to stay in this place. Over the recent days He has used sermons, devotionals, and a wise and precious friend to remind me that I can still make each day God-honoring and purposeful. Rather than being "in" ministry I need to be about "doing" ministry in every area of my life. It's time for me to take back the responsibility for impacting the world around me instead of just wearing the nametag. I can now see the innumerable opportunities in my home, neighborhood, church and workplace to be about God's business. For the first time in a long time, I'm excited.<br /><br />Simply Stated: Bring it!My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-54746683362428607772008-09-04T18:25:00.000-07:002008-09-04T18:26:15.136-07:00Lost...Creative mojo.<br /><br />If found please return to: Simply Stated StacieMy name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-78792327387980328072008-08-29T15:22:00.000-07:002008-08-30T19:15:57.452-07:00A Taste of the Good LifeYou know when you've experienced the best of the best, it becomes difficult to settle for less? Kind of like eating the store-brand of Pop Tarts. This pretty much summarizes my transition back into the working world. Like a store brand "toaster pastry" you can certainly choke one down if you have to but it would definitely not be your first choice. Especially not when you've been able to eat all you can care to eat of the real thing for the last year.<br /><br />This is not to say that this past week has been bad. Everyone has gotten where they need to be on time, most have adjusted to being back to school and work without complaint and we are actually eating better because meals are being planned in advance instead of waiting until late afternoon to decide "what's for dinner?" The main reason for the physical success of our transition has been that everyone has stepped up.<br /><br />Alex is completely independent and needs no prodding or even a wake up call to get to class on time or complete his homework. He handles his own money and the purchasing of school supplies and books without a reminder. He is motivated and disciplined to make his education priority 1.<br /><br />Zack has taken on the important role of chauffeur. He gets Caroline to and from school each day and picks Maria up from extended day at her school so she doesn't have to stay more than an hour or so. He has even begun taking our neighbor to school two mornings a week. This has been a huge help.<br /><br />Caroline has stepped in to take care of Maria when neither Mom or Dad are home in the late afternoon. She'll get Maria in and out of the tub (I don't even want to know why she is so dirty every day after school) and then they'll usually settle in for a little bit of the Disney channel while Caroline gets her homework started.<br /><br />And then there's our family All-Star...Don. He has stepped up in a way that most men never would. He has taken on...drum roll please...grocery shopping and Sam's club. I know you are jealous. And he's done this in pure Don fashion. With organization and a spread sheet. Yup. Our grocery list is now organized by aisle to make shopping as quick and efficient as possible. I just have to plan the meals and make the list. Then *poof*! I come home to a kitchen full of groceries.<br /><br />Don has also Don the majority of the dishes when he's home and even "took one for the team" by allowing our smelly dog into his pristine car for a ride to the vet. Y'all, if you only knew how much Don deplores the smell of dog and the trail of dog hair.<br /><br />Don is truly a servant-leader in action. If it weren't for him I think you'd find me rolled up into the fetal position, rocking back and forth, back and forth. Instead I even have a few minutes to blog. I am a blessed woman.<br /><br />So you may be asking yourself "what's all the whining about in that first paragraph?" Because everyone's doing MY job. Truth be told (even though I may have played the martyr at times) I found great satisfaction in meeting every one of my families' needs. Now they're doing just fine or even better without my help. Ok, maybe it is a pride issue.<br /><br />I also enjoyed being with my girls 24/7 and being in complete control of our schedule. We could do what we wanted and come and go as we pleased. We played...a lot. Now it's work/school, dinner/dishes, homework/bedtime. Every. Single. Day. The ironic thing is that my girls are really happy and routine is good. It just seems I've had to say goodbye to one of the best years of my mommy career. And goodbyes are difficult.<br /><br />This is not to say that our new "normal" is so bad or that it wasn't time to rejoin the real world. Maybe it's good that everyone share the load for a change. Maybe we'll really appreciate the hours that we share together every day.<br /><br />Simply stated: Maybe we're all growing up.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-10870210300148649992008-08-24T16:56:00.000-07:002008-08-24T18:53:10.684-07:00When good eggs go bad...We awoke Sunday morning to a more relaxed pace than the rest of this week. Even Saturday saw Caroline and I leaving the house before 7:30 a.m. for a conference at church. But on Sunday no one even opened their eyes until a few minutes after 7:00. By 7:30 it was time to start getting up and getting ready for Sunday school with plenty of time for leisurely showers and unrushed breakfasts. So when Maria asked for eggs for breakfast I was happy to oblige.<br /><br />Before I continue I should probably tell you that I think eggs are disgusting. Once and a while I will take a bite if it's smothered with cheese. Other than that I obstain from egg consumption. And the idea of cooking and smelling eggs first thing in the morning is equally unappealing. Maria however, LOVES egg. In order to meet her dietary requests and not gag in process I've begun cooking her scrambled eggs in the microwave. Quick, easy, and relatively odor free. It's worked really well. For months. Until today.<br /><br />Half way through the cooking process (about 1 minute and a half) we heard a horrendous explosion. Maria and I both stopped, looked at each other, and ran to the microwave where we discovered this...<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SLIGV8AUZvI/AAAAAAAAALI/dFNfLeqXogs/s1600-h/IMG_4731.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238256290539792114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xllI6fz8Nug/SLIGV8AUZvI/AAAAAAAAALI/dFNfLeqXogs/s320/IMG_4731.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Can I get an OMG from y'all?<br /><br />Since I had the time to clean it up, I was able to laugh at the absurdity of the exploded mess. Maria found it harder to find the humor in the situation since she was now foregoing her "cheesey eggs" for a bowl of cold Rice Krispies. Once I took the picture it became a little funnier to her as well.<br /><br />As I cleaned up the egg shrapnel I kept thinking to myself, "Thank you Lord that this hadn't happened on a week morning." I think that would have pushed me right over the proverbial edge. <br /><br />Don and I took turns cleaning it up in between getting ready (now at a rushed pace). Apparently it smelled really bad too. Mercifully, I've had a cold all week and couldn't smell it. Caroline would pull her shirt over her nose every time she entered the kitchen. Don turned on the exhaust fan on the stovetop. Maria thought is smelled delightful. Go figure.<br /><br />Maria and I did managed to make it to Sunday school only a few minutes late (Don and Caroline <del>bailed on us</del> left early since Don was teaching this morning). I was actually pretty proud of myself for not freaking out. What good would that do, right?<br /><br />Simply stated: No use crying over exploded eggs. </div>My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872349660729253096.post-34489373070855668882008-08-19T20:16:00.001-07:002008-08-19T20:17:05.905-07:00First day of work...Simply stated: too tired to blog.My name is Stacie...http://www.blogger.com/profile/03598695528289538903noreply@blogger.com2