tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68786032713186791632024-03-18T21:20:54.557-07:00this wild-haired girlAustinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-36951677168459247402013-02-22T20:22:00.000-08:002013-04-14T14:37:27.253-07:00the birth of baby tallulah.<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It has been almost a year since I attended my very first birth, the birth of Tallulah Fern, my best friend's darling baby girl. I finally managed to find the words to tell the story. Enjoy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Caitlin had planned for several friends to attend her second baby's birth. <a href="http://sanguineinseattle.wordpress.com/">Charla</a> was to take pictures, I was to look after Atticus, and other friends Melissa and Analiesa (Ani) were also invited as support if they could make it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On March 12-13, Charla and I had to be at the <a href="http://perinatalprofessionals.org/">perinatal professionals conference</a> in Salt Lake, due to our employment with <a href="http://www.fns.usda.gov/wic">WIC</a>. We decided to drive up in a separate car and skip the carpool with our other co-workers, so we could leave in the middle in the case that Caitlin went into labor. This was actually really nice, because on the drives up and back from the conference, Charla and I had a chance to chat and get to know one another better (despite being acquaintances for years, we really hadn't sat down and talked one-on-one much at all). During the conference we kept our phones close, and checked them often (Caitlin had already dilated to five centimeters at this point, even though she wasn't in active labor yet), but nothing happened and we attended both days of the conference without incident.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Then on Wednesday, March 14th (the day after the conference ended), I woke up at about 8am, got ready, per usual, and headed out for a full day's work at my other job in Salem. Now that the conference was over, I knew that Cait was safe to go into labor anytime, so I continued keeping my cell phone handy. Sure enough, I was about ten minutes into my drive to Salem when I indeed got a text from Cait, saying she had been having some contractions that morning, and that she was going to get in the tub with Atticus to see if they stuck around. She told me she'd let me know if they picked up, and so I continued on my way to work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">About fifteen minutes after I arrived in Salem, Tim texted to let me know he and Cait were headed to the hospital. I frantically called my boss (who had not yet arrived at the office) to ask for permission to leave. I lamented the fact that I had forgotten to warn him that I may need to leave at a moments notice at some point around Cait's due date. Luckily, he didn't seem to mind (he and his wife have seven children, six of whom were born at home, so he was very understanding). We rescheduled my day of work, and in a fit of stomach butterflies and excitement, I gathered my things and ran out the door. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The drive to Timpanogos Hospital from Salem is about thirty minutes long. During the drive I had some great quiet moments to prepare my mind for the experience a little bit. This was to be the first birth I had ever attended. I had seen plenty of video of live births. I had read lots of birth stories. I even spent some time considering becoming a midwife. The birth process itself was not anything new to me. Still, I wasn't sure how I'd react, being in the situation in real life. Either way though, I hoped for the best, channeled peace and calm, and by the time I arrived at the hospital around ten that morning, I felt just about ready. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I walked in and told the nurses my name through the intercom. The automatic door swung open, and they had my name on a list. They then gave me a visitor badge, and pointed me in the direction of Cait's room. When I walked in, she was in the middle of a contraction, bouncing on the birth ball with Tim behind her, applying <a href="http://www.birthingnaturally.net/cn/technique/hipsqueeze.html">counter pressure</a> to her hips. I sat down on the couch with Atticus and waited out the contraction.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">All pictures taken by </span><a href="http://sanguineinseattle.wordpress.com/" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Charla</a> (unless otherwise noted)</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Once the contraction leveled out, Cait realized I was in the room, and was excited to see me. We chatted a bit, and I noticed that the nurses already had the jacuzzi tub filling up (Timpanogos hospital has one "natural" birthing room, which included a nice, big, tub). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After she got in the tub, things were pretty normal for a good long while. Cait sat in the tub leaning over the edge, and the rest of us sat around the tub and chatted with her in between contractions, and waited quietly while she worked her way through contraction after contraction. I attempted to tend Atticus for awhile, but with his dad still in the room, he was having none of it. So, Tim took over, and I joined Cait, Charla, and Melissa next to the tub. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Right up to transition, Cait was smiling, laughing and joking with us between contractions. I think she was excited. Excited to be in labor, excited to give birth, excited to meet her baby girl, excited to be surrounded by some of her best friends. There were a couple of times when I was almost startled by her ability to suddenly switch from the intensity of a contraction to being completely fine. One specific time was when she was moaning through a contraction, coming down the back half of it, and all of a sudden remembered/announced that March 14th is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taylor_Hanson">Taylor Hanson</a>'s birthday, too. We all had a good laugh over that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As the contractions and deep birthing moans became more intense, Charla, Melissa and I seemed to instinctively draw closer to Cait's side. Eventually all three of us perched along the edges of the tub, alternately massaging her back or shoulders, pouring water down her back, applying counter-pressure to her hips and back, stroking her hair, and speaking whatever calming words we could. The over-arching thing I remember from this birth is the amazing flow we developed. I wish I could fully describe it! My beautiful friend Rachel <a href="http://knowmoreastranger.blogspot.com/2013/02/i-came-along-i-wrote-song-for-youthe.html">recently gave birth to her own beautiful baby girl</a>, and she described having her doulas surrounding her like this: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">"I was always surrounded by strong arms, affirming words. I felt cradled. Okay, doula-ing is glorious, it’s like this dance and rhythm we all fall into, orchestrated by the acute need of one body. Humming and singing. Pull back, fall together. Clench and release.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">" </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">It really did feel like a dance, a rhythm, a song. Something that we fell into instinctively without really thinking about it. </span>It was very meditative, and peaceful, while somehow managing to be also quite intense. Feverish, even. Yet <span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">nothing was on my mind, really. I was very much just present with Cait, letting my body instinctively act to fill any need that wasn't being met by the other women in the circle.</span> There were very few words spoken between us regarding what each of us should be doing, but still we somehow all intuitively knew where the other was, and what needed to be done and who needed to do it. It was this amazing warmth, this tugging of our hearts as though all of them were tied to one another, and as the strings pulled tighter and Cait's labor became more intense, our hearts all stretched and grew in size, together. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpnMZ7qEYiKdlXnPDD9atyU3z-CTnWRk1g-idpliQeJ1v2im6nxSdgXtAq6jT-QoRZbeUN99ycgNHYis5wBN0FqMx7AMmElb8VWMKpCbODH1LDBf1aJSfnm0uvfUYsEJwUoN-lwGPFJO9W/s1600/25.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpnMZ7qEYiKdlXnPDD9atyU3z-CTnWRk1g-idpliQeJ1v2im6nxSdgXtAq6jT-QoRZbeUN99ycgNHYis5wBN0FqMx7AMmElb8VWMKpCbODH1LDBf1aJSfnm0uvfUYsEJwUoN-lwGPFJO9W/s640/25.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Eventually things got more difficult, and there were shorter breaks in between contractions. Cait became quieter and more inwardly focused, and we all followed suit. Silently we continued on with the flow we had set up early on. At one point all the massaging and touch became too much for her, so we all backed off and Tim got in the tub with her, but shortly after we were all drawn to her side once again. We spoke very little. Caitlin would moan through a contraction and as she'd come down the other end I'd notice a few or all of us humming along with her moans, her birth song. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It was during this time that Analiesa joined us (having had to drive down from Salt Lake). She took a seat on the floor next to the tub, near Caitlin's head, and seemed to recognize our flow and gently find her place in it pretty seamlessly. Her words were firm and strong, inviting Cait to keep her focus, to stay on top, to keep her moans low and centered in order to help her body continue to open up. Her strength and confidence were a welcome addition to the group.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">One of my favorite photos from the day (taken by Tim for instagram)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Soon, Cait began to complain of nausea, which is a tell-tale sign of transition between the first stage of labor (contractions and dilation), and the second stage (pushing the baby out). Charla passed a rag with some peppermint essential oils on it, which I wiped her forehead with, then left near her face to hopefully help soothe the upset tummy. Cait's talk quickly changed during this time from happy and peppy, to a little more hopeless. Things like, "I don't think I can do it," and "nope, it's too hard, I'm going to die." Hearing her say those things made me ache for her, but it also made me smile, because I knew that meant we were getting close. We all collectively breathed out positive, encouraging words. "You can do it, Cait. You <i>are</i> doing it. You're doing beautifully. You have got this under control." Positivity and encouragement was seeping from our very being. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I remember distinctly at one point during transition, Cait's head turned suddenly and her eyes, filled with desperation, fixed on mine. She let out a tiny helpless sound as she looked to me. In that moment, I felt nothing but peace and calm. I remember stroking her blazing red hair and forehead with my wet fingers, and repeating those very words over again, "you are already doing it. You are doing beautifully." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Caitlin was still in the tub when she started feeling a little more pushy. She had been given express instructions by the midwife and nurses that the baby was not allowed to be born in the tub, though she could start pushing in the tub as long as she felt like she would be able to move herself out of the water before the actual birth. We began to drain the water out as soon as we could tell she was close, but it was not soon enough. Before we could do anything, the room was filled to the brim with nurses and people, everywhere. Caitlin was frozen, focused, pushing, while still squatting in the tub. Ani, and I were doing our best to coax Cait out of the tub and over to the bed, but to no avail. Cait's labor up to this point had been very peaceful and positive for the most part. Unfortunately, the nurses chose this most intense time to bring a pretty solid heap of negativity into the room. When they saw that she might not get out of the tub before the baby was born, they chimed in with comments like "your baby will be in danger if you deliver in the tub," and "somebody call respiratory, this baby's going to be born in the water." This burning anger began building up inside of me at these ignorant nurses who would dare say something so completely false and just downright rude to a laboring mother. I was in the process of formulating something coherent to say to silence these nurses, when Cait suddenly cried, "shut up!" which thankfully gave them all pause. Just after that, she reached down and could feel the baby's head, and announced to all of us that baby girl was "right there!" From the sound of her voice, she seemed flustered and frustrated (and rightly so). I think she wasn't sure how she could possibly move herself from the tub to the bed with the baby so close.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The hustle, trying to figure out how to help Cait over to the bed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It was the midwife who finally said the magic words, referencing the fact that one of Cait's big goals with this birth was to have lots of close "<a href="http://www.nbci.ca/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=82:the-importance-of-skin-to-skin-contact-&catid=5:information&Itemid=17">skin-to-skin</a>" time with baby. The midwife reminded her that if she wanted that, she would need to get out of the tub and avoid having the baby born in water. That did it (that and the fact that the contraction she was having ended), and she let Ani and I grab an arm on either side and walk her quickly to the hospital bed where she got on her knees, put her arms up against the tall back of the adjustable hospital bed, and pushed the baby out in just a couple pushes with all of us surrounding her. Bright red, vernixy, Tallulah Fern was born within just a couple minutes of Cait getting on the bed, sometime around 3pm. The midwife handed Tallulah through Cait's legs while Cait turned over, and then Tallulah was placed on Cait's chest. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkotPgV0GPebbwGGsAqV8QPKKKL_2YfYbDKrdF-jvw2mke9PmMZ7wRY1Q51lX2HLY_IetsxRsVKJxIC6hhB_8P7gS6PwZFqqQZRbV6DPoTBv_88m9KkmSACpfLMoh_ndbT6VqvlINN-iN/s1600/51.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkotPgV0GPebbwGGsAqV8QPKKKL_2YfYbDKrdF-jvw2mke9PmMZ7wRY1Q51lX2HLY_IetsxRsVKJxIC6hhB_8P7gS6PwZFqqQZRbV6DPoTBv_88m9KkmSACpfLMoh_ndbT6VqvlINN-iN/s640/51.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9eYAOcXzRdSR6iSm8u0FcO6jMRghapexPY0paf9cGFTFMUeIdc9IS8ycot1wKVl5maskKx1VgsOuH3al1-_0Y9pIhmVNbKhACjuKJr5fgTBRAlT6NtHB0GEUnbXMxp2urJLpQBFXeQ6oq/s1600/53.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9eYAOcXzRdSR6iSm8u0FcO6jMRghapexPY0paf9cGFTFMUeIdc9IS8ycot1wKVl5maskKx1VgsOuH3al1-_0Y9pIhmVNbKhACjuKJr5fgTBRAlT6NtHB0GEUnbXMxp2urJLpQBFXeQ6oq/s640/53.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINF-wKl_a83ia1RMxvk9ZJIJhZiz1MrVfNDMzbxrkMUe-j2dMQuDXip8eoOjOXmMoy6IXixC8QoBbUy2ltEQtCfRKnsTodp0GTaCVZRjG5Gi2w_qLJVVgFPUMq2AJiIcTiftvS1qHb2-5/s1600/57.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINF-wKl_a83ia1RMxvk9ZJIJhZiz1MrVfNDMzbxrkMUe-j2dMQuDXip8eoOjOXmMoy6IXixC8QoBbUy2ltEQtCfRKnsTodp0GTaCVZRjG5Gi2w_qLJVVgFPUMq2AJiIcTiftvS1qHb2-5/s640/57.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It was the most beautiful moment. She was as red as a ripe strawberry, with little peach fuzz hair, and long, slender, toes and fingers. She was perfect. After the umbilical cord stopped pulsating, Tim cut it, and she was weighed, measured, and checked out, mostly while still in Cait's arms. Then Cait and baby were wrapped up tight, and they got all the skin-to-skin time they could want. Baby ate at the breast, and all was right with the world. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlMgSjneTIl8a-MzJYOOjytyeauLPBrN_S-TDWFHe-rFijd2LtRvdDQjWRx-KU5X2J2bWromApVkjSY_Zf6J9Aj7i9DJ62YiBsPxu27ZFKt-zm713795LAP-q_LLign9wslIuJptMVIkA/s1600/IMG_0098.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTlMgSjneTIl8a-MzJYOOjytyeauLPBrN_S-TDWFHe-rFijd2LtRvdDQjWRx-KU5X2J2bWromApVkjSY_Zf6J9Aj7i9DJ62YiBsPxu27ZFKt-zm713795LAP-q_LLign9wslIuJptMVIkA/s640/IMG_0098.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Another one of my favorites, taken later that same day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My entire body ached in the days following Tallulah's birth. I remember calling Charla while I was on lunch break at work, the day after. I was sitting in my car with the windows rolled down, enjoying the early spring breeze while we talked. I brought up how achy I felt, and she exclaimed that she felt achy, too! We laughed about it, and mentioning how it was probably from all the massaging and counter-pressure. But I had this pressing feeling that somehow, my body, our bodies, had absorbed some of the pain of the process, just by being there. Oh, how that idea struck me! It seemed so fitting. As humans we always talk of wishing we could help carry one another's struggles, whatever they might be. How beautiful to imagine that I had, in a very concrete way, done just that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The rest of the day, and the next, I spent exhausted but rejuvenated and happy. Those few weeks were some of the craziest for me of all of 2012 (new job, performing in Vagina Monologues, conferences, maintaining my other two jobs, etc.) and yet, attending Tallulah's birth brought me a deeper sense of feeling, an awareness of all of my senses, and an awareness of the beauty of life. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It made me feel alive in a way that I hadn't before. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">***************</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGjPRWk8oFs-VAjqzIVJohIU0flV8XUfJ-H4o49oBsdTZG0IZUIaPaiXtOFp5bMgrvo_DKhIb8xeBLN-tJnHa-CRai2YXC9hZxh08sQzLQxBJ66AzPhOVi-6SxU7DeijvNK_67DVElQhs/s1600/tallulah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNGjPRWk8oFs-VAjqzIVJohIU0flV8XUfJ-H4o49oBsdTZG0IZUIaPaiXtOFp5bMgrvo_DKhIb8xeBLN-tJnHa-CRai2YXC9hZxh08sQzLQxBJ66AzPhOVi-6SxU7DeijvNK_67DVElQhs/s640/tallulah.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tallulah and Cait come to see me perform in The Vagina Monologues</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbfGQr_iFrJP5Accew5_EG1LMOHWcjfF9LWd9xwAxVzv3DVB9OnE3I4mkaVA4l0nTD5woWucgYE9Z5zKO1v9o6wXto16yfkaZo-N-gw9dqOmWvCfBgNl1ntKwtrY-uyhDjUpfQQgUo-GS/s1600/tallulah+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbfGQr_iFrJP5Accew5_EG1LMOHWcjfF9LWd9xwAxVzv3DVB9OnE3I4mkaVA4l0nTD5woWucgYE9Z5zKO1v9o6wXto16yfkaZo-N-gw9dqOmWvCfBgNl1ntKwtrY-uyhDjUpfQQgUo-GS/s640/tallulah+2.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">3 month old Tallulah, camping of course</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">-------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As I was writing this post, I took a moment to look back through our blog archives to reminisce on our friendship. If you want some background, see <a href="http://timandcait.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-last-night-with-austinwhy-my-husband.html">any</a> <a href="http://timandcait.blogspot.com/2012/10/when-austin-comes-to-call.html">one</a> of <a href="http://austinoutsidethelines.blogspot.com/search?q=cait">these</a> <a href="http://timandcait.blogspot.com/2008/11/ode-to-austin.html">posts</a>!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You can read <a href="http://timandcait.blogspot.com/2012/03/tallulah-birth-part-i_21.html">Caitlin's version</a> of the birth story over on <a href="http://timandcait.blogspot.com/2012/03/tallulah-birth-part-i_21.html">her blog</a> (where you can also see super cute photos of an almost one-year-old Tallulah!) (and thank you Cait, for giving me permission to share my version of this story).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And if you want to know about our matching bracelets and the necklace Cait is wearing, <a href="http://timandcait.blogspot.com/2012/09/blessingway.html">click here</a>. </span><br />
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Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-17170534556854248432013-02-11T21:13:00.000-08:002013-02-11T21:13:31.173-08:00an ode to Malcolm.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjj4SCYNHb4RHETeUveJ8oXrmwyrLgaRx2xF3vKfia9ylXe-vyaMqR7H9Rww5wSQTVC-0wXuYi6LjnvZ56ahuxfCfIF0UCFyp1k0BbKmn8GoKeqDE4C7e_p5C0XxVIRDF_GuVwdlL0AEDO/s1600/austin's+OCT+2008+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjj4SCYNHb4RHETeUveJ8oXrmwyrLgaRx2xF3vKfia9ylXe-vyaMqR7H9Rww5wSQTVC-0wXuYi6LjnvZ56ahuxfCfIF0UCFyp1k0BbKmn8GoKeqDE4C7e_p5C0XxVIRDF_GuVwdlL0AEDO/s640/austin's+OCT+2008+003.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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This is our dog Malcolm.<br />
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He was old, got sick, and had to be put to sleep tonight.<br />
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Malcolm has been around for about half of my life (since I was about thirteen, I think). He was an awesome pet in a lot of ways. He was really well-trained, gentle, patient. He was a puppy when the girls were little, and they were not gentle with him by any means (per usual, with toddlers/young children), but he never attempted to bite or harm them in anyway for that. He was also extremely energetic and loved playing soccer (he destroyed many a soccer ball that way) and fetch with any ball that anyone would throw for him.<br />
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My favorite thing about him, though, was how sometimes it felt like he was the best friend a person could ever have. When I (or anyone) would look right at him and talk to him, he'd tilt his head to the side with every phrase, as if he were listening intently and thinking about what I had just said.<br />
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And sometimes, when I was feeling sad, I would lay with him on the floor. I'd squeeze him tight and bury my face in his fur, and he would just be there. For as long as I needed him to be. No questions, never in a hurry to move on to something else. Just a listening ear and a patient hug.<br />
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I will miss that.<br />
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And now, a shameless onslaught of pictures. Because this is my blog, and I can.<br />
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Also because this dog was full of personality, and it was hilarious.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHgPwq6fhoEIE5iTFybJuHMmuKhMhDGLCVp4QdLt-qvW6jtt5Y1jzwdi6vrRljkYHvXHUIm-E7Pf52X4rthUumkJjFs9Ia3IR0cKC5EmPOfVIM5NV2iYuALyqAntXwLGYJN8dSjyF91K3/s1600/austin's+OCT+2008+010+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHgPwq6fhoEIE5iTFybJuHMmuKhMhDGLCVp4QdLt-qvW6jtt5Y1jzwdi6vrRljkYHvXHUIm-E7Pf52X4rthUumkJjFs9Ia3IR0cKC5EmPOfVIM5NV2iYuALyqAntXwLGYJN8dSjyF91K3/s640/austin's+OCT+2008+010+copy.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8Y1Nua5MJdgMRFpz9LJsqm7NwPffAmq71ooDr6AniWz5Kh1HJ4T0Okz-i8EeKYr3EbDri1woY9_De-hgd578FAVfeY3Yl7IdUbEqCiC2yIbEQIAmdXQqoAU5Ivt6fVWBUVEd89YAEZvR/s1600/austin's+OCT+2008+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8Y1Nua5MJdgMRFpz9LJsqm7NwPffAmq71ooDr6AniWz5Kh1HJ4T0Okz-i8EeKYr3EbDri1woY9_De-hgd578FAVfeY3Yl7IdUbEqCiC2yIbEQIAmdXQqoAU5Ivt6fVWBUVEd89YAEZvR/s640/austin's+OCT+2008+007.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6sF-HN0RUekf7OFa1nw8dJ5ureB0ZZ-5Od_RUH1hX61_sub48hhP1rgHtr7oGtd_3vRLZsJbXMb5bJX1nvYA3y6ZdfRHnikmQmlH7KdfpIVNatloyitNCwAZPH7F9II2-STu4ZgAPdpfJ/s1600/austin's+OCT+2008+008+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6sF-HN0RUekf7OFa1nw8dJ5ureB0ZZ-5Od_RUH1hX61_sub48hhP1rgHtr7oGtd_3vRLZsJbXMb5bJX1nvYA3y6ZdfRHnikmQmlH7KdfpIVNatloyitNCwAZPH7F9II2-STu4ZgAPdpfJ/s640/austin's+OCT+2008+008+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiCxDxPcSijNWS3oEfW1Q9klxMjW9UNmLmPyRETMzoHxk90yAOIQwjqYygBNXcMv0RqOmkdC_z0owcjAHImWCnb5h_xj-0nku6cVq_o8uC5rfyvvVvuFOzgJOOUEsQpWk8IADVThG0YTy/s1600/austin's+OCT+2008+006+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiCxDxPcSijNWS3oEfW1Q9klxMjW9UNmLmPyRETMzoHxk90yAOIQwjqYygBNXcMv0RqOmkdC_z0owcjAHImWCnb5h_xj-0nku6cVq_o8uC5rfyvvVvuFOzgJOOUEsQpWk8IADVThG0YTy/s640/austin's+OCT+2008+006+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQifmQ9teHQ_dfDe0WswNF-ROr5bKPvOy-X4CLksd010vhuxnhTK8RaJyumCh1XEWIH00evfrZP6H0cOCg6ZEEuWKoI6wZCqRSXN6e3aTpN2UUjz4gyXQvHALro-CN7utI41c6ySiGLgB/s1600/austin's+OCT+2008+005+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQifmQ9teHQ_dfDe0WswNF-ROr5bKPvOy-X4CLksd010vhuxnhTK8RaJyumCh1XEWIH00evfrZP6H0cOCg6ZEEuWKoI6wZCqRSXN6e3aTpN2UUjz4gyXQvHALro-CN7utI41c6ySiGLgB/s640/austin's+OCT+2008+005+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsFgG57cQWvkZyIaipZ9IuuXm1WKeZhbqMFgHB5xTRdY7kqAJ2i8WzAUrC3DruDSXoaO84aZrRI_6hgFbru78e4UdVfxgb1a2fVXuuDwhhU6rFaVTLVWGEqfOUNTQPV54NeQvKltsVR3s/s1600/153_529959415099_8770_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsFgG57cQWvkZyIaipZ9IuuXm1WKeZhbqMFgHB5xTRdY7kqAJ2i8WzAUrC3DruDSXoaO84aZrRI_6hgFbru78e4UdVfxgb1a2fVXuuDwhhU6rFaVTLVWGEqfOUNTQPV54NeQvKltsVR3s/s640/153_529959415099_8770_n.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qiJV032iPaUsmfaQikH_VS7sewEdwyoo1E0N18gZRhWnqoHxaJm0V-LvIOlxqXaa-ysNLcywlpgU8p5_w9K0TPZWMpXONmfNUW71XofzRnJ-Mr4LtIevVR8q6zfb4TuhL7XFQHV6PUat/s1600/christmas+malcolm+1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qiJV032iPaUsmfaQikH_VS7sewEdwyoo1E0N18gZRhWnqoHxaJm0V-LvIOlxqXaa-ysNLcywlpgU8p5_w9K0TPZWMpXONmfNUW71XofzRnJ-Mr4LtIevVR8q6zfb4TuhL7XFQHV6PUat/s640/christmas+malcolm+1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8TZeffwJux_TcldW9SdMb9GLkVnFfCPzzFQaGb2YOQ0_tn8d-6mpwFs0YpOQ4rSEXZ_25OvLJrqUCePDB5ZuX83k9j5rzCV52Eyli_32aVLujDgUBu4x1FYkuSwzt3wtH0jxBjgm3nCQ/s1600/61_518573377809_7044_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8TZeffwJux_TcldW9SdMb9GLkVnFfCPzzFQaGb2YOQ0_tn8d-6mpwFs0YpOQ4rSEXZ_25OvLJrqUCePDB5ZuX83k9j5rzCV52Eyli_32aVLujDgUBu4x1FYkuSwzt3wtH0jxBjgm3nCQ/s640/61_518573377809_7044_n.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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opening his tiny stocking (he was a great gift-opener)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55gVb41F2REDketeydVIYCKQF5yTeVAmqBlXW6_NYVKmTHOOUJYXVGElX0ni9BUYJEtbM2fSCxkfdjzw2TTK-N0tTMBHb_R6VKAYN0S2Rn517HWVL_wzjGn6ZD-rjXt4RboZqG8S1lCrC/s1600/172_531520401869_2849_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55gVb41F2REDketeydVIYCKQF5yTeVAmqBlXW6_NYVKmTHOOUJYXVGElX0ni9BUYJEtbM2fSCxkfdjzw2TTK-N0tTMBHb_R6VKAYN0S2Rn517HWVL_wzjGn6ZD-rjXt4RboZqG8S1lCrC/s640/172_531520401869_2849_n.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
Christmas morning at grandma's.</div>
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enjoying his princess sleeping bag</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJWNLoV_YKZvhyphenhyphenyH9GtTnhpj1lnURc0-ER5ac6a_qZyxg9VKzdZy8oiFSiecdDdRzHQSKZbvG0txQCbJr1HZzVPEaI00CJgNF0uq029MxDkAMEamrfWAq33loMFqn2QKr6sSx_otFun7Ua/s1600/christmas+malcolm+3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJWNLoV_YKZvhyphenhyphenyH9GtTnhpj1lnURc0-ER5ac6a_qZyxg9VKzdZy8oiFSiecdDdRzHQSKZbvG0txQCbJr1HZzVPEaI00CJgNF0uq029MxDkAMEamrfWAq33loMFqn2QKr6sSx_otFun7Ua/s640/christmas+malcolm+3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Playing ball in the snow (You will never meet a dog who was more obsessed with playing ball. )</div>
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Snuggles with Katie</div>
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He loved being swaddled.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDwNwVLcHLzJ9hQ8p0D1UdUzniim2AObdrnbc9GdfrhOPlc4RnrUdkKkZz9yEbYpXcCyiClG5D0I3YI8xnXPd6AHoprqvnNZa8v_0HDV6mt0r-uoIxtM-rtXIW595pyEUFn4j9FiD0p9w/s1600/172_531520092489_1806_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDwNwVLcHLzJ9hQ8p0D1UdUzniim2AObdrnbc9GdfrhOPlc4RnrUdkKkZz9yEbYpXcCyiClG5D0I3YI8xnXPd6AHoprqvnNZa8v_0HDV6mt0r-uoIxtM-rtXIW595pyEUFn4j9FiD0p9w/s640/172_531520092489_1806_n.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_FOro6Ux-1h0U0VBirmM8lsWHuvyv8hsKrrglmlP2ojRD0oDCd9NwduThXClFKMn5xGMUOtGtCSxnMUO1CBH5zmMfIdnuQgpYPxWhbyP5TAI1czXsU0Q8i84ojMgVBA6F0FHz2tQEZB-2/s1600/153_529960158609_5997_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_FOro6Ux-1h0U0VBirmM8lsWHuvyv8hsKrrglmlP2ojRD0oDCd9NwduThXClFKMn5xGMUOtGtCSxnMUO1CBH5zmMfIdnuQgpYPxWhbyP5TAI1czXsU0Q8i84ojMgVBA6F0FHz2tQEZB-2/s640/153_529960158609_5997_n.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
It was ridiculous really, how much he liked it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxFN4w2_Q_35Iu7utez0cbTjO8ARCHq1fcB9ccKWJKDQ-ec0TwPbZsMij0U92PwvdLErx1tHTInINM0ZPv5esoXs2Ni20WnVvuwblSqKDvpndECYtdkQfP2CKwezshui8ZRA5FEmlAY_T/s1600/41_518573048469_7007_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxFN4w2_Q_35Iu7utez0cbTjO8ARCHq1fcB9ccKWJKDQ-ec0TwPbZsMij0U92PwvdLErx1tHTInINM0ZPv5esoXs2Ni20WnVvuwblSqKDvpndECYtdkQfP2CKwezshui8ZRA5FEmlAY_T/s640/41_518573048469_7007_n.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
in the old house.<br />
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just hangin' out with Oreo</div>
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getting some pets from Emily<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQKyh8a0k5YOWNh4gEhE1XGYgY6l6Dq3g_PZ1o_nF8RHuZ_k9wRvs5E4JLBidLZKur2Va6rIjQdLHFei9JAEMlbqjR7oKAnqCoLIgJM7p6smWz7zSf1-gGpanSrzBtoyteutb1A3LChr6/s1600/canada+and+mckenzie+040+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQKyh8a0k5YOWNh4gEhE1XGYgY6l6Dq3g_PZ1o_nF8RHuZ_k9wRvs5E4JLBidLZKur2Va6rIjQdLHFei9JAEMlbqjR7oKAnqCoLIgJM7p6smWz7zSf1-gGpanSrzBtoyteutb1A3LChr6/s640/canada+and+mckenzie+040+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMf5TqCDUSTWy9mFG5jDRC-_UG4IABrwJOSXwgUeQoOFDysTYCbTZ7P76mzaMxQWyEuYX8xelRX79i7rHcVJlY1URkckU1kYfF5G3-2bQGbvJlVFJmseRR-k-v__xqnCXXprwUJ_oAsZn/s1600/canada+and+mckenzie+035+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMf5TqCDUSTWy9mFG5jDRC-_UG4IABrwJOSXwgUeQoOFDysTYCbTZ7P76mzaMxQWyEuYX8xelRX79i7rHcVJlY1URkckU1kYfF5G3-2bQGbvJlVFJmseRR-k-v__xqnCXXprwUJ_oAsZn/s640/canada+and+mckenzie+035+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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and helping me vacuum.</div>
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Having a serious talk with Katie...</div>
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...until he tips over.</div>
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dressing up for halloween</div>
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giving lola a ride</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-e5d9N352mhvby-fwDfsjCEi6QP8t_cGFz9isHN3M_Qg4dkfbwaxfpsEo7twz3DQEg3lXw8F2O0iPmHwbluBPgwpulI2YKxdC2C1wMTjuoQ9N5P3klK5aKsPrjXUH54LAhWPJnD8QzCX/s1600/20737_714270549109_3413021_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-e5d9N352mhvby-fwDfsjCEi6QP8t_cGFz9isHN3M_Qg4dkfbwaxfpsEo7twz3DQEg3lXw8F2O0iPmHwbluBPgwpulI2YKxdC2C1wMTjuoQ9N5P3klK5aKsPrjXUH54LAhWPJnD8QzCX/s640/20737_714270549109_3413021_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Riding in the car (he was an excellent traveler, really)</div>
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more Katie snuggles</div>
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and kisses.</div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Oh, Malcolm. We had some great times. Thanks for always being there. </span></div>
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Rest in peace, little buddy.</div>
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Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-43395598509265498392013-02-08T16:54:00.001-08:002013-02-08T16:54:26.910-08:00beyonce.I love everything about <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson/2013/02/a-prophetic-dance-of-power-not-sex-beyonce-the-super-bowl-and-durga/">this article</a>.<br />
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and her super bowl performance.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/kKVorba5GLs?rel=0" width="640"></iframe>
Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-14452435013508586792013-01-13T16:28:00.002-08:002013-01-13T16:28:43.227-08:00sister winterI don't know about the rest of y'all, but I am still listening to Christmas music on occasion (because... why not?)<br />
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Thought I'd share this <a href="http://tinyhomemusic.com/Tiny_Home.html">Tiny Home</a> cover of an old classic (Sister Winter, by Sufjan Stevens).<br />
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Don't tell Sufjan, but I actually like the Tiny Home cover better than the original! ;)<br />
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<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="100" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/v=2/track=3574285163/size=venti/bgcol=FFFFFF/linkcol=4285BB/" style="display: block; height: 100px; position: relative; width: 400px;" width="400"><a href="http://tinyhome.bandcamp.com/track/sister-winter">Sister Winter by Tiny Home</a></iframe>
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p.s. their <a href="http://tinyhome.bandcamp.com/album/christmas-carols-for-our-mothers">entire Christmas album</a> is pretty sweet. You can listen to it in its entirety at the link. Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-74414060480156307982013-01-08T02:00:00.000-08:002013-01-08T02:00:02.279-08:00La Familleomg.<br />
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I am in love with the raw, wild and crazy of family life that <a href="http://lab.carbonmade.com/projects/2693265#1">this photography project</a> captures.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*thanks <a href="http://www.designmom.com/2013/01/la-famille/">Design Mom</a>!</span><br />
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<br />Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-40688566651283116572013-01-07T02:00:00.000-08:002013-01-07T02:00:00.670-08:00another new song.The beginning lyrics of this song remind me of my childhood on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anderson_Island_(Washington)">the island</a>. Sometime I'll have to write down some of the stories I remember from that part of my life. It really was a magical, magical place to grow up.<br />
<br />
Either way, I've listened to this song many times over the past few weeks. It is just so peaceful and calming.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">p.s. please excuse the lame graphics on the video. I couldn't find any good videos for this song, and I didn't like the official video as much as the version I heard initially on spotify. But my desire to share this song with you outweighed my embarrassment, so here you go!)</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="480" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ed_IPf2YECc?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I was a little girl </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">alone in my little world </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">who dreamed of </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">a little home for me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I played pretend between the trees, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">and fed my houseguests bark and leaves, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">and laughed in my pretty bed of green. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I had a dream </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">That I could fly from the highest swing. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I had a dream. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Long walks in the dark </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">through woods grown behind the park, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I asked God who I'm supposed to be. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">The stars smiled down on me, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">God answered in silent reverie. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I said a prayer and fell asleep. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I had a dream </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">That I could fly from the highest tree. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I had a dream. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Now I'm old and feeling grey. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I don't know what's left to say </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">about this life I'm willing to leave. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I lived it full and I lived it well, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">there's many tales I've lived to tell. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I'm ready now, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I'm ready now, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I'm ready now </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">to fly from the highest wing.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;"> </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I had a dream.</span>Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-62154530753328657582013-01-05T03:00:00.000-08:002013-01-05T03:00:00.367-08:00new favorite wordsWhen school started this year, I had multiple students ask me what my favorite word is. The question makes some sense, since I am the English teacher, but I was chagrined to have to tell them that I didn't have one. Ever since then I have had that thought hanging quietly in the back of my mind.<br />
<br />
<b>autumnal</b><br />
<br />
<b>sundry</b><br />
<br />
Aren't those lovely? I adore the way they sound, and the way they feel in my mouth when i say them.Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-84457352717157573412013-01-03T19:07:00.001-08:002013-01-03T19:07:28.971-08:00i am pro-choice.Well.<br />
<br />
Generally speaking, I try to avoid posting anything political to any sort of social media. I hate arguing, and contention in general. And I don't like to draw lines in the sand between myself and other people. I mostly just want everyone to get along and love and support each other.<br />
<br />
However, since this is my personal blog, I feel like this is maybe a good place to start with posting things that could be potentially controversial. I think it is good for me to learn to own up to what I think and believe.<br />
<br />
So. Here is the issue for today:<br />
<br />
After reading <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/lovejoyfeminism/2012/10/how-i-lost-faith-in-the-pro-life-movement.html">this blog post</a>, and <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/lovejoyfeminism/2012/11/a-response-to-objections-on-my-pro-life-movement-post.html">its follow-up</a>, I feel that I can finally confidently proclaim that I am "pro-choice" in regards to abortion. Both articles are pretty long, but really worth the read if you feel conflicted about which side of this debate to be on.<br />
<br />
I am pro-choice.<br />
<br />
Here are some of the main ideas the author addresses in the first article:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>banning abortion does not decrease abortion rates</li>
<li>the better solution of birth control</li>
<li>the argument that birth control prevents fertilized eggs from implanting and therefore could be seen as "aborting" babies (women's bodies actually naturally dispel fertilized eggs more often than we think)</li>
<li>How the fact that it is more difficult to afford children these days affects the abortion rate</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
Honestly, it is a relief to be able to confidently be on one side of the debate here. I've thought about this issue a lot, and have been frustrated with it on many an occasion. I'd share more<br />
<br />
Anyway. Have a read, and tell me what you think.<br />
<br />
<br />Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-21081285711226248222012-12-14T19:45:00.001-08:002012-12-14T19:45:53.399-08:00wholenessI found this beautiful thing on <a href="http://www.feministmormonhousewives.org/2012/11/soul-cravings/">Feminist Mormon Housewives</a>, and just had to share. It makes my heart ache.<br />
<br />
And I will recommend to you what fmh recommended to me: it is best read aloud.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'URW Bookman L', serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font: inherit; line-height: 24.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<em style="border: 0px; font-size: 15px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Listen: The world is here</em><br />by Desmond Tutu</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'URW Bookman L', serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font: inherit; line-height: 24.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Don’t you hear it, praying and sighing and groaning for wholeness?<br />Sighing and whispering: wholeness, wholeness, wholeness?<br />An arduous, tiresome, difficult journey towards wholeness.<br />God, who gives us strength of body, makes us whole.<br />We yearn to experience wholeness in our innermost being:<br />In health and prosperity, we continue to feel<br />un-well, un-fulfilled, or half-filled.<br />There is a hollowness in our pretended well-being:<br />Our spirits cry out for the well-being of the whole human family.<br />The beggars and the mad people in our streets:<br />Where are their relatives? Who is their father? Where is their mother?<br />We cry for the wholeness of humanity.<br />But the litany of brokenness is without end.<br />Black and white; rich and poor; Hausa and Yoruba;<br />Presbyterian and Roman Catholic; We are all parts of each other.<br />We yearn to be folded into the fullness of life together.<br />Life, together with the outcast,<br />The prisoner, the mad woman, the abandoned child.<br />Our wholeness is intertwined with their hurt.<br />Wholeness means healing the hurt,<br />Working with Christ to heal the hurt,<br />Seeing and feeling the suffering of others, standing alongside them.<br />The person next to you: with a different language and culture,<br />with a different skin or hair color–<br />There is no wall, there is only God at work in the whole:<br />Heal the sores on the feet; salvage the disintegrated personality;<br />Bind the person back into the whole.<br />For without that one, we do not have a whole.<br />God who gives us strength of body<br />Makes us whole.<br />Amen.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'URW Bookman L', serif; font-size: 15px; font: inherit; line-height: 24.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; line-height: normal;">One of my favorite parts: "for without that one, we do not have a whole." </span></div>
Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-260691509726955502012-12-08T16:16:00.001-08:002012-12-08T16:16:15.796-08:00Watched <i>500 Days of Summer</i> again last night, and I can't get this song out of my head.<br />
<br />
Not to mention how great the scene is, just overall.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8tJoIaXZ0rw?rel=0" width="640"></iframe>Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-42472901250119725442012-12-02T23:42:00.001-08:002012-12-02T23:42:19.914-08:00The long, cozy evenings of winter always make me crave romance.Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-51350256087980307112012-11-20T20:17:00.001-08:002012-11-20T20:17:55.726-08:00I know many of us already know this, but many still don't, or don't realize its importance. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Violence against women begins with turning women's bodies into objects.<br /><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PTlmho_RovY?rel=0" width="640"></iframe></div>
Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-90125205220370709482012-11-10T15:07:00.005-08:002012-11-10T15:07:59.624-08:00laundry soapHello, friends.<br />
<br />
I have been a little absent lately. My apologies.<br />
<br />
I have some ideas for posts that i've been sitting on, which I will hopefully share soon, but in the meantime I want to share something else with you.<br />
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-------------------------<br />
<br />
I've been making my own laundry soap for a few years now. It works well, doesn't leave a strong scent (but it does leave a fresh scent), is much cheaper, and is environmentally friendly. I got this recipe from <u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Naturally-Clean-Home-Non-Toxic/dp/158017194X">The Naturally Clean Home</a></u> by Karyn Siegel-Maier.<br />
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I usually make a double or triple batch, and it lasts me through 4-5 months or so.<br />
<br />
Mix together:<br />
<br />
1 cup washing soda (available in boxes in the laundry aisle)<br />
1 cup baking soda<br />
1 cup soap flakes or finely grated pure bar soap<br />
10 drops essential oil of choice* (optional)<br />
<br />
Use 1/2 cup for an average load. (I usually use less than that)<br />
<br />
I usually start the water running into the washing machine, put in a scoop of soap and glug of white vinegar (which apparently also cuts down on static electricity).<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Here is a picture of the essential oil chart in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Naturally-Clean-Home-Non-Toxic/dp/158017194X">the book</a>, which I really appreciate, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">though I will say I don't really notice the scent in the washed clothes, after drying:</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WluOEbAFYCyYgKUeYoR2DOa3P8ytLsjbeQLPv7-GDMI7yNF6_oHE8neIWHUYDTHLgJ2ZTu_XsuylQPU-CTH2PdEMiUV1-kti0XICw1I7bYC628QIJCaTOUFshgC8iDOo2Hy922Ua9jEK/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WluOEbAFYCyYgKUeYoR2DOa3P8ytLsjbeQLPv7-GDMI7yNF6_oHE8neIWHUYDTHLgJ2ZTu_XsuylQPU-CTH2PdEMiUV1-kti0XICw1I7bYC628QIJCaTOUFshgC8iDOo2Hy922Ua9jEK/s320/photo.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-20970796536758054362012-10-04T20:40:00.001-07:002012-10-04T20:40:20.570-07:00exhaustionThis morning, I woke up, and I <i>actually </i>felt rested. Kind of sort of rested. At 7am, no less.<br />
<br />
Glory be.<br />
<br />
Which, let me tell you. It's about time. After spending nearly my entire weekend in my pajamas, in my house, and feeling slightly ill and/or utterly exhausted, it's about damn* time I start feeling rested. On Sunday afternoon I stood in the middle of the kitchen in my pajamas, completely at a loss, asking myself, "...what exactly is it that normal people eat for dinner?"<br />
<br />
All I could come up with were pasta and nachos. Which just reinforced to me a thousand times over that it was clearly time to lay low for awhile.<br />
<br />
After the move, and our <a href="http://www.waldenschool.us/Home_Page.html">Walden</a> excursion to Timp Lodge, I proceeded to have some weird stomach thing. On my birthday, of course. This, shortly after my ear infection which popped up the weekend before we moved. And the weird foot injury that showed up out of nowhere a couple days after that (also just a couple days before we moved).<br />
<br />
And then, I got to thinking. When was the last time I wasn't drowning in responsibilities? And I think it was March. Or maybe the end of February. Just before I began teaching at Walden. (Don't worry, post with details about that job coming soon.) I have seriously been running like mad ever since. Maybe I'll write a post with details about how things have been since then. Mostly fun, but totally busy crazy.<br />
<br />
Thank goodness things seem to be slowing down just a tiny bit. Parent teacher conferences today and tomorrow, general conference this weekend, (and a birthday sleepover, to make up for being sick on my birthday) and then things should be pretty normal, hopefully. Who knows, maybe I will be able to devote more time to things like unpacking boxes! Such excitement!<br />
<br />
Also, as noted above, a couple days ago was october 1st, which marks the first day of me not being on my mother's health insurance. This (at the moment) has me feeling somewhat orphaned (i don't know why i wasn't expecting that), though i anticipate that the orphaned feeling will develop into more of a feeling of independence. i mean, at age 26 i am legally allowed to do anything any other adult can do (rent cars, drink, etc.), which is a little crazy to think about.<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I also seem to have recently picked up the habit of swearing like a sailor, which is loads of fun. believe me. </span>Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-78941287061188697752012-09-24T21:07:00.000-07:002012-09-24T21:07:13.572-07:00My little sister moved away to go to college a little over a week ago. The whole process reminded me of <a href="http://austinoutsidethelines.blogspot.com/2008/09/shout-out.html">this post</a> I wrote, just after I graduated from BYU.<br />
<br />
Those first years away from home are quite crazy, in good and bad ways. A lot of stretching and growth happens... but it is also <i>so, so fun</i>. I am so excited for her! She is awesome. I can't wait to watch as she makes memories of her own.Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-72962301935927076242012-09-23T14:57:00.000-07:002012-09-23T14:57:09.642-07:00fame and fortuneI've been in the paper a couple of times over the past year, and thought I should post links to those articles. You know, for posterity.<br />
<br />
A couple days ago an article was published in the Daily Herald, which highlighted the baby-wearing class we teach at WIC. Link <a href="http://www.heraldextra.com/news/local/infant-classes-helping-parents-with-newborns/article_fdb933ae-b616-52ee-bef0-550fe8ae194b.html#.UF0Q1S7JkLU.facebook">here</a>.<br />
<br />
And at the end of October last year, an article was published in the Daily Universe (BYU's student run newspaper) with details about WIC's breastfeeding classes, which I was nominated to talk to the reporter about. That one is <a href="http://universe.byu.edu/index.php/2011/10/30/local-wic-clinics-offer-support-for-new-mothers/">here</a>.*<br />
<br />
Both classes are free to anyone who wants to come! I love that about WIC. It's all about helping people.<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*the classes are now offered at different times, as a side note. i'm sure you were all about ready to attend the very next class.</span>Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-53956864414105304342012-09-22T18:55:00.001-07:002012-09-22T18:58:15.469-07:00Wish I could go to this:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aKms2nc9JPo" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
Even just the promo is stunning.<br />
<br />
Article on it, <a href="http://www.redhot.org/music/sufjan-stevens-the-ballet-year-of-the-rabbit/">here</a>.Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-51643268495294567002012-09-09T13:35:00.001-07:002012-09-11T17:52:39.593-07:00sickie...is what my father used to call me/us when we were sick as children.<br />
<br />
It was the first thing that came to me for a title for this post, because, well...<br />
<br />
I am sick.<br />
<br />
I don't get sick often, thank goodness (the last time I had a fever was almost two years ago). I blame that on good genes. And the fact that my mother breastfed me for my first three months. I think it is an ear infection/cold this time. I woke up with a fever, though I think it has gone down from this morning.<br />
<br />
ps. having a fever is the weirdest feeling.<br />
<br />
I have used the following natural remedies to try to clear it up quickly:<br />
<ul>
<li>echinacea tincture (2x already today)</li>
<li>mullein tincture (for my cough)</li>
<li>xylitol sinus/nasal spray (2x already today)</li>
<li><a href="http://www.lovetolearn.net/email_special/index254.lasso">apple cider vinegar</a> (2 tablespoons in a glass of water. this is probably the grossest one of the whole list)</li>
<li><a href="http://www.organicauthority.com/health/health/how-to-rapidly-relieve-an-earache-using-supplies-you-probably-already-have-in-your-home.html#s.abrl7eifqbiaa">onion juice in my ear</a> (don't worry, that is a reputable source. though putting things in your ear can be potentially dangerous, i imagine, so try that one at your own risk)</li>
<li>homemade garlic and onion broth (this actually tasted pretty good)</li>
<li>not eating sugar (even in fruit form)</li>
<li>not eating much, and only whole grains, vegetables or protein when I do</li>
<li>drinking lots of water</li>
<li>staying in bed (mostly), with my head propped up to help with sinus congestion</li>
</ul>
<div>
I will probably try some garlic in my ear next if I have more problems, though the onion juice helped quite a bit. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Something's got to work, right? I've had good success with natural remedies in the past. I don't even remember the last time I had to take antibiotics, so let's keep that trend going! </div>
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I don't want to have to get a sub for school tomorrow.</div>
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In the meantime, I'll take advantage of this excuse to stay in bed all day and catch up on the books I need to read, so I can decide which ones I want to teach in my class. </div>
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<br />Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-72097097119995326982012-09-01T20:31:00.000-07:002012-09-01T20:31:11.461-07:00I woke up this morning a little after noon! It was a total shock, but I was definitely pleased. I have been behind on sleep for quite a while now, so a couple of extra hours are welcomed.<br />
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I think it was the result of the weather being cooler than it has been. All summer I've been sleeping with a wet sheet at night to stay cool, then waking up around 8 (9 if I'm lucky), even on days when I don't have to work, simply because it gets too hot in the house to sleep anymore (our current house is air-conditioning-less).<br />
<br />
It seems fall weather just might be coming to join us! I cannot wait.Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-51575831119321748672012-09-01T18:20:00.000-07:002012-09-01T18:20:30.175-07:00Sometimes (actually, most times) I feel uncomfortable in this "new" and different life of mine (my life has changed drastically in the past year). My "new" life, is a life of a big house with my own room, a car of my own, money to go out to eat if I want. A life of big beautiful picture windows in my living room, and nice, new, clean carpet. A life of traveling to Madison to visit my best friend, just because I feel like it. A life of having a full-time, salaried job with benefits. And, get this - it's a job that I actually enjoy.<br />
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Not to complain, of course. I have worked hard to get where I am, and most days I love it. Even if it does feel a little unfamiliar.<br />
<br />
I often yearn for the cozy closeness of my old life. The smelly basement I lived in. The terrible, old, dark green carpet, thrift store clothes, permanently dirty kitchen. The broken down furniture. The familiar summer evenings on the couches on our front porch, large-bulbed Christmas lights all aglow, listening to Colin or Jana play guitar. Often singing along.<br />
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It reminds me of how it feels when your favorite pair of jeans finally wears out. You have to buy a new pair of jeans, but it takes a while to wear them in. And even then, once they're worn in, they still won't feel quite how those old ones did. Which doesn't mean the new jeans aren't great, of course. They're just different.<br />
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I'm sure I'll figure out how to infuse my current life with the things I loved from my old one. And hopefully it will grow to be just as full, and rich, and interesting.<br />
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This is just a time of transitions, I suppose.<br />
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<br />Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-26940213823892142802012-08-11T19:07:00.001-07:002012-08-11T19:07:05.149-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHzwh6m6xqydBv2gAM-eEPkRq0eZ9RVXozk5gIdL2eOGkhYm5fmt1BKEV9FdIce9xmdPBeYmc71j53lgVyZpjJ6k1MU5qCuAOurDbnEoCs5Id8qh6yBV0TrVTd4jCJobYzaPV-nGgcDET/s1600/www.littletexts.tumblr.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHzwh6m6xqydBv2gAM-eEPkRq0eZ9RVXozk5gIdL2eOGkhYm5fmt1BKEV9FdIce9xmdPBeYmc71j53lgVyZpjJ6k1MU5qCuAOurDbnEoCs5Id8qh6yBV0TrVTd4jCJobYzaPV-nGgcDET/s1600/www.littletexts.tumblr.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-61619097556476346422012-07-07T13:35:00.000-07:002012-07-07T13:35:07.848-07:00some poetry and a song for your saturday.<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/mdJ6aUB2K4g?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YqUsAHTUPTU?rel=0" width="480"></iframe>Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-68519385492069789382012-06-09T15:17:00.000-07:002012-09-23T14:57:55.652-07:00marching in the pride parade.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzx_-YhxYNEhl3QzYyAasUSGCZ2Lt8AMlJB61uvxn5mr3qhCdc646R8dZNv3PXlwkoH7OJyuGmZD6TeC34dFqjbQe4TcJhBOLpYtpAiEDnlQGUjgQMPPJyTzg7Kr7d7Ijw1bfY86HCYC7p/s1600/526064_4096127080661_1207363637_33815424_2041661182_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></span><span id="goog_845025837"></span><span id="goog_845025838"></span><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzx_-YhxYNEhl3QzYyAasUSGCZ2Lt8AMlJB61uvxn5mr3qhCdc646R8dZNv3PXlwkoH7OJyuGmZD6TeC34dFqjbQe4TcJhBOLpYtpAiEDnlQGUjgQMPPJyTzg7Kr7d7Ijw1bfY86HCYC7p/s640/526064_4096127080661_1207363637_33815424_2041661182_n.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Note: none of these photos are mine. I got them from friends, or pulled them from the event page on facebook. Thanks to all for posting your photos!</span></div>
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<br />
This past Sunday, I marched in the Salt Lake City Pride Parade. I had to skip church to go. But it was <b>so</b> worth it.<br />
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The experience was very emotional. I am still coming down off the high of having been there, and I am having a hard time finding words to express what it meant to me, but I will do my best. It was one of those experiences I will remember for a lifetime, I am sure.<br />
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My initial decision to attend the parade was a fairly easy one. I have friends who are gay and Mormon. I have heard their stories, and felt their heartbreak at being torn between these two worlds that mean so much to them. It is heart-wrenching. Plus, everyone deserves to be loved, respected, cared about, treated fairly. It seems like a no-brainer to me. I was a little nervous at how we would be received, and so I did think it over for a few days, but when my roommate texted me expressing interest in going, the answer was unequivocally yes.<br />
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The night before the parade I began to feel a little more nervous. Would we be accepted? Would marching even be safe? Would they hate us for taking over their parade? I also felt excited, though. Excited to step out of my comfort zone a bit, show a little courage, and just be there to show my love and support. And I was excited to take part with all the other beautiful people and families who were willing to do the same. I calmed myself down, picked out my best, most Mormon-looking Sunday outfit, and went to bed, anxiously anticipating the parade.<br />
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The next morning, we woke up early and carpooled with a couple other friends to downtown Salt Lake City. As we parked and got out of the car, we felt another little explosion of nerves. The leaders of Mormons Building Bridges (the group with which we were marching) had asked us to dress in our most Mormon-looking attire. I was wearing a skirt and cardigan, and carrying my scriptures. My roommate had on a cute light pink dress, knee length with sleeves. Our other friend, a strapless dress with a white t-shirt underneath for modesty (classic, right?). We knew we would stand out amidst the bright rainbow colors and wild clothing of the parade, and the same fears drifted in... "what if they are angry with us?". After a moment, we gathered our courage and ventured out of the parking lot, into the crowds. To our surprise, as we neared the parade line-up, we received a couple encouraging remarks, and sincere "thank yous" from people marching with other groups in the parade. This buoyed our confidence and settled our nerves a bit, and we continued on excitedly to meet up with the rest of our group.<br />
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As we approached, I caught a glimpse of how large the group was. I haven't heard a definitive number on how many were with us, but I've heard estimates from 300 to 475. From what I could tell, we were the largest group in the entire parade (we stayed after we finished marching to watch the rest of the parade). Everyone was in their suits and ties, little girls had their hair curled, mothers were pushing strollers, surrounded by other children. Fathers had children perched atop their shoulders, holding signs. Elderly people were there in wheelchairs or with walkers. It was quite a sight. My heart leapt in pride. We quickly took our places at the back of the lineup.<br />
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In the twenty to thirty minutes before we started marching, we saw more and more people come up to thank us for what we were doing. People from other groups marching in the parade came over and hugged us, thanked us, took pictures with us and our signs. The excitement and nerves were palpable among us, and it was very hot. We had sweat dripping down our backs before we even started walking, but nothing could have moved us from that line-up. We felt confident, ready.<br />
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As soon as we got moving, I noticed people on both sides of us brought to their feet, clapping, cheering. Looks of peace, huge relief, surprise, and excitement on their faces. Any leftover nervousness I felt was gone. Then, as we rounded the first corner, we saw all the parade attendees lined up down the road for blocks, and up went a huge roar (a happy, excited, surprised roar). At that moment I began to feel the emotion welling up within me, and tears sprang to my own eyes as I saw their tears. These people. So many of whom had grown up Mormon and then had to leave their faith behind, with such great pain and struggle. Many of those wounds were still fresh for many, and still painful for most all, I'm sure. I couldn't believe how they were forgiving us. How readily they loved us. The pure joy that filled me was tremendous.<br />
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As we kept going, and people kept cheering so loudly, and thanking us, I kept thinking "who am I that I deserve the cheers of these people?" All I had done was show up. Humans should love one another, period. That should be an ordinary thing. Nevertheless we continued onward, handed out lollipops to the children, offered hugs, and shared tears with those who were weeping on the sidelines. I felt I was witnessing the beginning of healing take place. It was a beautiful, beautiful sight.<br />
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In the end, I believe that we still have a long way to go. Stepping up to the plate and showing a little Christlike love at the expense of a few nerves and one Sunday at church is a great start. I only hope that we can continue making progress from here.<br />
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Other coverage you might enjoy:<br />
<br />
A <a href="http://www.feministmormonhousewives.org/2012/06/take-pride/">summary of several participants thoughts</a> on marching.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.religiondispatches.org/dispatches/joannabrooks/6018/mormons_prepare_to_march_in_lgbt_pride_parades_nationwide/">An interview with the organizer</a> of Mormons Building Bridges.<br />
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<a href="http://www.sltrib.com/sltrib/news/54225023-78/parade-mormons-crowd-utah.html.csp">News coverage from the actual event</a>, and <a href="http://www.religiondispatches.org/dispatches/joannabrooks/6035/400_churchgoing_mormons_march_in_slc_pride_parade/">another article</a> in which I am quoted (and which I feel does a better job of painting a picture of what it felt like to be there).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-798832">More video footage</a> taken by <a href="http://redheadmusings.blogspot.com/">Katrina</a>, one of our marchers.<br />
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<a href="http://www.cnn.com/video/?/video/us/2012/06/04/ut-mormons-march-in-gay-pride-parade.kstu">Video by CNN</a>.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Waiting for the parade to start, holding the lollipops we were to hand out, with "Love one another" stickers on them</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJ74VItX8i_hyphenhyphendPDlHS_NCREtxFNyWeX-S5TscrmL_s1fWqjEvKk-H0HH3u0XG9ifU9jylnbPtmdzEOQTutQ_L2fR0sXjOcM-ta-egPH8PchSoOiNSsri-MPSuVn2aECEBat2a270TmXG/s1600/front.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJ74VItX8i_hyphenhyphendPDlHS_NCREtxFNyWeX-S5TscrmL_s1fWqjEvKk-H0HH3u0XG9ifU9jylnbPtmdzEOQTutQ_L2fR0sXjOcM-ta-egPH8PchSoOiNSsri-MPSuVn2aECEBat2a270TmXG/s640/front.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqPs7z-S6ncjAzrpk70NdK8-jjI5L0rHR9e1VVGrRblrBeidYuxS9qsXE4yxuVn99828hwTY3XfWW0tey8Jaj1dQb_yo5FVkHR1ej4obsNY6GGRyANAaCznjgUp5peA8h2w17qON4Ki-0/s1600/loveoneanother.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqPs7z-S6ncjAzrpk70NdK8-jjI5L0rHR9e1VVGrRblrBeidYuxS9qsXE4yxuVn99828hwTY3XfWW0tey8Jaj1dQb_yo5FVkHR1ej4obsNY6GGRyANAaCznjgUp5peA8h2w17qON4Ki-0/s640/loveoneanother.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">You can actually see me in this one! (right third of the photo, brown top, green shoulder bag) I also love the man with the American flag tie, doing the "I love you" sign with his hand</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The view from the front of our group (we were right behind the grand marshall of the parade, in the very front)</span></div>
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Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-69179792756834508552012-06-02T00:15:00.001-07:002012-06-02T00:15:37.772-07:00"No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the history of the world. And normally he doesn't know it."<br />
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~Paulo Coelho, <i>The Alchemist</i>Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6878603271318679163.post-42949594352913736422012-05-26T02:00:00.000-07:002012-05-26T02:00:01.831-07:00ensalada deliciosaI made the most delicious salad for lunch today. While I don't typically share recipes on this blog, I do want to remember what I did today, so that sometime in the future when I am feeling uninspired I can maybe make this same thing.<br />
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I threw together:<br />
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lettuce<br />
pre-cooked brown rice (leftover from the night before)<br />
black beans (also leftover... I had soaked and boiled up some dry beans a few days before)<br />
fresh tomato<br />
avocado<br />
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(I think it would have been really yummy to also add some queso fresco or other cheese, some corn, cilantro... other things of that sort)<br />
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then for dressing I just threw on some kosher salt, olive oil*, and lemon juice.<br />
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mixed it all together, and voila! Delicious, super easy and fast lunch.<br />
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*While we're on the topic of olive oil, you should read <a href="http://www.girlsgonechild.net/2012/02/eat-well-like-extra-virgin.html">this</a>. We recently ran out of olive oil, so when I went to buy some more, I looked for olive oil with those specifications. Sure enough, it is SO delicious! It seriously tastes fruity! And very fresh. Which I love. Plus, fresher equals more nutrition! Woo!Austinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01284372031998953792noreply@blogger.com0