tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91427129418233746972024-03-13T00:41:59.808-07:00This Girl's Messy HeadI'm a very busy, very crazy girl. Sometimes I write. It makes me feel better.Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.comBlogger329125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-68027943662172542262023-12-31T08:37:00.000-08:002023-12-31T08:37:59.197-08:00The horror persists, as do INew Year's Eve, a day of reflection and resolutions. Looking back, it's been almost 2 years since I last posted here. Writing has always been my therapy. I can write out my thoughts far better than I've ever been able to verbalize them, and when I read them back, they become clear. The issues become smaller and the solution seems simpler. The negative thoughts swirling in my head spill onto the page with every key stroke. The clouds lift and my heart feels lighter. So it's no wonder the last two years have been such a struggle. I didn't take the time to do what makes me feel better; I just trudged forward in the quicksand. Each step getting harder and heavier. <div><br /></div><div>I've seen so many versions of myself since my last post, that it would be too hard to give a full update. Maybe I'll hit on some of the biggies and let the rest fall by the wayside. Speaking from the here and now, I think it can be summed up pretty simply: life is kicking me in the dick.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the funny thing: I've checked all my major boxes for the things I dreamed of as a child. I have the marriage, the kids, the home. I even have a job that I enjoy, and although it's not the fantastic writing career I wanted, I genuinely like what I do for work. But I'm a frequent rider on the struggle bus, medicated for survival, and still lacking a sense of joy and fulfillment. Something is missing, either within myself or in the world around me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't attribute it to the heavy losses from the last couple years because it started well before that, although those certainly didn't make things any easier. The biggest loss being the sudden passing of my babiest brother, Billy. It was a typical Sunday morning when I saw my dad's number pop up on my phone, and I just knew it wasn't going to be good news. I didn't realize just how true that was until he told me that Billy was gone. My breath caught in my throat and there was no stopping the tears. I paced the floor of my living room and laundry room, asking the same things over and over, feeling lost and wanting nothing more than to be with my Dad in that instant. The days that followed were a blur, as I made the 3 hour drive to and from my Dad's house multiple times, helped him with whatever I could, sat in a funeral home completely raw and wishing to crawl out of my own skin. A full house celebration of life and long overdue family tattoos later, Billy's memory lingers. The happy thoughts of the little guy, way too smart for his age, that I now see all over again through his daughter. The smile that curls the edges of my lips upward when I recall the sarcastic roasting we used to give each other all the time. It's bittersweet knowing we should have had more time, yet I'm grateful for the time we did have, and for the time I've been given with my niece in his absence. Sometimes I'll look over at the wooden urn sitting on my mantle, and taunt him with a joke, as if he can hear and respond. Other times I'll catch a glimpse of his rugby photo on my wall and feel a deep and resounding regret that I only saw him play once. But when I hear his daughter talk, I see her daddy's mannerisms and know that he's never fully gone. He poured every bit of himself into that little girl. She was his magnum opus.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the midst of all of this, what I thought was a new beginning with my other brother turned upside down and showed me that blood relation doesn't automatically bring with it loyalty, trust, or respect. After he had a major stroke, we reconnected, but his life was falling apart in other ways and it culminated with a 6 week stay at our house followed by just his son living with us for the next 8 months. As we sunk deeper and deeper into debt, worrying how we were going to provide for our own children and trying to raise his child with absolutely no help from my brother or my nephew's mom, I finally asked them first to let me claim him on my income taxes (they said no), and then asked them to sign over temporary guardianship, which started a huge fight. Suddenly I went from being their beloved sister and savior, best aunt in the world, to some child-stealing monster. Knowing that they'd come into some money and would have a place to live again, I told them to either let me have guardianship or take their son back. They chose the latter. And I haven't been allowed to see or speak to my nephew since. The truth is, I don't miss my brother at all. Losing contact with my nephew has been the worst part. I hope that he'll be old enough to reach out on his own soon enough. That's the only ray of hope in the dramatic mess of that whole situation.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you know me, or have read my previous posts, it's obvious that I'm a basket case. I've had a lifelong struggle with depression and anxiety (long before it was the trendy thing to admit), and after having my 3rd child, those mental health issues only worsened. In early 2022, I finally put on my big girl panties and established care with a doctor, had blood work done to check my hormones (not surprisingly they were out of whack) and eventually admitted that I needed pharmaceutical assistance with the mental stuff. With my hormones in balance and duoluxetine on deck, I thought I'd have a better grasp on life. I don't daydream of unaliving myself anymore, which was the most urgent reason for my seeking medical help. However, my typical optimism and positive outlook even in the thick of some serious struggles, is just gone. Each day is a chore. Experiences that should be joyful are meh. Sure, they're cool, but the bursting heart glee that I used to feel for every little thing has been replaced with a numbness. I recognize that this isn't who I am, or who I've ever been, and yet I don't know how to change it. In moments that should either be full of happiness or sorrow, I'm riding in the middle, mostly apathetic while still being aware that I should be feeling SOME emotion. I can cry, I can laugh and smile, but I used to do all of those things with my whole being, inside and out. Now, it's like muscle memory. Milestones and precious moments with my children are muffled by this veil that seems to shroud everything from reaching my soul. I exist around it instead of throughout it. I tolerate living the way a person tolerates the common cold. It's inconvenient but you keep trudging on.</div><div><br /></div><div>You might not understand why I'm sharing this, and that's okay. If you've read this far, I'm impressed. Even I get tired of thinking this way and talking about this. My hope in putting this out into the great white void that is the internet is that it will bring back some of the therapeutic properties that writing used to provide. That it will create even the smallest spark that might ignite something greater. A passion that's been lacking for so long now that I've forgotten how it felt or why I felt it. I've never been one to need life to be all rainbows. I am okay with adversity. I'm strong and determined. I'm a survivor. I know this about myself, always have. I just need to know that I won't always be like this. That I can find that drive and tenacity that I once had. That I can find joy in the littlest things like a pretty sunrise or the reflection of the sky in a raindrop. I want to be delighted by trivial moments again. And in lieu of actual therapy, I'm feverishly typing these embarrassing thoughts on the interwebs as a means to try to reignite something...anything.</div><div><br /></div><div>Please...just a spark. </div>Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-44913159982888648422022-01-16T09:31:00.005-08:002022-01-16T09:31:55.077-08:00A Neurodivergent SunriseEvery day has it's sweet spot. A fleeting instant that catches your eye and your breath at the same time. An ordinary moment that feels like a miracle. The problem is that most of us are too busy or absorbed in the difficulties of every day life, that we miss them. But this morning, I caught it, and I'd like to share.<div><br /></div><div>Before I continue, I'm compelled to say that I often wonder how many people have similar moments, and don't share them? Maybe out of fear of judgement or shame for finding something so ordinary breathtaking? That's why I keep most of these to myself. In my head, I hear the voice of a well-meaning relative saying "she has too much time on her hands". It was in response to a little family update letter I had sent with a Christmas card 19 years ago. As a new mom, I felt like I finally had something important enough to talk about, and wasted no time in doing so. But that statement eliminated the joy of my intentions, and repeats in my head whenever I want to write about things like this.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now back to the point.</div><div><br /></div><div>This morning, I caught the day's sweet spot. It was uncharacteristically quiet in the house. The animals, kids, and hubby were all sound asleep. I stood at the kitchen window, waiting for my cup of coffee to finish brewing, and that's when I saw it. The orangey-yellow sunrise shedding light on the glittery frost that covered every single surface of the backyard. I didn't see the grass in need of mowing, or the trellis that fell over in a windstorm that needs to be fixed. I saw sweetness and simplicity and calm and home. My home. Imperfect, disordered, and slightly damaged, yet beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div>I snapped a picture, and wondered quietly if it would actually capture the scene as my mind did. (Spoiler alert: of course it didn't.) My breath caught, unable to pass the lump in my throat. My eyes welled slightly with tears. It was the peace in those few minutes that hit me square in the jaw. </div><div><br /></div><div>As with all things, time marched on and I was pulled back to reality. I poured creamer in my coffee, and took another peak out the window to try to recapture the magic. It was gone, and so I went about the rest of my morning. Business as usual.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm posting this not to sound like some philosophical 21st century Thoreau-type suburbanite on a journey of enlightenment. If you know me in real life, you know that's hardly my vibe. (Bitch, I'm just trying to get through each day!) I'm writing this because surely I'm not the only person who is blown away by mundane things?!? I can't be. So I guess you could say this is my attempt at normalizing our shared weirdness by exposing mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hi, my name is Trish, and sometimes the sunrise and a messy backyard heals my soul a little.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcXTOx9neKd16uCdKJK4b_4gNywkXVXUZC8YJk5UCzvjtERRIaGaTWO-vvSMNXGt5VfqfrpkzGUt-nsFHGL19TCtz5ogykbbeN4o8fmT92dbmsLBJw_0Q0ZlB1_BUF03KOX7REEYMrfcleul-7As0tmJVWFMs2NRaNvbtqCzalPvMC1P8IKYggrWsd=s3644" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3644" data-original-width="2733" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcXTOx9neKd16uCdKJK4b_4gNywkXVXUZC8YJk5UCzvjtERRIaGaTWO-vvSMNXGt5VfqfrpkzGUt-nsFHGL19TCtz5ogykbbeN4o8fmT92dbmsLBJw_0Q0ZlB1_BUF03KOX7REEYMrfcleul-7As0tmJVWFMs2NRaNvbtqCzalPvMC1P8IKYggrWsd=s320" width="240" /></a></div>Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-45422767132504881542021-06-01T17:23:00.001-07:002021-06-01T17:23:15.447-07:00Cracked and Glued<p>Random things trigger memories and sometimes the best way to make it make sense is to write it out. That happened today and now I have a story to tell, but I need to preface this with a very important point: I do not share these stories for sympathy or attention. My past is a part of what makes me who I am; the good, bad, and ugly. I feel like I understand people better when I hear their stories, and that's what I hope for when I tell mine. So please keep that in mind if you choose to read further.</p><p>When I was moving my Mom into residential care, she had a storage unit full of stuff, and she gave me the task of clearing it out. I brought it all to my house and had her go through it to decide what to keep and what to sell or donate. Of the sell/donate items, I was given her blessing to keep what I wanted, so I did. What little I chose to keep immediately got tucked away in my bedroom closet, or stored in the catch-all spot in our media room, and forgotten. The latter happens to be the place where my son found the item that triggered this post.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ToaGUPSVkdjtxAJd_n-v1UuqBt60A-E1mwLy67DWfwXjmS0j6OELb4ZDhgzkISPfrMlBS457QtplbLZIlMUngJHyHvqnaQjP-Qz6sB7EtvObNGIlT576Kwrphca2hRPAFdCRcQLSGgQ/s2048/20210601_115628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ToaGUPSVkdjtxAJd_n-v1UuqBt60A-E1mwLy67DWfwXjmS0j6OELb4ZDhgzkISPfrMlBS457QtplbLZIlMUngJHyHvqnaQjP-Qz6sB7EtvObNGIlT576Kwrphca2hRPAFdCRcQLSGgQ/s320/20210601_115628.jpg" /></a></div>I recall this cloche vividly, though I was never particularly fond of it as a child. It sat near the TV in every house we lived in since the mid-to-late 80s. I'm not entirely sure why I kept it at the time, but I can guess it had something to do with it being a tangible piece of my childhood, which is a pretty rare thing. Most material possessions or keepsakes have long since been lost or tossed. <p></p><p>My son carried it to me today, asking why it's empty and if we can put food in it. I tried to explain that's not what it is used for, that it's just for decoration, and then took it out of his hands to put it away. As my palm landed on one of the cracks in the lid, my mind raced backward to a time when it wasn't cracked. I thought back to when it was in pristine condition, and was one of my Mom's most prized pieces of decor. No matter how many places we moved into, it always sat proudly on a shelf on the entertainment center with a doily underneath. I assume it was a gift from my Grandma Wilson because one of her poems is written inside. And I can assume it was a wedding or anniversary gift, based on the content of the poem.</p><p>If I think back to when it was whole, I'm also immediately reminded of it being thrown in the midst of one of my Mom and her husband's explosive fights, and the crashing sound it made when it hit the ground. That single memory conjures up countless others. I remember how they'd fight and how I'd silently gauge their tones in anticipation for how it would escalate. I got very good at predicting when the yelling was about to turn into smashing up the house, and when that would turn into physical violence. I'm reminded of how myself, and sometimes my brother, would cautiously and quietly help pick up whatever got broken, trying so hard not to be seen as we erased all evidence of what just happened. I remember being extremely aware of my face, knowing that any sideways glances or furrowed brows could cause either of them to feel guilt and would reignite the fire, but direct it right at me. It felt like walking a tightrope. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-E6KmPtoz_2z03fot8RPskFUrQs1fc2Xq13518SPGh9hwSGk5SX6Jg7Ot0ciBh0T5wT6B_4N9_OI8KS1aAZ77gtIa9CPLQHOzU479oyc_NSTNT7KKG4A-mZu3pBiF67LwZSkvLPDJg3I/s2048/20210601_115701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-E6KmPtoz_2z03fot8RPskFUrQs1fc2Xq13518SPGh9hwSGk5SX6Jg7Ot0ciBh0T5wT6B_4N9_OI8KS1aAZ77gtIa9CPLQHOzU479oyc_NSTNT7KKG4A-mZu3pBiF67LwZSkvLPDJg3I/s320/20210601_115701.jpg" /></a></div>After the lid of the cloche was glued back together, my Mom adjusted how she displayed it so that the cracks were off to the side, making them less obvious. She didn't want anyone to see the brokenness of the decor, or of our family. After a certain amount of time, she couldn't hide either, but she always tried. To this day, she won't admit to anything unless it's to paint herself as the valiant protector of her children against a tyrannical husband. The truth is, she didn't do anything to protect us. She taught us to hide the cracks, and pretend as if everything wasn't being precariously held together by super glue. <p></p><p>In spite of the bad memories, I guess I kept this piece of decor because it is a stark reminder of what I grew up in vs where I am now. When I look at the haphazard way it was put back together, I marvel at how something that was once in pieces on the floor of a trailer has managed to remain intact for decades. I can profoundly relate to that. We've both been broken, and could have easily stayed that way; exposing our sharp edges and cutting anyone who dared to touch us. The fact that my kids won't ever witness a tempestuous fight, or be left to pick up shattered pieces of household decor, is a testament to my own healing. I've got a long way to go, even at 40, but I'm holding it together. Me and my cloche.<br /></p>Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-80425854131620072442021-03-31T13:23:00.001-07:002021-03-31T22:32:41.803-07:00Catch and Release<p>Motherhood is such a strange and torturous thing. You literally grow a human being inside your own body, experience the worst pain to bring them into the world, pour every ounce of energy into raising them, only to have them eventually start a completely independent existence. If you're lucky, that existence will be adjacent to your own, with varying degrees of attachment, but still very much separate.<br></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNtoZgZdFjIVdT40T1gIzEIF0pUitkSvF-8TzmQoCKxxdfPeQkSTDKpSEeFfqdTLpBT1FtmmYUg4995LpOBag9kl_UQL3OdT8Jv7vYWnoT7OPkpMEZtlRxOI0uJDD2vYElqsaDEjZB2A/s927/first+days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="786" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNtoZgZdFjIVdT40T1gIzEIF0pUitkSvF-8TzmQoCKxxdfPeQkSTDKpSEeFfqdTLpBT1FtmmYUg4995LpOBag9kl_UQL3OdT8Jv7vYWnoT7OPkpMEZtlRxOI0uJDD2vYElqsaDEjZB2A/s320/first+days.jpg"></a></div><p></p><p>Like all parents, we know the day will come when our child will be a legal adult, and will no longer depend on us in the way they had up to that point. It's this invisible, intangible finish line that they will reach sometime after they turn 18. All the years leading up to that moment are a roller coaster in the best and worst ways. So much information, so many skills, so much love needs to be instilled in this being, and even if you had infinite time, it wouldn't be quite enough to give you total peace. But time marches on and you hope you provided all of the care they will need to be happy and healthy and successful at meeting the challenges they're about to face. No matter how many times you thought "damn, why can't they grow up and move out already?!", the game changes completely when they finally do.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfpzc1dLEmldN3cXLTi8I2AUSj41UjVT1Clfa-TZrbDOy8AhO6EeJAN2BJADCAjz7xQkHJS8hs__odz1DLZwvPI1sgtXujB3wysHzDgsHXgUJp2acyjhkIg9gmr7HWL3RY9S9qS5W-8Jc/s2048/DSCI0838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfpzc1dLEmldN3cXLTi8I2AUSj41UjVT1Clfa-TZrbDOy8AhO6EeJAN2BJADCAjz7xQkHJS8hs__odz1DLZwvPI1sgtXujB3wysHzDgsHXgUJp2acyjhkIg9gmr7HWL3RY9S9qS5W-8Jc/s320/DSCI0838.JPG"></a>Yesterday was the big day for my very first baby. While I have been relatively prepared for it to come, there was an internal list I had been keeping of all the things that needed to happen first. However, my list really is just mine, and my very first baby decided she was ready now. My list sits unchecked and I'm grieving that, as I also feel what I imagine is the typical sadness and nostalgia that comes with an emptying nest. The sadness, the anger, the disappointment, the regret...it has all mixed together into this heavy sludge that feels like it's pouring into my lungs and stealing all the air. Maybe that's just the tears, which were plentiful and painful last night, anticipating that moment when she'd get in her car and pull out of our driveway. </p><p>There is so much I wanted to say and do, but I just lay in my bed, paralyzed by all the emotions. The deep sobs wracked my body and I swear I cried an ocean. I heard her singing to herself as she was packing, and the realization that this would no longer be a daily occurrence hit me like a speeding freight train. And I sobbed harder. My unchecked internal list screamed inside my brain. She hasn't graduated. She doesn't have a real place to live. She'll be so far away. We don't get to have a proper send-off. I cannot emphasize enough the grief of losing all of these opportunities and being powerless to change it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zQK2bIWtsfLPQyTvRIoImQCnWgJpbEve4s-ez5OAnn3syw2SFVctcDIWYovpbYMLAqf_iIiFD4Kkn1DLun8UcTdUtggMCsDLgpYe0OSwTgEFL15mTdGyggPCmrGzPrHZwkUlbOWlfRk/s2048/20191012_184602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zQK2bIWtsfLPQyTvRIoImQCnWgJpbEve4s-ez5OAnn3syw2SFVctcDIWYovpbYMLAqf_iIiFD4Kkn1DLun8UcTdUtggMCsDLgpYe0OSwTgEFL15mTdGyggPCmrGzPrHZwkUlbOWlfRk/s320/20191012_184602.jpg"></a></div><p></p><p>After a broken night's sleep, I woke up with red, puffy eyes and a gaping wound on my heart. I went through the motions of getting ready for work. I cried in the car on the way to the office, and then put every bit of myself into focusing on the tasks in front of me. After several hours alternating between ignoring the pain and marinating in it, I knew I needed to write. It's the only way I can drain the sludge and start to breathe again.</p><p>I know that this is something most parents experience and that time will make it easier. I know that the end of one era is just the beginning of a new one. Logic reminds me that each phase of life comes with growing pains, and this is certainly no exception. The relationship my daughter and I have is not ending; it's under construction. We're creating room for what is to come. But I also just need time to sit in these feelings for a minute, to mourn my child's childhood, before I can be completely happy for her adulthood. She isn't mine to keep. The memories of late night feedings, field trip chaperoning, bedtime snuggles are what I can hold tight. All the rest has to be released.</p>Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-22271491386426941112021-02-18T16:17:00.001-08:002021-02-18T16:17:47.371-08:00The Weight of Failure <p>I made a goal, I reached it, and I was still unhappy. I still felt uncomfortable in my skin and tangled in thoughts of hatred and self-loathing. That was pre-covid.</p><p>The beginning of last spring, when we were first given the stay-at-home orders, was pretty great. The pressure to go and do and be all the things was lifted from my shoulders. Justin and I watched a lot of shows and ate a lot of take-out because we were staying home, staying safe, and helping small business, of course. It wasn't until right before summer that the joy of staying home began to change. My mental health, which is a powder-keg on a good day, teetered into a downward spiral the likes of which I've never experienced. And that is saying a lot because shit was intense in my late teens/early twenties. </p><p>As my mind started declining, my body mass began increasing. At first, I brushed it off because we were in "the apocalypse" and who has time to care about health when the world is on fire?! I don't even know when I hit the point where I couldn't hide it anymore, but I can tell you that when the realization hit me, in my already precarious state of mind, I gave up. I gave up caring and started getting self-destructive. Binge eating, not getting outside to walk, drinking every day, and not reaching out to anyone. </p><p>Here is the absolute truth: I look at myself and I feel like an utter failure. My outward appearance is a physical manifestation of what is happening inside. I really fooled myself into believing I had healed my relationship with who I am as a person and with food. But the reality is that I hadn't. I had just learned to fake it enough to lose some weight, wear a smile and some better clothes, and pretend I was well. I didn't fix the root of the issue so of course it resurfaced with barely any resistance. Healing is a journey, not a destination. There is no magical finish line where everything is effortlessly perfect. Healing is a verb. I thought if I did X, Y, and Z, and hit that ever-elusive "perfect" number on the scale, that would be it. All the past trauma, all the self-esteem issues, all the internal self-abuse would evaporate into the ether. </p><p>Spoiler alert: it didn't.</p><p>I still don't care about myself and therefore don't take care of myself. Not on the inside or the outside. I just slide down my slippery slope, feeling powerless and numb. Meanwhile, my inner voice is relentless. RELENTLESS. I ping-pong back and forth between "fuck it, who cares" and "you're a weak piece of shit and know you should be doing better". Every meal is a battle. Every. Single. One. When I was "doing good" aka going through the motions, I ignored the fact that what needed my attention wasn't my waistline. It's easy to change your outward appearance compared to what it takes to change your mindset. I'm good at hating myself. It's easy. It's familiar. It's hard to unlearn that. Even though it hurts, it's a hurt that I'm used to feeling. </p><p>These things on their own are difficult enough to navigate that I'm not even going to attempt to articulate the added pressure of trying to be well enough to not pass this nonsense on to my children. Motherhood brings with it a responsibility to do better and be better. Not perfect, but better. Better than my own childhood, better than my mental struggles, better than my insecurities and biases. My poor, poor kids. If they had any clue how sorry I am that I'm not the Mom they deserve....</p><p>All of that to say this: I suck. I'm lost and struggling. I don't know what "getting better" looks like. I've given up for the moment. Not to the point of hurting myself, but to the point of feeling like I'm just biding my time until the end. </p>Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-53031902897667645792019-09-02T13:14:00.001-07:002019-09-02T13:14:08.168-07:00The Finish LineIt was a random day in mid-July when I hit my weight loss "finish line". I've towed that line for the last 2 months, with the typical 0-3 lb fluctuation, depending on the day, how much sodium I've consumed, whether I pooped, etc. You know, sexy stuff. I truly expected to be more proud of the accomplishment, but I've really just felt let down by it. Not let down by myself, because I slayed a goal and I'm insanely proud of that. I'm let down by the fact that I've conquered a physical change, but all the insecurities and frustrations are still there. I still hate my face. I still see the mid-section pudge protruding through my high-wasted mom jeans. And now I also see deflated boobs (which used to be one of my best features), and a flapjack ass. I'm older now, so I'm noticing old lady skin spots and my thick, frizzy hair is OUT OF CONTROL. I can't hide behind the chub anymore, so I have to face all of these things and somehow learn to love them. How do you do that?!<br />
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My husband has told me no less than a thousand times that he wishes I could see myself through his eyes. He doesn't understand how much I wish I could, too. I don't want to feel ugly and insecure and disgusted by my reflection. I want to love that girl. She deserves to be loved and I'm the only person who can love her the way she needs to be loved. She has friends who love her. She has a husband who loves her. She has children who love her (most of the time). She needs to look herself in the face and be cool with who is staring back. To look deep into those hazel eyes and see all the brokenness she has fixed and all the ways she is strong and amazing and one of a kind. Instead, I see that girl in the mirror and immediately avert my eyes b/c if I spend any time looking, I find all of the things wrong with her. She's nothing special. She's a teensy fish in a really big pond. No talents, no gifts to make the world a better place. She's a terrible mom with a broken brain. How could I possibly love someone I hate?<br />
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There's this huge self-care, self-love movement happening all around. It's in the news and on social media. Everyone tells you that you need to learn to love yourself, but I have yet to see a step-by-step tutorial on how to do that. No one has ever shown me how it is done. I wasn't born thinking I'm awesome. When I say I'm awesome, it's usually sarcasm. How does one find self-worth when they have lived 39 years without it? I need tangible, real-life advice and steps to follow. You can't just tell me to love myself and not explain how. I DON'T KNOW HOW!!!!!<br />
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I knew a smaller body wouldn't be the magical fix for all my confidence issues. I guess I just expected that the amount of pride I'd feel in accomplishing something would boost me up and that might lead to the next boost and the next one, until I'm riding a domino wave all the way to this enlightened state where I unapologetically love myself. That didn't happen, though. I hit my goal, and then sunk into one of the deepest depressions I've ever experienced. There have been peaks out of the fog, but mostly I've spent 2 months wishing I didn't exist at all because being a human hurts. <br />
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As I navigate this weird state of being, I wonder if I haven't figured this whole thing out by now, will it ever end? Is this my usual seasonal birthday depression hitting, or is this just who I am meant to be? Should I settle in with a fluffy blanket and a nice hot cup of coffee and get comfy here? Accept that I'm not the person who will ever be secure with myself? I mean, what the hell else can I possibly do that I haven't done already?! <br />
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And this, my friends, is what it feels like at the finish line. My advice is to run the other way. It's not all it's cracked up to be here.Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-24160495083160695462019-03-28T17:24:00.003-07:002019-03-28T17:24:54.667-07:00What's New Pussycat?A blog post every 6 months is totally enough to keep follower engaged, right?! *cue rolling tumbleweed*<br />
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Day to day life is pretty busy, but more than that, I've really been lacking inspiration and motivation when it comes to writing. This is new territory for me b/c writing is my "thang". To be completely honest, motherhood is sucking the life right outta me. And I mean that in the best and worst possible way. (If you have kids, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout.) My 3 kids consume every waking hour and that leaves so little energy to put into stringing semi-complete sentences together in a way that makes sense to other humans. There's the metaphor folks like to throw around about self-care being the equivolent of filling an empty cup. Let's just say that my cup is not only empty, but is gathering dust and cobwebs. So the idea of doing more than what I do already is unappealing and damn near impossible.<br />
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That being said, I felt moved to pop over to this here bloggy-blog and post. Since it's not something I've given much effort in several months, I thought it wise to grab this moment by the balls.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifvURZmrPlw4SCqssJIByjfKWdjW6DqxAQmrQCapChHeCzjIjOVVx_NtAKWY4hzv_8uZH2Ex-k3zSpatoFoY3-cHcmQdOzE2XaE6zNz242v_uSJ8x-qXLiZM8rtXN1S8_QGcdtBRsXRYM/s1600/PhotoGrid_1533250902443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifvURZmrPlw4SCqssJIByjfKWdjW6DqxAQmrQCapChHeCzjIjOVVx_NtAKWY4hzv_8uZH2Ex-k3zSpatoFoY3-cHcmQdOzE2XaE6zNz242v_uSJ8x-qXLiZM8rtXN1S8_QGcdtBRsXRYM/s320/PhotoGrid_1533250902443.jpg" width="320" /></a>First order of business is the obligatory update. The most newsworthy happening since my last post has been my health journey (God, I really hate that term. But I lack a better one, so I'm rolling with it...and puking in my mouth a little every time I use it.) I'm 52 lbs down since March 2018, with a measly and stubborn 12 lbs until I can transition from weight loss to maintenance mode. Something I'm extremely excited for, but feels just out of reach. The first question every person has if they haven't seen me in awhile is "how did you do it"? If you're not a FB friend, then this will be new info. If you are a FB friend, this is old news and you probably want to skip over this paragraph. Here's the magical trick: eat healthy and move your ass. That's it. I use SparkPeople to track my calories and macros and until recently kept my daily calorie count between 1500-1800. In an effort to break a nearly 2 month plateau, I am reducing my calories to 1300. Once I reach my goal weight of 130 lbs, I'll gradually increase my calories to 1800-2000 per day and truthfully, I'll probably slack off of the food tracking and just keep making good choices. I also walk or dance between 30-100 minutes as a form of "working out". I do this 5-7 days per week because it's fun and keeps my stress levels slighly in check. I've recently added in some strength training stuff to get some booty gains. Nothing wild and crazy; just squats and these torturous things called "fire hydrants". None of this is going to change when I hit my goal weight. My body likes to be in motion.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMf_3nkgnFya7XSRRa4d1A6SkO_I5amqAWZE5P8mRK52gudJGX-0pJoRnKOcWRxDOfErvRmWeM08RptpKYckJaFc6LJx6j8qV6PLwf6c2yuK8gjRRt3EKVOyWCKwrsiA9Zerw9QyiJ7FE/s1600/20181110_171554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMf_3nkgnFya7XSRRa4d1A6SkO_I5amqAWZE5P8mRK52gudJGX-0pJoRnKOcWRxDOfErvRmWeM08RptpKYckJaFc6LJx6j8qV6PLwf6c2yuK8gjRRt3EKVOyWCKwrsiA9Zerw9QyiJ7FE/s320/20181110_171554.jpg" width="240" /></a>I am still working for the same company, working from home so that I can be with my kiddos. It's a blessing and can be really freaking hard, too. But I love it and wouldn't change it for the world. I'm on my 2nd year as a board member for Labrys Society. Last year I was just a plain ole' board member, but this year I'm the Secretary. Or Madame Secretary, as I like to be addressed. It makes me want to wear pencil skirts and pointy glasses. The role doesn't bring with it much change from last year, except I have to be better at taking notes during the monthly meetings and then type them up and email them to the rest of the board. And it puts me up close with a rotating cast of drag queens and kings, while raising funds for local non-profits. It's pretty much the coolest thing in the world.<br />
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The hubs and I also became the new owners of a mobile movie business where we rent out a 12 foot tall inflatable screen and projector so people can host outdoor movie nights. I don't anticipate that business will bring in much income, but it is a fun side hustle and is very closely related to our original dream of one day owning a video rental store. <br />
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In other news, we're 47 days away from our first big vacation in YEARS!! The 5 of us will be loading up in the family truckster aka Duncan Highlander and will be driving down for a full week of fun in Anaheim, CA. We're doing Disneyland and Universal with 3 kids. So thoughts and prayers are appreciated.<br />
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Back to my original train of thought re: my absence from blog-land, I have some words to share. My blog reads very much like a diary. This is where I come to dump my thoughts in the most eloquent way I know how. It isn't a popular style of blogging in the grand scheme of things, but it's what works for me. I have gotten more entrenched in Insta life and follow several local Mom bloggers. These are women who are way cooler than me (not a high standard to live up to), and their blogs are prettier and more topic-centric. For awhile I thought about scrapping this blog and trying to go for something that would garner a stronger following. Something more "professional" and less personal. Maybe even something that could bring in a small source of income. That idea sent me into a spiral of anxiety because it meant that I would have to be able to come up with real content, make a presence on social media, and be dilligent. It would become work and bring with it a whole slew of new ways to fail. <br />
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Don't get me wrong: I'm all for reaching new goals, breaking out of comfort zones, and trying something new. That is AWESOME. I am just not there yet. I'm not in a place where I can plan and post relevent content. I am not in a place where what I experience or have to say would appeal to many people. I have to come to terms with this fact and be okay with it, because while part of me wants to jump up on that bandwagon, another part of me feels like it's overdone and will be another passing fad by the time I get started. I'm always a day late and a dollar short when it comes to trends and I don't necessarily feel called to use my writing skills in that way. I do know I want to eventually do more than post my diary online for 80-100 people to read and I want to post more often. Right now, though, I don't know what that looks like for me. My family, work, and gypsy volunteerism consumes me. Maybe I need to rearrange; or maybe I need to sit in this season and enjoy it until it passes and I have more freedom to pursue something solely for myself. I can't really tell yet how this will all pan out. In the meantime, I do plan to make more of an effort to post here, even if it's more journalling than anything else. I hope you will keep reading, and I think it would be grand if a few new people stumbled their way over here and found something I said inspiring or interesting, or even funny. And if anything changes and I discover my passion and the way to bring it out in some creative way, you know I'll share that here, too, because oversharing is also my "thang".Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-41083259608347675102018-09-06T07:54:00.002-07:002018-09-06T07:54:44.786-07:00The anti-birthday argumentIn the last year, I decided that while I have no issues with aging, I don't see the point in acknowledging or celebrating my actual birthday. It used to be something I looked forward to, but inevitably that excitement would be dashed by an unfortunate reminder that I am not terribly special to the people who are most special to me. I was used to disappointing birthdays as a child, but I assumed that as I got older it would get better. I could throw my own parties and people would join in celebration. That did happen on occasion, but it was marred by years when one or another of my parents would forget, or my hubs and I would argue, or my kids would be buttheads, or a good friend would be MIA. After awhile, it stopped being fun and started becoming a trigger to an annual bout of depression. Thus, I declared that this year we would treat "my" day as any other. No expectations of special treatment, no free coffees from Dutch Bros, no well wishes. Pretend it is just a regular day, because it is.<br />
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At this point, I can sense all the eye rolls. I can feel the judgement from folks who think this is a ploy for attention or a woe-is-me moment that will pass when I'm feeling better. To that, I say: FUCK YOU. I genuinely prefer to age without a designated day where people feel obligated to say nice things to me or give me gifts. It all makes me uncomfortable. Yes, part of it is rooted in a history of let-downs and sadness, but that's a minute portion. I have also had some incredible celebrations that I hold near and dear to my heart and remember fondly. I honestly just don't see the point in having a birthday. I am still going to age. It's not like I am trying to deny that fact, or even impede it in any way. Each year I get to experience life at a new level. This year, I'm on level 38.<br />
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In all my level 38 wisdom, I can see that a lot of folks wish others a happy birthday out of obligation and not out of honest-to-goodness affection. It is a chore. Something we do because we feel bad if we don't. My feeling is that if I am loved, love me every day. If I am appreciated, appreciate me every day. Or at least, in the moment. Don't wait for a set date to give me some half-assed clap on the back. Tell me when you feel compelled to; not when you're forced. This holds especially true for those who can't be bothered to say hello any other day of the year, but then pop out of their rabbit hole for a quick, empty congratulatory statement before retreating back into their regular life. It feels gross and I want no part of it.<br />
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So call it whatever you want. Judge it and pick it apart and make jokes. Ignore my request and brush it off as if it's just a part of the dark and twisty funk I have found myself in these past few months. I can't control how you react; I can only state how I feel and hope that those who truly care for me will be supportive. Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-42148575473218839772018-07-21T08:37:00.001-07:002018-07-21T08:37:10.934-07:00The Season of DirtA friend recently said something that made so much sense, and helped me navigate one of Mommyhood's many speedbumps. I'm paraphrasing, but she described what I was going through as a season. She said that's all life really is: a series of seasons. It's a simple concept, but makes so much sense. As a woman who was really struggling at the moment, it was a comfort to think that it would eventually pass and make way for the next phase.<br />
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I've thought about her statement a lot and have embraced it as a kind of mantra when things are especially difficult or even stagnant. It can also help to remind me to be present and live fully in a moment of joy because it, too, will pass with the changing season. In that instance, it will become a memory and I'd rather that memory be one of pure happiness rather than one of regret for what I missed. I can't say that this has made my life perfect and that I don't still feel overwhelmed. It just gives me a lifeline to grasp when I feel myself slipping down into a dark place.<br />
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My 37 years of experience have provided a wealth of seasons. Some pass quickly and others linger, but I have never been one to dwell in the negative without seeking out a positive side. I've seen too much to not be keenly aware that out greatest lessons in life come from our hardest struggles. In the same way our bodies build muscle, we become stronger by working through challenges. It isn't always fun, but it is always worth it.<br />
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Life at Sams Manor is currently messy; metaphorically and literally. Inside the house, it's an obstacle course of toys, clothes (clean and dirty), crunched cheerios, spilled milk, dog hair and dust bunnies, and reams upon reams of paper covered in artwork and scribbles.Outside is a long neglected yard with overgrown hedges, a pool in the final stages of installation, and a garage that can best be described as utter chaos. The children are usually dirty. Dirty feet, dirty hands, food smeared on their clothes and faces. The teenager's lair is reminiscent of every post-party hotel room you see in movies about drunken rock stars. Empty food containers, half full cups of various liquids, sheets and blankets strewn everywhere and good God, the laundry piles!!<br />
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I struggle with the mess and how to handle it all. While my husband has been trying to tackle as much of the outside maintenance, I've unsuccessfully tried to stay on top of the indoor stuff. I yell and threaten the teenager to do a small number of chores, and enlist the help of my 4 year old through fun songs and candy bribes. All of this energy gives us a home that hits the lowest possible benchmark for livability, while allowing a few key areas that are acceptable backgrounds for Insta posts. <br />
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On the flip side of the coin, I have found myself relaxing a bit when it comes to the dirt factor and the kids. I am embracing dirty feet and faces because I know it means they are having fun. I remind myself that the sticky fingers can be washed and the messy hair can be detangled when they're done doing their thing. To follow them around with baby wipes and a hairbrush is just absurd. Not only do I not have time for that nonsense, but it also takes time away from all the kid stuff. Would I rather they have perfectly coifed hair and clean clothes? Sure. But it's not a dire necessity all the time. When we're home or with friends/family, there's not a need for perfection. (Or at least, there shouldn't be.) <br />
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And so I've dubbed this our season of dirt. Whether we're out camping or playing at the park, drawing and painting, or simply eating lunch, things are going to be messy. It's just a season and like all seasons, it will pass. In the meantime, I'm reminding myself to embrace the inevitable, work on what I can, and allow this season to be what it is, knowing that there is something new on the horizon. Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-33461008796031258122018-01-11T16:39:00.000-08:002018-01-11T16:39:06.449-08:00Bless This Hot MessIf you can't tell by the fact that it's been over 4 months since my last post, I'm a mess. I'm still not sure if I mean that in a negative way or in the basic "oh girl, I'm a hot mess, where's my latte" way. Kids are tough and big surprise! The more you have, the tougher the Mama gig gets. (Who'da thunk?!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5j5i9tbl_Xfe-rcPADx9qw4t8h9itNWUkHbSGAacN8QsAqQhbTZbt3jQDI9ZHxn0zDtdvcRku7-uCquouWtVb0vVwbMyT4va4o4yemUrR1WTmcG0FpiHZggfCm4QOkEEGvgP5QqRfB9A/s1600/Snapchat-2146839806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5j5i9tbl_Xfe-rcPADx9qw4t8h9itNWUkHbSGAacN8QsAqQhbTZbt3jQDI9ZHxn0zDtdvcRku7-uCquouWtVb0vVwbMyT4va4o4yemUrR1WTmcG0FpiHZggfCm4QOkEEGvgP5QqRfB9A/s200/Snapchat-2146839806.jpg" width="112" /></a>Typically I write a year-end post sometime after the holidays, but ain't nobody got time for that! And frankly, I just don't feel up to a recap. However, I've been feeling the call to write lately and have pushed it aside because I have no flippin' clue what I'll talk about. How do those successful mommy bloggers do it?! Some of them post daily!! I don't even poop daily!!<br />
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Needless to say, my lack of posting isn't a bad thing b/c I'm not high functioning outside of Momming duties and work. All I talk about are my kids and whatever milestone each of them have hit or the creative new way they've discovered to drive me insane. Since I work at home and my husband works outside of the home, I am alone to juggle kids and my job simultaneously, which leaves me frazzled and fried by 3pm each weekday and weekends are such a cluster fuck...I. Can't. Even. I don't have witty "today in the office" anecdotes to share. My entire world revolves around the humans that popped out of my vagina and the man who hasn't seen that vagina in weeks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7y2QCSbYZKSMR3txz2unIOlTgzem7fCQRX6-FOQAyBElzgDDHiCiHHKUcwuBLJXQcR8EH60GjbtsRhXBZKloV7AaTArgWzd_VmeV30IzZDFl3i3T1uOj38rTH7qz5rLMB080kNn5xlJc/s1600/20171210_113223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7y2QCSbYZKSMR3txz2unIOlTgzem7fCQRX6-FOQAyBElzgDDHiCiHHKUcwuBLJXQcR8EH60GjbtsRhXBZKloV7AaTArgWzd_VmeV30IzZDFl3i3T1uOj38rTH7qz5rLMB080kNn5xlJc/s200/20171210_113223.jpg" width="150" /></a>There are some economic benefits to being on the fringe of my own personal shit show. For example, I single-handedly keep my favorite Dutch Bros stand in business and I'd bet I've put at least one Bro-ista through college with my iced skinny salted caramel mocha addiction. And I'm pretty sure I keep the people who make the generic pink razors in business b/c when I actually do take a moment to shave, my hair is so overgrown I burn through the whole 5 pack of those little beauties on a single leg. That's job security right there. If you think about it, that practically makes me a hero.<br />
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Maybe instead of looking back, I'll look forward a bit. New year, new me, right?! (What a crock!) The hubs and I have made the decision to get back into our nightly family walks. That is, after his knee heals from almost breaking it at the dump on New Year's Eve Eve. We both felt much better when we were getting those 3 miles in each night and if we timed it just right, it would put the littles to sleep. Score! There's also my middle kiddo's 4th bday next month and she wants a Harry Potter themed party. So that'll provide me the chance to indulge my nerdy side in a hurried and half-assed, two-days-before-the-party way. You know, the usual. The spring should bring some adventure as we take our teenager to fulfill her current dream of seeing Hamilton the Musical. The summer will bring with it my last baby's first birthday and our inevitable trips to the coast. Hopefully by that point, our nightly walks will have helped knock off a few of these lingering pregnancy pounds. (These last 39 lbs are getting way too cozy for my taste!)<br />
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After spending some time lending a hand for to the Lotus Rising Project's Alternative Prom and Pride Parade last year, I'm definitely ready to put myself to good use in that capacity again. I'm currently considering joining the board of a local non profit that will marry two of my favorite things: volunteerism and drag queens. There's a lot more to it than that, obviously, but until I am on the board and really putting in some time and energy, I won't write too much about it. Especially if the other board members get to experience my own special brand of craziness and decide not to vote me in. I'm sure if I do manage to trick them into believing I'm not a complete mess, I'll have plenty more to say about the organization and the great things they're doing for the community. That is what I do best, after all: run my mouth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj6l4gulv3D2NQJUttBX33r6somBiRAt63m8SpIN7j9zHlv1Dt2g1-G_4wslkntImU-bGtgU0CBXZVXIOKQZceWiXzkVkKzWZfTNaACLbs72rSPglve8JnrCp_II5hlfpYLHD8X8B2tI/s1600/20170930_183405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj6l4gulv3D2NQJUttBX33r6somBiRAt63m8SpIN7j9zHlv1Dt2g1-G_4wslkntImU-bGtgU0CBXZVXIOKQZceWiXzkVkKzWZfTNaACLbs72rSPglve8JnrCp_II5hlfpYLHD8X8B2tI/s200/20170930_183405.jpg" width="150" /></a>At some point, I do intend to post more on this blog. Writing is my "thang" and not being able to indulge that has been tough on this old broad. It's not entirely a time issue so much as it is a mental one. My brain is tired and when it's tired, it gets harder and harder to spark my interest enough to make words. It's a big reason why I never pursued writing as a career. I feel like professional writers have a zillion thoughts and curiousities that give them a neverending supply of creativity and material. Some are even good at writing about things other than themselves, which is not my forte at all. I have no shortage of stuff to say when there is a particular thought weighing on my mind or an idea lighting a fire under my butt. But when my mind isn't functioning, it comes out in run-on sentences with zero substance and smaller words. If my own post is boring to me, I imagine how awful it is to those few folks to decide to read it. Then I play over in my head all the terrible things I imagine those people saying about me and my lack of talent. This goes on for days until I'm nursing a bottle of Pepto to calm my nervous ulcer and retreating into yet another binge session of Roseanne. And since I just finished the series a couple months ago and there is a new season coming in March, I think my best option is to have these long dry spells vs posting for posting's sake.<br />
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Until my mind is awake enough to be full of grown-up thoughts and not trapped in an endless loop of cartoon theme songs and wondering how many sticks of string cheese a toddler can eat before it ends in constipation, expect to see long periods of time between posts. Eventually I'll rejoin the land of adults who don't wear jammie pants all day and complete a sentence that doesn't quote Daniel Tiger. Today just ain't that day!Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-84032117803891178412017-08-29T17:59:00.000-07:002017-08-29T17:59:51.698-07:00Chaos CoordinatorThe transition from 2 to 3 kids has gone way smoother than I expected, but the added responsibility of keeping another human being alive has definitely put an even bigger strain on my time. Keeping up with my blog has been one of the many things that has fallen by the wayside. Pooping in private is another of life's little luxuries that I've given up. <br />
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Things around Sams Manor are understandably chaotic, especially since my return to work at the end of July. Even though I work from home and only work part-time now, it really isn't any easier than if I were in an office 40 hours per week. In some aspects, it's more difficult b/c I'm trying to do my full workload in less time, with 3 kids constantly interrupting me for one thing or another. And while I realize that sounds like a complaint, it isn't meant to be. I knew what I was taking on when I accepted the offer to work at home and I also can't even begin to describe how grateful I am that I can be home with my kids and still earn a living. It just means that I have to work harder. Where my biggest pre-Sawyer work challenge was keeping the condensation on my coffee cup from leaving a ring on my desk, now I'm faced with the daily test of guessing how many goldfish crackers will keep the 3 year old at bay long enough for me to finish nursing the baby I'm balancing on my lap on a boppy pillow while completing as many invoices as possible in that time.<br />
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In addition to the new tricks I'm learning while working at home, there is the regular old Mommy stuff that still presents regular challenges. I have the natural maternal instinct, but there's so much more to motherhood than that. For me, it's the mundane stuff that drains me the most. It takes a lot of energy to care for 3 kids. From the moment I wake up until I collapse into bed at night, I'm giving everything I have to my family. Just getting out of bed to take my morning pee is a multi-step process. Usually what wakes me is a hungry baby, rooting on his fist. To keep him from crying and waking up the rest of the house, I have to get him latched onto my boob just as quickly as possible. Taking the time to go to the bathroom is like playing Russian Roulette because if he starts crying before I'm done, the 3 year old could wake up and then all hell breaks loose. After the nursing, burping, and inevitable diaper change, I have to tenderly put the baby back in his bassinet to avoid jarring him awake and repeating the nursing and burping process all over again. If I accomplish this miraculous feat, my reward is emptying my full bladder before I piss my pants. Then I have to decide if it's worth it to try to snag another hour or so of sleep, or take an uninterrupted shower. Both of these are sanity savers, but I can never get both in one day. A choice must be made and it all hinges on how tired I am in the moment.<br />
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As each day wears on, there are a million and one instances where I apply my ever-improving multitasking skills. If it weren't for being able to do 10 things at once, nothing would ever get done. I spend the majority of the week doing it all on my own while the hubs is working, so I have plenty of time to hone my craft. Some days I feel like Wonder Woman and some days I just wonder what the fuck I'm doing. More so the latter than the former, to be honest. It's EXHAUSTING.<br />
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For all the times I look around my messy house and collapse in a teary-eyed heap amidst the broken crayons, stickers, and miniature Shopkin toys, I know I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world. Motherhood is one of those things that drains and fulfills in equal measure. I may go days, weeks, or even months without a single break. I may work myself silly trying to keep up with everything until I feel like I absolutely won't make it another moment at that pace. But then Presley will dance in the middle of the living room floor with such happy abandon, singing along to her favorite song. In that moment, with her big, almond eyes sparkling with glee and her curly hair flying in all directions as she twirls and wiggles to the music, I'm so full of pride and love, I could burst. Or I'll be walking down the hallway, burdened with yet another heaping pile of laundry to wash, when I'll overhear Trinity singing and playing her guitar. As her voice sends out an undulating wave of emotion, it hits me in the face with all the force of a tsunami. That beautiful, awkward, talented teenager of mine reminds me to hold fast each moment because it is gone in a flash. I recall easily the time not so long ago when it felt like just her and me vs the world. Before she became this foreign person that I know less and less about each day. Her drive to figure things out for herself both infuriates me and make me so incredibly proud. Even Sawyer, who hasn't even been in this world for 3 months yet, gives me the "Mommy high" that keeps me pushing forward. I'll hear him rooting and sucking on his fist, kicking his little legs in increasing frustration. When I finally give up the hope of him falling back to sleep and giving me another moment before facing what is sure to be a busy day, I'll lean over to scoop him out of his bassinet and he'll light up the room with the biggest smile I've ever seen. As I hold him in my arms and he latches on to start eating, his little fist will reach out and catch my finger, sending my heart into flutters as I stare down at my steely-eyed baby boy.<br />
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It took me two days to write this blog post. Each time I'd start to write, someone would need something from me and I'd hit the save button and grunt, resentful of the interruption in my thoughts. This is the way my life is at the moment. I'm not Trish, I'm Mama. There is no time to write or cross stitch or indulge in the little things that are just for me. This can be a very bitter pill to swallow. But I know someday I'm going to look around my clean, organized house and wish there were toys strewn across the floor or crayon marks on the wall. I'm going to have peace and order and wish for the chaos. </div>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-70709544405699943622017-06-11T09:31:00.000-07:002017-06-13T12:09:12.284-07:00Birth Story: Sawyer EditionWith my first baby, my water broke spontaneously at 4am. Thirteen hours and 21 minutes later, she was here and I was suddenly a Mom.<br />
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With my second baby, I woke up at 1am to painful contractions that came steadily and grew stronger for 2 hours before I admitted it was time to go to the hospital. Five hours and 27 minutes later, she was here and I was suddenly a Mom of two.</div>
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This is the story of my third and last baby, who was the only baby that came at a time when I was mostly sure I didn't want any more children. He is the only baby I didn't cry and pray and agonize over for years. He was the biggest surprise of our lives, and completes our family perfectly.</div>
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The last several weeks of my pregnancy with Sawyer were typically uncomfortable. I was sleep deprived, had recurring bouts of nausea, and just generally over the miracle of pregnancy. At what turned out to be my final prenatal checkup, my doctor, my hero, gave me the option of scheduling an induction and I don't think he even finished his sentence before I said yes. Call it selfish, but I was ready and at 39 weeks and 1 day gestation and my pre-labor progress all but completely stalled, it was a no-brainer. My Virgo side was ecstatic for the opportunity to prepare and plan. There was literally no down side to induction that I could see.</div>
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Monday night, I couldn't sleep. I knew it would be that way. I'm far too anxious a person to know a life-changing moment is mere hours away without my brain running a million miles a minute. I finally gave up on trying to sleep around 4am Tuesday morning. I got up, ate a very small breakfast, showered, and then checked and re-checked my bags before loading everything into the car. We dropped the oldest two kids off with our friend and made our way to the hospital. Our spirits were high as we sailed into the birthing center at 6:30am and got settled.</div>
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We met our RN, Shannon, and got to spend a lot of time chatting and bonding with her before things kicked off. The plan was simple: 1 round of antibiotics (I was GBS positive...just like I had been w/ my 2 previous pregnancies), low dose of pitocin, another round of antibiotics, increase pitocin, break water, have baby. Sometime between 8:30 and 9am, the first round of antibiotics was finished so the pitocin was started at a low dose. I don't recall when the contractions began, but I do recall them being easy to breathe through. My labor music was playing softly in the background and I was still able to be my sarcastic self in the midst of everything. At some point around 10:30 or 11, right before they were going to increase the pitocin, I felt a hard bump against my pelvis. The pain radiated for a couple minutes before it eased, and then I felt the familiar gush of my water breaking. After a quick check, followed by an ultrasound to verify, we discovered Sawyer decided to roll over and get into the sunnyside up position. That's when things got real.</div>
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There was meconium in the water, so we knew he had pooped. With the second round of antibiotics in, it was safe for him to come, so the pitocin was increased and labor went into full swing. There was no panic or sense of urgency. My body did was it built to do and unlike my previous labor, I felt like I had a handle on the pain, even when the contractions were on top of each other. At some point I asked to stand for a bit and that really helped to ease the more intense pain in my back, but after awhile I felt like my knees were going to buckle so I got back in bed. After another quick check, we found out I was dilated to 7cm and progressing quickly. I had warned my doc and the nurses that this was the history with my previous babies, so they were ready for it and my body stayed true to it's pattern of fast labor. It seemed like minutes and I was at 9.5 cm and then suddenly there was a frenzy of activity in the room and I heard my doc say I could push.</div>
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In all my preparation, I had created a playlist for labor and delivery. The labor music was more mellow and soothing, while the delivery playlist was intentionally upbeat and even a little silly. Song number 1 on the delvery playlist was Push It by Salt N Pepa. I vaguely recall hearing it come on and smiling. I was somewhat aware of the nurse and our friend/photographer laughing about the song choice and feeling very proud that I gave them a laugh because that was my intention all along. The delivery playlist had barely kicked into gear when Rock Your Body by Justin Timberlake came on and then I heard my doctor say "look down" and I saw my son. There he was, after only 19 minutes of pushing, covered in his own poop, eyes wide open and staring at me. </div>
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<a href="https://scontent-sjc2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/18893098_10212541858158007_5280476000039112603_n.jpg?oh=86aaca4cb4404f15c350c93480651a20&oe=599D46A7" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="685" height="400" src="https://scontent-sjc2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/18893098_10212541858158007_5280476000039112603_n.jpg?oh=86aaca4cb4404f15c350c93480651a20&oe=599D46A7" width="342" /></a>At 2:24pm on June 6th, Sawyer Lane Sams was born. He was a healthy 7 lbs 1 oz and 19 in long. Just as suddenly as he was created, he was born, and our family felt whole. He's the most beautiful little boy I've ever seen in my life (yes, I'm biased) and unbelievably mellow in comparison to his big sister Presley. He reminds me a lot of his oldest sister Trinity, though not entirely. She was a mellow baby, too, but Sawyer still has his own unique personality. It will be interesting to see exactly what he's like as he develops more. For now, he's mostly quiet and observant. He has these gorgeous, steely blue eyes that just hit me like a ton of bricks. I admit, I'm much more mushy Mama status this time around than with my first two kids. I think that has a lot to do with age and experience because with Trinity I was like every new Mom and scared of everything. With Presley, I was just trying to survive her wild mood swings and juggle two kids. This time around, I feel like I'm getting my bearings much quicker as far as managing all my rugrats, but of course, I still have a ways to go before I'll call myself a pro. Watching my first two babies interact with my last baby hits me in the feels each and every time, too.</div>
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So that's the story. There's not much to it. Just like it was when he was conceived, the sense of our entire house is this surreal shock of adding another member while simultaneously feeling like this was just how it was meant to be. </div>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-75921580940132910902017-04-18T06:00:00.000-07:002017-04-18T06:00:13.914-07:00Ovary Ovation #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter O.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have been lucky to have had my ovaries function 3 times and each time, the human they helped create was healthy and beautiful and cooked to perfection. Today was the first really clear look we got at Sawyer's handsome face and it got me thinking about my girls and what they looked like in their 4D ultrasounds. With Trin, the technology was very new and they only used it for high risk pregnancies. Fortunately I wasn't high risk, but I got one anyway because the tech couldn't get a clear picture of all the ventricles of her heart with the normal ultrasound machine. By the time I was pregnant with Presley, 4D ultrasounds were commonplace. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trinity in utero. Such a petite little thing!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnZOSjknD3UeijF_kS2ofVoYi12iU-AdX07rs7A7Ie9Lu-uHgwTQ_uymLyl1j-Lw6UmWLEwKAavUdDaA18slMcAbRymISJ2DrfjcOlPTaE1FT6dkHP0dQVmSCq-RhXNr7BrCCYpVAm4E/s1600/IMG_0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnZOSjknD3UeijF_kS2ofVoYi12iU-AdX07rs7A7Ie9Lu-uHgwTQ_uymLyl1j-Lw6UmWLEwKAavUdDaA18slMcAbRymISJ2DrfjcOlPTaE1FT6dkHP0dQVmSCq-RhXNr7BrCCYpVAm4E/s640/IMG_0003.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Presley in utero. She had such a grumpy, squishy little face.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcNPsQ2ZB3mlM-jDAJtHibEHPeRG_4DbYjM4xbEHiNUW5aHxaN51hxBkSMOP9wu7XJ_gxwb08ClDHgM2n9LOgoqyP1DINMHI7s2pUmsWY0Vw3NXv1f0tQlIHka5DaeAIq2f9WwbkG0wY/s1600/IMG_0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcNPsQ2ZB3mlM-jDAJtHibEHPeRG_4DbYjM4xbEHiNUW5aHxaN51hxBkSMOP9wu7XJ_gxwb08ClDHgM2n9LOgoqyP1DINMHI7s2pUmsWY0Vw3NXv1f0tQlIHka5DaeAIq2f9WwbkG0wY/s640/IMG_0002.jpg" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sawyer in utero. He was practicing breathing in the 2nd picutre. It was really cool to watch on the screen.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Give these ovaries a hand, people! They do good work!!</span></div>
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Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-10743629526003246812017-04-17T06:00:00.000-07:002017-04-17T06:00:08.789-07:00Nesting #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter N.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Most pregnant women can tell you a zillion stories about the nesting instinct and just how insane it can be when it hits. I nested with Trinity, but with an unhelpful husband and extremely limited budget, it didn't go very far. Not to mention, we were renting a duplex and couldn't do anything major. So I hung a few pictures and called it a day. With Presley, we were literally shoulders-deep in boxes of our stuff mixed with my mother-in-law's stuff, trying to just make a path to the bathroom most days. That frantic urge to clean and organize never came, and the idea of decorating was almost laughable. But, just like "they" always say</span><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, every pregnancy is different. As I enter the 3rd trimester, the urge to nest has taken hold...BIG TIME! Though our budget is still an issue, I'm finding ways to make things work and at least try to appease the little domestic goddess within. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I've posted about before, we recently replaced all 13 windows and 2 sliding glass doors in our house. This was something that was more out of neccessity than it was vanity. (A $700 electric bill was all the motivation we needed.) The fairly simple act of swapping out 1970s era aluminum frame windows for something modern and functional lit a fire under my tush. I promptly made a list of projects I absolutely want to finish before Sawyer gets here, or before I get too large to accomplish anything.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">First on the list is the laundry room. The floor desperately needed replaced, so once that was done, I set my sights on window treatments. There are a zillion and one different diy no-sew curtain tutorials online, so pinterest became my best friend. A little fabric, adhesive, and hooks turned into some fairly decent little cafe curtains made by yours truly. Martha Stewart would probably balk, but I'm happy with how they turned out. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've also been eyeing the fireplace hearth in our living room. The thing is an eyesore, but it would be way too expensive to take out completely. Once again turning to ye trusty olde pinterest, I found an idea for making a wash out of chalk paint to lighten the old-ass rocks and modernize it slightly. The hubs says that will only look good once the living room walls are painted. So that's another project on the to-do list.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And finally, there's Presley and Sawyer's shared room. This one is going to be a challenge and I'm still not sure how up for it I am, but none-the-less, it needs to be handled. Toys need to be downsized, organization needs to reign, and somehow I have to make it a fun and functional space for a toddler and baby of opposite genders to share comfortably for at least a few years. Once Trin is grown and out of the house, one of them can take over her room, but I'm in no rush for that day to come, so I have to make this work. There are ideas galore to be found online, but there are several aspects to this room that make most of those impossible. The built-in cabinets, reading nook, and desk area are the biggest issue. Then there's the closet and the sheer amount of crap it contains. In the grand scheme of things, this one is the most important, but it's also one of the most overwhelming so I find all sorts of reasons to do other things first.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have a ton of pictures that need to be hung and just the usual spring cleaning tasks that I can accomplish. Little by little, this house is feeling more like MY home. For so long it has felt like a museum. Each bit of progress makes me feel better and makes me want to do more. We'll see just how much of that I can get done in the next 2 months.</span></div>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-40033999552737370722017-04-16T14:11:00.000-07:002017-04-16T14:11:05.539-07:00Managing, mostly #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter M.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are moments when I feel like I really have my shit together. I'm on top of my to-do list, my house is clean, my kids are well taken care of, my marriage is smooth sailing, everyone is happy and life is perfect.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And then I wake up from my magical dream land, probably because one of my kids is screaming bloody murder or complaining that they're starving.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The truth is, I never have it all together. Some days are better than others, but most of the time, I'm just faking it or managing to juggle life the best I can. Even people who grew up in "perfect" homes can say that being an adult is difficult. Imagine being raised by addicts who had no business being responsible for little people, as well as a wide array of relatives and friends' parents who thankfully filled in where they could. I just wasn't equipped with the skills to do this "grown up" thing. Add kids to the mix, and it makes things even more complicated.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But somehow, I'm managing...mostly. My kids are alive and not malnourished or neglected. They live in a stable home, aren't exposed to an ever-changing cast of characters ala Faces of Meth, and their basic needs, and most wants, are met. My marriage is exactly a month away from hitting the decade mark and I'd call it a success. I don't forsee divorce or separation in our near or distant future. It's not all roses, but it works and we make a good team when we remember to work together instead of letting our stubbornness get in the way. Our debt to income ratio just took a turn toward the right direction, thanks to the recent refinance we did on our home, so that feels good. We still live paycheck to paycheck, but we're finding ways to stretch it further, rather than digging the hole deeper. To me, that's a pretty good sign that I'm not an epic failure.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Two days ago, I had the mother of all meltdowns and had to force myself to bed early and cry out my feelings. In addition to the drama I was experiencing, there were thoughts of "what the hell am I thinking bringing another child into the world" swirling around my head. All I could think was I am already screwing everything up with the two I have, why would I want to do that to another innocent soul? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yesterday was an improvement over the day before, but I still felt like I was drowning in quicksand. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today, I can breathe. My house is still thrashed, but I have a better handle on my mommy and wifey duties. I don't have that overwhelmed sensation or an urgent pull to run screaming from everything and everyone. There are no tears. There are lots of smiles. These are the days I have to store in my memory, to remind me that I don't have to be perfect and that when things get to be too much, it's only a matter of time before the strain eases. I will be ok. My kids will be ok. My hubs will be ok. Everything will be ok. Perfect is a myth, but ok is just fine.</span></div>
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Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-70970876003091255502017-04-15T07:19:00.002-07:002017-04-15T07:19:52.333-07:00Laundry #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter L.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After coming in slighly under budget on the windows and doors, we decided to have the contractor stay here a little longer and tile our laundry room. The floor in there was covered in the original vinyl from 1977. When my in-laws tiled the kitchen a few years ago, they bought enough to do the laundry room, but never completed the project. Yesterday, it was finally finished.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UuynoJKt6NqTcSn9Ke33ixR-O5OA1_nzGXjrorKnSXhUUMrjYO9w_PLLPPlfaKF_UWeaBjSkRzPYoUUis8JJ01Kny8XwLFnTa86yp07nrWPIUcaFUGPIL7GskQYyc8CbNKCBtAYe4vU/s1600/20170409_180352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UuynoJKt6NqTcSn9Ke33ixR-O5OA1_nzGXjrorKnSXhUUMrjYO9w_PLLPPlfaKF_UWeaBjSkRzPYoUUis8JJ01Kny8XwLFnTa86yp07nrWPIUcaFUGPIL7GskQYyc8CbNKCBtAYe4vU/s640/20170409_180352.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**BEFORE** The view of our laundry room from the door. Check out that lovely vinyl flooring!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZjcesJ7RtD_b2M6F-sNPOMJx_03pMCS04xDS0-6I9E3uFo5vhbW-wyz8CXOD432BjqWu7vZ2aeQY-NZErrRyVT2bJ3_y0m-zxwN5qGY-cJmfNHqTvg2hapat5gO8yUL_No9xkbirG3k/s1600/20170409_180359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZjcesJ7RtD_b2M6F-sNPOMJx_03pMCS04xDS0-6I9E3uFo5vhbW-wyz8CXOD432BjqWu7vZ2aeQY-NZErrRyVT2bJ3_y0m-zxwN5qGY-cJmfNHqTvg2hapat5gO8yUL_No9xkbirG3k/s640/20170409_180359.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**BEFORE** The view looking toward the door. The green around the bottom is the original wall color that was hidden by the trim. 70s-licious!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZOK_k7tQ-hzJI8KQARb9eOu4am6ZYlAv86O-EWLf2G0TII_du4xqfUJ5q_ptD6M3ov0ApH_nORwTyy-wzIVDpoIOhECe2z9Evw6D_X-tjugyzjH2j09a3SE335NKgTMBCs0Wl9CQqkk/s1600/20170410_170600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZOK_k7tQ-hzJI8KQARb9eOu4am6ZYlAv86O-EWLf2G0TII_du4xqfUJ5q_ptD6M3ov0ApH_nORwTyy-wzIVDpoIOhECe2z9Evw6D_X-tjugyzjH2j09a3SE335NKgTMBCs0Wl9CQqkk/s640/20170410_170600.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**In process - Day 1**</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFOFPBaoaxkGLKnHBSCcLBtcWzjLSQQgyHhVw6fsUb6dCTdmLL126CN619kfsb9bqB6J7rbiEDZx27rN4t4gliJBX9mV4cxCLv8XY876_FIbilUotvob7r_7nvaK6ifL4oJbS1FaYapg/s1600/20170410_170602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFOFPBaoaxkGLKnHBSCcLBtcWzjLSQQgyHhVw6fsUb6dCTdmLL126CN619kfsb9bqB6J7rbiEDZx27rN4t4gliJBX9mV4cxCLv8XY876_FIbilUotvob7r_7nvaK6ifL4oJbS1FaYapg/s640/20170410_170602.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**In process - Day 1** Check out that lovely green. We're purposely not painting inside the closet so our kids can see part of the house in it's original splendor. LOL</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_r5GqE2rACdvnTTVbheOgbCH3HG2RYzjp9GbX-DQR_KesbM5JyECf7J4AqcydcUFkhiRChNN6pRGLFTUP9Nd9XQwCq4L038HoZ0oCgWfzmd1TjeoW1kPzcGZz-UMwd7noNNUJ4mlMi2c/s1600/20170411_200126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_r5GqE2rACdvnTTVbheOgbCH3HG2RYzjp9GbX-DQR_KesbM5JyECf7J4AqcydcUFkhiRChNN6pRGLFTUP9Nd9XQwCq4L038HoZ0oCgWfzmd1TjeoW1kPzcGZz-UMwd7noNNUJ4mlMi2c/s640/20170411_200126.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**In Process - Day 2**</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25SgMFhv52oyj3npu3dOH0RSdEzdk8F4j72dbG90bRetokkxWxQUC6cngx7Ov8u2HUU9376NU7HCejio0B1DCi8x05YF2T9pR3gNmdZJdxFyNR7dnZAa6oJfnpmbEqyo1jw-BGY8-7qA/s1600/20170415_064203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25SgMFhv52oyj3npu3dOH0RSdEzdk8F4j72dbG90bRetokkxWxQUC6cngx7Ov8u2HUU9376NU7HCejio0B1DCi8x05YF2T9pR3gNmdZJdxFyNR7dnZAa6oJfnpmbEqyo1jw-BGY8-7qA/s640/20170415_064203.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**After** The view from the door got a whole lot prettier!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQqEBvAQ82ECHM1y5SSPHAb8ZIz_EhZpVgTryT4sXx9WXy0uyEpZtyCp-nnY94InF5jZVFu9iNgBNRdeos1geDN5t5rBKBeYoJPwTNF5QfrSZsmLnqwM6t0VWWFPAXYQYvdZyliuOY9Q/s1600/20170415_064221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQqEBvAQ82ECHM1y5SSPHAb8ZIz_EhZpVgTryT4sXx9WXy0uyEpZtyCp-nnY94InF5jZVFu9iNgBNRdeos1geDN5t5rBKBeYoJPwTNF5QfrSZsmLnqwM6t0VWWFPAXYQYvdZyliuOY9Q/s640/20170415_064221.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**After** View of the door. We will be putting in the trim ourselves soon, but it's all done otherwise.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
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Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-22790595060270359972017-04-13T18:56:00.001-07:002017-04-13T18:56:05.991-07:00Killing me softly #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter K.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wasn't sure what I was going to write about today, but then by either really good luck or really bad luck, a topic fell into my lap. As I sit here with a pounding head and throbbing gums, the song "Killing Me Softly" starting running through my brain. And so, I'll whine a little about the pain that is currently killing me. (Okay, "killing me" might be a bit of an exaggeration.)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had a bit of tooth pain when Presley was first born and until yesterday, it had pretty much subsided. I noticed yesterday morning that when I brushed my teeth, one of my upper right molars hurt pretty bad. It was certainly a new and unwelcome sensation, but manageable. In fact, I made it through the day without thinking twice about it. </span><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This morning, there was no ignoring it. The pain was intense, like an electric shock through my body. The aching mouth that followed was hard to work through. I hadn't been to the dentist since I was 8 or 9, but I was able to find a local dentist that accepted my insurance and could fit me in right away.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After x-rays and pictures, the dentist let me know that although my teeth were in really good shape considering the lack of professional dental care, my wisdom teeth and one molar needed to be extracted. Typically they prefer doing root canals to save the teeth, but mine were in too bad of shape and the cost associated with saving them was way higher than it was worth. The dentist said he could do the extraction today, too, so we agreed to just get it done.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After a good cleaning, my mouth was numbed. Being my first time getting any kind of real dental work done, I wasn't sure what to expect. The numbing shots left me with the oddest sensation. Thankfully it kept me from feeling him rip my 4 wisdom teeth and that decayed molar out of my face. The extraction itself actually went really fast. I was at the dentist's office for exactly 2 hours, from start to finish. I had planned to go back to work but the dentist put the kibosh on that right away. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Until the shots wore off, I felt like I had a huge sagging lip, but no pain whatsoever. The pain sort of crept in slowly at first, and then began to crescendo about 5 hours after the extraction. Being pregnant, Tylenol is the only pain medication I can take safely. I was worried it wouldn't be strong enough, but I can now tell you that it does take the edge off the headache, which is better than nothing. I can eat soft foods today, real food tomorrow, and was given strict instructions to take it easy until Sunday.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is now how I envisioned the day going, but even if I'm not feeling the greatest, I'm happy with the care I received and how quickly it all happened. And I can tell you with all the confidence in the world that I will definitely not be waiting another 3 decades before my next dental visit.</span></div>
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Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-92091007561742785122017-04-13T06:38:00.000-07:002017-04-13T06:38:26.580-07:00Justin #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter J.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Since time has seemed to slip through my fingers lately, I thought it would be fun to just walk down memory lane w/ a few of my favorite pictures of one of my favorite people. April 25th marks 11 years since our first date and May 16th is our 10th wedding anniversary. So this seems as good a time as any to reminisce about my JJ Dyn-o-mite.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnm357GiCmPi-5DumAR1UmAbladnwYIZmjkAONJz3fttJYIXUP2T8Vkl2iH07Bi84Q1nqbNzU9BbryHWQbm7v9juO0pYU2qwvUz3ZVLRtC4kldWOS-QvRjuN8Nh-FqDopCJdrG8CXAgY/s1600/123356010_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnm357GiCmPi-5DumAR1UmAbladnwYIZmjkAONJz3fttJYIXUP2T8Vkl2iH07Bi84Q1nqbNzU9BbryHWQbm7v9juO0pYU2qwvUz3ZVLRtC4kldWOS-QvRjuN8Nh-FqDopCJdrG8CXAgY/s400/123356010_l.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Myspace profile pic that made me swoon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBi3KuatDsWmW7uKrraEHj1DSDXIyaHvQW2LTslxglhcfi7IejAUhu-hiIkKUWNGUJqRWLkF1s3U6otrfbHhHD7tn4SLf0O5DkBLX0X-3CEFX6OR_UKtrJkxakvQysRrRv53eThOVNgM/s1600/P4080278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBi3KuatDsWmW7uKrraEHj1DSDXIyaHvQW2LTslxglhcfi7IejAUhu-hiIkKUWNGUJqRWLkF1s3U6otrfbHhHD7tn4SLf0O5DkBLX0X-3CEFX6OR_UKtrJkxakvQysRrRv53eThOVNgM/s400/P4080278.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keeping each other in line 2006</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbeuS6UedQYCfQ9ukcOnPK5SPO4ehw1M6VEyZ59Sayl2eXyLyliF_RAA1Dsuuc_GosWn6JzQpzWZtrJS2RImTnSasa1F7Bi83A8xAznB_PsNckABC4M2lAF7IXIzXi5sng1Geu8Qo1BZ0/s1600/P5050035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbeuS6UedQYCfQ9ukcOnPK5SPO4ehw1M6VEyZ59Sayl2eXyLyliF_RAA1Dsuuc_GosWn6JzQpzWZtrJS2RImTnSasa1F7Bi83A8xAznB_PsNckABC4M2lAF7IXIzXi5sng1Geu8Qo1BZ0/s400/P5050035.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first and last time we were at the coast w/out kids...June 2006</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtCk2PYSZ8YiJcI4ejLqCEk0em_zoIsGGPMKUNDY9xxyhyphenhyphenwMMnFy3cX7hE1oUEsW1ka4xQSvIkF3e8bBzbHUqGZ8F7cWWlneSk1LWEx80vbD3LOakIZy_mmwxeWit4taUOnot8SA7Z3E/s1600/xDSCI0069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtCk2PYSZ8YiJcI4ejLqCEk0em_zoIsGGPMKUNDY9xxyhyphenhyphenwMMnFy3cX7hE1oUEsW1ka4xQSvIkF3e8bBzbHUqGZ8F7cWWlneSk1LWEx80vbD3LOakIZy_mmwxeWit4taUOnot8SA7Z3E/s400/xDSCI0069.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Um, he's just cute. What can I say?! 2008 or 2009</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPlThxQsKDMEuUGYaRIA4-DvhKvuOG3Mb0Qldl8i6iRTfFARdeleZSbWj1hpvPqFGo1em8Jb9P_h0B2OaZuShJQGpLzvnnJlgcTO9Abxa8gGHbuP4hEJ1FQRkUhqn-RK5VFbfnTBddzE/s1600/IMG_0635+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPlThxQsKDMEuUGYaRIA4-DvhKvuOG3Mb0Qldl8i6iRTfFARdeleZSbWj1hpvPqFGo1em8Jb9P_h0B2OaZuShJQGpLzvnnJlgcTO9Abxa8gGHbuP4hEJ1FQRkUhqn-RK5VFbfnTBddzE/s400/IMG_0635+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The saddest summer, but a great trip to Crater Lake...Aug 2013</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSR7g6_Rf66q_AM41JSqUgyeCVJDsZCj4nVJQaOZfoWli3hdE_K_kzYT5c1sm4p5uu_S7hMNkgNiLpoOfhvYKCxzSxUdpiSFIL36L7YNmd_fnxfSj0UFCeD4sLGguD_OELyYKRqVVT9I/s1600/IMG_2545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSR7g6_Rf66q_AM41JSqUgyeCVJDsZCj4nVJQaOZfoWli3hdE_K_kzYT5c1sm4p5uu_S7hMNkgNiLpoOfhvYKCxzSxUdpiSFIL36L7YNmd_fnxfSj0UFCeD4sLGguD_OELyYKRqVVT9I/s400/IMG_2545.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Daddy status</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixX2Ym9KMPDYgnYCw-2xdJwKrzHH4sB34lX_xKGV3nP2qn06J8tuydUiztNLzlnoyZvTZqNHk9tT_iMIyS0__tcIyXXwt-QMYJPyKUy5FWu9ZEg_Eq0Fd8u-YiAdWRGlHf4-TRach3LnY/s1600/20160917_191115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixX2Ym9KMPDYgnYCw-2xdJwKrzHH4sB34lX_xKGV3nP2qn06J8tuydUiztNLzlnoyZvTZqNHk9tT_iMIyS0__tcIyXXwt-QMYJPyKUy5FWu9ZEg_Eq0Fd8u-YiAdWRGlHf4-TRach3LnY/s400/20160917_191115.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The night baby Sawyer was conceived. Well, it was after this, but still...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKjHl9-9G3GpQtg232CN7ekFRoAkHFGbaGzM6kyEtCa30kUXN7qENwxvLZS05Sp0cRJWs_r-Iz8gQvvpzWxYn_MCmHbEwjSknTbB0CmDLbK7qbxd3xeO26Az2pyP6ozfsWIMorEoZLzQ/s1600/20170225_173652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKjHl9-9G3GpQtg232CN7ekFRoAkHFGbaGzM6kyEtCa30kUXN7qENwxvLZS05Sp0cRJWs_r-Iz8gQvvpzWxYn_MCmHbEwjSknTbB0CmDLbK7qbxd3xeO26Az2pyP6ozfsWIMorEoZLzQ/s400/20170225_173652.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I picked a good Daddy for my kids</td></tr>
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Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-14060084602237566622017-04-11T11:45:00.000-07:002017-04-11T11:45:58.599-07:00I Tunes #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter I.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We're currently 9 weeks from Sawyer's due date and I've had plenty of time to contemplate my final human delivery and how I want it to be the same and different from the last two. Granted, this is all speculation because labor never goes as planned. I already know I want to go epidural-free, I want it video taped, I want it photographed, and I want my hubs and besty by my side the whole time. Those elements are all the same as Presley's delivery and mostly the same as Trinity's.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One of the bright ideas I have is to create a labor/delivery playlist and hopefully use that as a distraction from the complete mind-numbing agony I will be experiencing. When I was pregnant with Trinity, I wanted music and I think I even took some CDs into the hospital with me, but never played them. With Presley, I worked on a Pandora playlist for most of my pregnancy, but the commercials and the horrible songs that would still crop up from time to time bugged me. Not to mention, once I was at the hospital I pretty much just wanted to die. That labor was hell on Earth!!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This time, I'm going in prepared. I am working on compiling a playlist and putting it on my phone so I can just use a little bluetooth speaker in the delivery room. I want songs that will be inspiring and sweet, but stuff that will make me smile in spite of my pain. I consulted ye olde interwebs and found a few ideas.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">#1 on my list is Push It by Salt N Pepa...for obvious reasons.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Also on my list are a couple songs that pay homage to the name Sawyer. For that, I've chosen Lumberjack by Jackyl, Tom Sawyer by Rush, and Monty Python's Lumberjack Song. All cheese, all the time, baby.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To hit the sweet spot of the moment, I chose Here Comes The Sun by the Beatles, and Beautiful Boy by John Lennon. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Aside from these few tunes, my list is still incomplete. I want a wide array of songs that will enhance this final labor and delivery. Whether they're cheesy, funny, sappy, or somewhere in between, I want to hear them and remember the exact moment they played as Sawyer was entering the world.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If it were your playlist, what would you choose?</span></div>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-68451035991358376652017-04-10T06:00:00.000-07:002017-04-10T06:00:03.578-07:00Home Sweet Home #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter H.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our house was built in the late 70s and has only had some upgrades done in the last decade or so. Most of these were done by Justin's parents and (now ex) brother-in-law. After we bought the house, we discovered a million and one big and little projects that we want to do or have done, but money has always been the big deterrent. Right around the time I got pregnant with Sawyer, Justin and I decided to do a cash back refinance on our house to get some much needed upgrades finished.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Due to the lovely situation w/ my previous employer shutting down, the refinance took a long time. It wasn't until February that we finally had the money in the bank. Justin got in touch with a couple different contractors to bid on replacing all 13 windows in our house, both exterior doors, both sliding glass doors, and insulation in the attic. Our biggest motivation for choosing this particular updating project was the $704 electric bill we had received the month prior. Our electricity in the winter always runs in the $300-$500 range per month and we knew it had everything to do w/ the insulation (or lack thereof) and old windows. There were also huge gaps in the exterior doors that weren't helping matters. It was pretty much a no-brainer to choose this as our big remodel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After 2 weeks of hard work by the contractor and his crew, all 13 windows, 2 sliders, 2 exterior doors, and insulation were done. He said we had roughly 4 inches or less of insulation in the attic when we should have about 36 inches. That is where 80% of our heat was escaping, so he took care of that while waiting for our windows to arrive. Although we didn't expect to see a difference in our power bill so quickly, this month's bill was a full $170 less than the month before all the upgrades began! That includes the 2 weeks that the contractors were working on our windows and doors and about a week when our front door had a makeshift cover w/ huge gaps over an area where the contractor had a worker fabricating a decorative little side window. Imagine the difference we'll see next winter!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Since we came in slightly under budget on everything else, we decided to ask the contractor to tile our laundry room floor. The entryway we use the most leads directly into the laundry room, so it made sense to give it a little love. Also, the tile is the same that was used on the kitchen floor when my in laws re-did that 5 or 6 years ago. They bought enough to do the laundry room, but never got around to it, so the boxes of tile are just taking up space in the garage. Neither Justin nor I have the tools, skills, or time to DIY that particular task, so this week begins the laundry room makeover. (I'm hoping it will be all done in time to use that as my "L" post.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are still a ton of different things we want to modernize/upgrade to make our house more home-y. Since I have been nesting lately, I'm going to talk more about those projects in my "N" post. Just know that there are quite a few projects left to do; several of which I plan to complete before my son is born in June. Those are mostly small design and organizational projects I've been needing to do since we bought the house 3 years ago. I figure I should work on some of it while the motivation is strong and we have a teensy bit of disposable income. Once Sawyer is born, both of those will become distant memories and I know it will be years before I can accomplish anything more than feeding/changing/child rearing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We weren't smart enough to take good before pictures of everything, but we did get a few and we found some photos in our archives that show certain areas of the house as they were before the contractor worked his magic. So without further ado, here are the progress photos.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZ13UVHyNQGFFulTG1Fc_IRr9-K_dITZ6ODWermobLhyphenhyphenxBhXLm0pCYORkcvkokFPG_CgGUgpQQddBj2xz4w7BS9is-AW3nKbmhbqedeHgq7CPqzRJuDziMzMAA6i2w9u4GYo2v8bpVbo/s1600/20160720_172611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZ13UVHyNQGFFulTG1Fc_IRr9-K_dITZ6ODWermobLhyphenhyphenxBhXLm0pCYORkcvkokFPG_CgGUgpQQddBj2xz4w7BS9is-AW3nKbmhbqedeHgq7CPqzRJuDziMzMAA6i2w9u4GYo2v8bpVbo/s640/20160720_172611.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our front door, laundry room windows, and carport door before</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTz7p4LWlrmdQ_diV0A6ztbTnYmUpbfLBy0o5DjDoslkZnKN2wfpykL6lptWwGNoqCddOSxVE0W0wt3yhOBKB6uwdUHud4WOM9vHk_mcPc2Sthgx1LsP140b2ZHql9vEAJDSjwqjrXBbY/s1600/20170409_093929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTz7p4LWlrmdQ_diV0A6ztbTnYmUpbfLBy0o5DjDoslkZnKN2wfpykL6lptWwGNoqCddOSxVE0W0wt3yhOBKB6uwdUHud4WOM9vHk_mcPc2Sthgx1LsP140b2ZHql9vEAJDSjwqjrXBbY/s640/20170409_093929.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our front door, laundry room windows, and carport door after</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj4GyVvEoMUWiCwktf8f7qIL-1qAnicJXHxEILYfBh91aOpDEI-8a7WmHoH9Ssjx4kAXwo4hF0CybctUcUPUUWSGRxtofdngCmx2oGLGq2qdoxXfa44086gIxhQi-bVs4OFegmdxPpJc/s1600/20170409_093943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj4GyVvEoMUWiCwktf8f7qIL-1qAnicJXHxEILYfBh91aOpDEI-8a7WmHoH9Ssjx4kAXwo4hF0CybctUcUPUUWSGRxtofdngCmx2oGLGq2qdoxXfa44086gIxhQi-bVs4OFegmdxPpJc/s640/20170409_093943.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A closer look at the front door. It was 42" before, but we had him bring it down to a standard 36"</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWcoC5U3HgdK0GFzH37zcjGc6OCE2halqZccIB_mZIhnEfwr16fYJCCv1CyMLZ1LySCr9ByMtLb-YJPJLeo4T177DsXzKRahQjuabOg5jh7ORkNYeyADSUKiYkKVQejEtJotTrT27N7w/s1600/IMG_0432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWcoC5U3HgdK0GFzH37zcjGc6OCE2halqZccIB_mZIhnEfwr16fYJCCv1CyMLZ1LySCr9ByMtLb-YJPJLeo4T177DsXzKRahQjuabOg5jh7ORkNYeyADSUKiYkKVQejEtJotTrT27N7w/s640/IMG_0432.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The window looking into our family/game room before<br /></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4X20BATCH0pRatw_az6740rdMXGT6Zh1kOYWpH_vgZv965iZSwTeYdiuxA10baxbjKW_D6uf3GoPNaPq7QBMtTskj0KbZdWkmPKSN27PcqEy4dw_Gx-xUpwRmOUUoJZEz8rroyjqKCvM/s1600/20170409_093956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4X20BATCH0pRatw_az6740rdMXGT6Zh1kOYWpH_vgZv965iZSwTeYdiuxA10baxbjKW_D6uf3GoPNaPq7QBMtTskj0KbZdWkmPKSN27PcqEy4dw_Gx-xUpwRmOUUoJZEz8rroyjqKCvM/s640/20170409_093956.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The window looking into our family/game room after<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnjZhi4Vh8vose9QmC0_vOzeM92Y8atb7ncU2sSRYtksek4rHxSFOmLgR6H5KI5K4-hUfplMyCOUapHY2nW8sokz7DvgZnVuITLo2uL0iZzoTZShVPqFqrwEl3H31CLj2Oxs9tm_7Gm8/s1600/20170407_170450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnjZhi4Vh8vose9QmC0_vOzeM92Y8atb7ncU2sSRYtksek4rHxSFOmLgR6H5KI5K4-hUfplMyCOUapHY2nW8sokz7DvgZnVuITLo2uL0iZzoTZShVPqFqrwEl3H31CLj2Oxs9tm_7Gm8/s640/20170407_170450.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't have before pictures, but this is the slider looking into the living room. It used to open on the opposite side and had half a concrete step. Now it's got a full step made w/ deck material and opens on the left side.<br /></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPQhcO2Ou1n0gfQZyIVnPmu3LP0UqISZpuaVgjnkWZFGki6ewHhGiYY7ScKZRFvfd4bY-zdtPP8FQwlxLxPPKAL8NJCI2gK3fc9qewJu4hhW_7WFoibiPsqw0p52l3zFzZnpxlkoEpRs/s1600/20170407_170458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPQhcO2Ou1n0gfQZyIVnPmu3LP0UqISZpuaVgjnkWZFGki6ewHhGiYY7ScKZRFvfd4bY-zdtPP8FQwlxLxPPKAL8NJCI2gK3fc9qewJu4hhW_7WFoibiPsqw0p52l3zFzZnpxlkoEpRs/s640/20170407_170458.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the slider looking into the dining room. It also only had half a concrete step, but the contractor made a full step to match the other slider. Also, both sliders now have functioning screens. No more flies in summer!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfc-C7ibgEdTv-zr4o1JRucxMbT68d4Yk41FpfYFov2lMLDYMuNsoyU0XEx5lanHarc-pjiWhZXc99xP56TuDBXU1OF5z_RgTH07w8WiHMcCast-yNkrbMO0JTY9wMt54rF_cIwHLzzY/s1600/20170328_170520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfc-C7ibgEdTv-zr4o1JRucxMbT68d4Yk41FpfYFov2lMLDYMuNsoyU0XEx5lanHarc-pjiWhZXc99xP56TuDBXU1OF5z_RgTH07w8WiHMcCast-yNkrbMO0JTY9wMt54rF_cIwHLzzY/s640/20170328_170520.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those gold/yellow funky windows were next to mine and Justin's bed. They were AWFUL!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqetUuY3s-o2RM-a56uebxepYvdHNf_NbfH2Z9udw4pDr8FsC69rA1azBDyl2R1DgATZuuUP-1-ngaWFCTfrKQRDOT18mUq5XKlhr9QzzirqtkKj4BZSR_RGnvRo-ZqOJu6lX7HTyoTNE/s1600/20170403_185426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqetUuY3s-o2RM-a56uebxepYvdHNf_NbfH2Z9udw4pDr8FsC69rA1azBDyl2R1DgATZuuUP-1-ngaWFCTfrKQRDOT18mUq5XKlhr9QzzirqtkKj4BZSR_RGnvRo-ZqOJu6lX7HTyoTNE/s640/20170403_185426.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is what our new bedside windows look like. They open, they have screens, and they actually let in some light!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-51985352809096574542017-04-08T18:09:00.001-07:002017-04-08T18:09:36.196-07:00Emotions, Frustration, and Gestation #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letters E, F & G.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I fell behind on the challenge, so I'm catching up/cheating by using 3 letters at once. Deal with it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Honestly, I've been feeling some good ole' depression creep in the last week and it has become overwhelming just to float through the days on autopilot, let alone put extra effort into anything. Also, when I write in the midst of one of my lovely down-swings, it comes off whiny and ridiculous. So it's better for me to isolate.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can't say I'm out of my funk, but I felt the urge to write. So rather than giving up on the challenge after a lapse, I decided to try to work my current feelings into a post. This is where the "E" part comes in: Emotions. This pregnancy has been interesting because it has made me emotionally fragile and weepy. Things that would normally roll off my back are bothering me more than I care to admit. Not to mention the random, no-reason-whatsoever sadness that derails me every now and then. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The problem isn't that I have emotions, mind you. It's the way those emotions are received by the people closest to me. From my perspective, my husband and kids expect me to be this high-functioning, low-feeling automaton. Their needs should be met with minimal effort on their part. It reminds me of being a kid all over again. Growing up, it was understood that I was meant to take up as little space as possible. I should do what was requested of me without complaint and without needing anything in return. Not seen, not heard. When I did let my feelings spill out or failed to live up to expectations, I was a burden, ungrateful, a brat, a bitch, too opinionated, and asking too much. I learned to supress, to hide, to bury what I could and cope on my own. I tried to be a body with no soul because my spirit was messy and unwanted. I had no value beyond what I could do for everyone else. I definitely feel that way right now and I can't tell if it's really how it is, or if it's my hormones playing tricks on me. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWw55nN4HK3ez8b3cmDt5SpNkzH00gP_tsugLVkD3XnCr72N06QwcVboJU6GUf0NIE-OaNvJBYh4u1UY9VL8KHr32nyPO4z_8lLXr7Q60_rmJASH97edQ2KQ8Atb8RX02GRIk_C85NZKY/s1600/FamousQuotesEver.com-hji__quotes_falling_apar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWw55nN4HK3ez8b3cmDt5SpNkzH00gP_tsugLVkD3XnCr72N06QwcVboJU6GUf0NIE-OaNvJBYh4u1UY9VL8KHr32nyPO4z_8lLXr7Q60_rmJASH97edQ2KQ8Atb8RX02GRIk_C85NZKY/s1600/FamousQuotesEver.com-hji__quotes_falling_apar.jpg" /></a><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Aside from the terrible ache of reliving my past, this has led to immense frustration. I don't understand why I am expected to function at a certain capacity and not ask for a thing in return. Why is it that my emotions are barely tolerated instead of simply allowed to be felt?! Why is it such a problem for me to just cry or be angry for a minute so that I can process something and move on?! Why can't these feelings just be met with support or love, hell, a TEENSY bit of compassion?! Maybe if that were the case, they would pass more quickly or come less often. I wouldn't know because no one has ever given me that "luxury". </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To make matters more complicated, there's the fact that I'm a walking, breathing, human incubator. Only people who have been pregnant can truly empathize with a pregnant woman. Only they get the tiredness, the inability to do certain tasks without a break in between, or the way you feel like a fat fucking slug sometimes and just need someone to remind you how magical you really are, without you having to meltdown first. But since the only people who know this are people who have been through it themselves, it's a need that sits and festers. It's a hunger that never gets fed. Which only perpetuates the messy emotions and the frustration. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And this is where I'm at right now. This is why I am trying to fit three entries into one. This is why I'm not captain participation in anyone else's life. This is why I can muster only minimal effort in pretty much everything and would rather curl up in a ball, pull the covers over my head, and just not deal with anything at all. But that isn't how life works. I have a family that needs me, even when there are days they treat me like dirt, or at least show zero appreciation or concern. I have a baby inside me that deserves a calm host in which to grow. I have friends who have victories that are worthy of celebration. The world doesn't stop turning. So I'll spill my guts here and in a few days I'll feel better and regret sharing any of this. That's just how it works.</span></div>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-22304748602512666272017-04-05T06:00:00.000-07:002017-04-05T06:00:23.049-07:00Dance, dance #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter D.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trinity and I were approached last year to participate in the Southern Oregon Pride Parade. We actually got to carry the banner that led the parade, which I felt was a pretty big honor. (Minus the fact that Presley chose that time to completely melt down and every photo was of me trying to wrangle a crying toddler while carrying a huge banner.) Trinity was excited to be in the midst of a large group of people who not only supported individuality, but equality. It was a beautiful thing to witness as her Mom. There was a spark in her that I haven't seen in way too long.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t31.0-8/14525169_10154402499915837_13236627837869131_o.jpg?oh=97c70e4fed88a7a7063badbcd11d885d&oe=59958DDC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t31.0-8/14525169_10154402499915837_13236627837869131_o.jpg?oh=97c70e4fed88a7a7063badbcd11d885d&oe=59958DDC" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Flash forward a few months, we were approached to help with the planning of a<a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/162875457565391/" target="_blank"> local all-ages alternative prom </a>taking place in late May. The organization putting on the prom is called the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/lotusrisingproject/" target="_blank">Lotus Rising Project</a> and they work hard to make our valley safe and welcoming for everyone, particularly the LGBTQ community. It's about mutual respect, compassion, and overall, basic humanity. And the all-ages prom is a fun way to bring folks together and build on that unity. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never went to my own high school prom and I've only been known to really dance when I've had a few drinks in me. So instead of gettin' down and boogying to some funky music, I'll be doing what I can behind the scenes to keep things running smoothly. I'm definitely more of a worker bee than a great planner, so this is a perfect role for me. Trinity, on the other hand, jumped head-first into the planning committee. At her age, ideas flow freely without the constraints of budgets and general do-ability that us more seasoned adults are bound by everyday. Still, I think this is a great experience for her and am proud that she's willing to help.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The first big fundraiser for this event is a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/149049835620468/" target="_blank">pancake breakfast</a>. Trinity wasted no time volunteering as a server, and I've already hit up a few friends to try to sell tickets. I feel like our part in all of this is minimal, but it still feels good to pitch in and do something. I just wish I had the time and energy to do more because it's something I feel strongly about and also I just love volunteering. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With less than 2 months until the event, I'm looking forward to seeing what kind of role Trinity steps into as she gets more comfortable and has a better understanding of what is needed. I feel like this is a great way for her to blossom somewhat and peek her head out of her shell in a way she hasn't done since puberty hit. In that respect, I feel like this opportunity will help her more than she will be helping with the dance. Or maybe it will be more even, with her putting in as much as she gets out of it. Either way, it's awesome.</span></div>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-42337745241657531832017-04-04T06:00:00.000-07:002017-04-04T07:13:06.594-07:00Chalkboard #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter C.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><br /><span style="color: #4c1130;">I had an idea for today's post, but it is better suited to be a part of a topic I have planned for later on in the challenge, so now I got nothin'. Therefore, today will be the first of probably many photo posts. <br /><br />I have an adorable chalkboard hanging in my kitchen. Most of the time I don't get to draw on it because either the teenager draws on it first, or the toddler freaks out that I'm doing something that doesn't directly involve her, thus robbing me of all my creative joy. Here are the few chalkboard messages done by yours truly over the last year.</span></span><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/12814172_10208069080381358_3301601570760179079_n.jpg?oh=175a2323753f97e0c562dc2db5739624&oe=5951AC08" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/12814172_10208069080381358_3301601570760179079_n.jpg?oh=175a2323753f97e0c562dc2db5739624&oe=5951AC08" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The very first thing to ever grace the chalkboard</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Don't be jealous of my seriously mediocre writing/drawing skills. It takes minutes of practice to be that good. With any luck, I'll have something way more intriguing for you to read tomorrow.</span>Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-51770384660211091652017-04-03T06:00:00.000-07:002017-04-03T19:38:21.560-07:00Baby Bumpin' #AtoZChallenge<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter B.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mere hours before I found out I was pregnant with baby Sawyer, I was celebrating a huge weight loss goal. Once I realized I'd be gaining weight for a greater purpose, I swore I would try my best to control it. Spoiler alert: I didn't control a damn thing. At 30 weeks, I've gained a whopping 40 lbs, which puts me right on track w/ my previous 2 pregnancies. There are days the scale makes me cry and days I avoid it because ignorance is bliss. My doc warned me that I'd probably gain pretty quick since I was restricting calories to lose the weight, but I wanted to live in the land where I had the "perfect" amount gained in a "perfect" little bump. No big hips and love handles, no fat arms or legs. I know now that was unrealistic.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I said, I've gained more than the recommended 25-35 lbs with each of my pregnancies. With my first pregnancy, I gained 51 lbs. The 2nd time around, I topped that by 10 lbs. Time will tell where I find myself on the scale when Sawyer arrives. Whatever the number, I will hate it. I will wish I had done x, y, and z differently. I will agonize over it because that's what I do. It's stupid and even as I type this, I wish it weren't the way my brain works. I wish I was at peace with whatever my body decides to do during pregnancy and feel confident regardless. That's just not me. I prefer to beat myself up and sit miserably in my self-loathing. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There is one thing that wipes out the self-hatred and my unhealthy obsession with the number on the scale: bump photos. It's incredible what our bodies do when we're growing humans and it's hard to feel anything but gratitude and joy when I see my belly swelling with life. It's incredible, even at it's worst. And so, for today, I'm going to share some bump pictures, both past and present. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6 mos pregnant w/ Trinity</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The night before Trinity was born, 37.5 weeks along</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">16 weeks along w/ Presley</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">38 weeks pregnant w/ Presley</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">15 weeks pregnant w/ Sawyer</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">30 weeks with Sawyer...and bigger every day!</td></tr>
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Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9142712941823374697.post-42534474454451420192017-04-01T07:48:00.000-07:002017-04-01T08:04:22.574-07:00Another #AtoZChallenge (And yes, you should question my sanity)<h4 style="background-color: white; color: #999999; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-weight: normal;">I'm participating in the <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" style="color: #f0b9d9; text-decoration-line: none;">Blogging from A-Z Challenge</a> again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter A.</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For most of the last few years, I've participated in the A-Z blogging challenge that runs the entire month of April. It entails writing a new blog post every day (except Sundays), which at this point in my life probably seems insane. Between a full time job, marriage, homeownership, a teenager, a toddler, and 30 weeks into pregnancy, it's difficult to even find time to take a dump, let alone write in a blog that maybe 5 people read regularly. (At least 1 of those better be a hater. I'll be disappointed if they aren't.) Yet here I am, jumping head-first into the challenge after previously declaring it was a bad idea.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don't know that I'll have anything particularly interesting or profound to share, and I'm worried that finding time to focus and write will become overwhelming almost immediately. So I'm modifying it slightly. I decided this morning, when I made the hair brained decision to get up early and write this post, that on the days it seems impossible to actually put thoughts into words, I'll just share pictures. I take a zillion pictures a day because I have a ridiculously cute family, and I'm pretty sure I can almost always find something in my line of sight that would correlate with the day's letter. Sharing a picture and writing a clever caption isn't hard at all. And as time allows, I'll try to get some posts typed up in advance and schedule them out, that way I'm not just taking the easy route and making this a photo challenge, and so the pressure doesn't drive me to drink. (Which would be bad because of the whole manchild in my womb thing. Kid can't hold his liquor.) </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today is pretty simple, though, because all I really have to do is proclaim my committment to this pointless yet fun challenge, allow you to judge me based on the foolish decisions I'm prone to making at the worst possible times, and since tomorrow is Sunday, I don't have to write anything at all. Easy. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In all honesty, I need something creative to do and even though there's no prize for participating and no punishment for quitting, when I commit to something like this, I know I'll push myself to finish. In about 2 months, my life is going to pull a Fresh Prince and flip turn upside down, so I feel like this is my last hurrah before my brain shuts down from lack of sleep and I become nothing more than a 24 hour milk machine that changes poopy diapers. Also, we have been doing some upgrades to the house and it's thrown my nesting instinct into high gear. If all goes according to plan, hopefully I'll be sharing some before/after house stuff during the course of this month. Or it'll just be 25 consecutive days of pictures of my kids and my dog and maybe some food or flowers. I guess if you want to know how this ends, you'll have to read my blog all month long, now won't you?!</span></div>
Trish Samshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15557682760734854010noreply@blogger.com0