tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56202720223107389912024-03-13T12:53:08.890-04:00The Story of Uslivingsj77http://www.blogger.com/profile/00482438876414085408noreply@blogger.comBlogger504125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-36724797542725053092017-07-15T18:51:00.000-04:002017-07-15T20:09:37.920-04:00The Big MoveChange is never easy. It doesn't matter if it's something you've been working towards for a year or something you've avoided for a lifetime. Change is hard. And goodbyes are even harder. <br />
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Two weeks ago we emptied our townhouse in Fairfax and made the move 2 hours south to Richmond. It is something I've wanted ever since we moved to Fairfax 6 years ago. But my kids? Well, they weren't looking to make any changes.<br />
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They had been through multiple goodbyes. They had their last day at school, they had their final playdates and sleepovers with close friends, they had their last games and performances, and they spent their last day on Wedgeway place mostly at my neighbor's house. My awesome, super-woman, neighbor who can do it all. She kept my dogs all day while the movers loaded the truck. She brought us lunch. And she entertained my kids while all of their belongings were packed away.<br />
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We put the last few items in our cars and I walked over to her house to get the kids and the dogs. I knew this would be the hardest part. And as I watched her daughter throw her arms around Ainsley and cry, I couldn't really hold back the tears either. I watched as two almost 10 year-olds said goodbye to their oldest friend, and it crushed me. <br />
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Ainsley didn't cry when she said goodbye to any of her other friends or at the last day of school or when we said goodbye to the townhouse. But as we walked out the door it all came out and she climbed in the car trying hard to catch her breath.<br />
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Then, with fresh tears, I walked Freddie the opposite direction to say goodbye to his neighbor friend. He mumbled goodbye and gave him a hug and I struggled desperately to keep it together. As the door shut, Freddie's face crumbled and I added him to the car sobbing.<br />
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And not to be left out, Cohen picked this time to lament the loss of his daycare friends and teachers. It was rough and in that moment I wanted to reverse it all. Say never mind. Unload the truck and stay in that little townhouse forever.<br />
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But you can't do that. You can't stay in the same spot forever because change is scary and painful. You can't avoid blooming because you're afraid to grow.<br />
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I stood in the driver's side window watching hearts break and tears fall and I wanted to take all of that pain away, but somehow in that exact same moment I knew this was exactly what we had to do. Life does not remain static. Life is ever evolving. That is an agonizing, terrifying, and wonderful thing to learn. <br />
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I could keep my kids in the same spot forever, but life would still change. Cohen would eventually leave his beloved babysitter for kindergarten. Every year my kids get new teachers and new classmates. A favorite neighbor or best friend could move away. Then there is always the inevitability of a child leaving home. Life is never going to look the same year to year, or even day to day. And even though that's a hard thing to move through, it's also exciting and amazing. To know that you can move forward in life and have new experiences and unexpected adventures, but still have those people and places to return to if you want or need to.<br />
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In the two weeks since we've left the friends and school and neighbors that we know and love, we've made new friends. We love our new house. We've had new adventures. It doesn't change how much we love and miss our previous life, but it doesn't mean we can't enjoy this new one. We can do both.<br />
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Down the road, when my kids are settled and not missing Fairfax so much, I hope they remember the awesome adventure. I hope the pain of the heartbreak fades. And I hope they learn that good or bad, this too shall pass - so enjoy the good and don't dwell on the bad. Life can change in a moment and it could all look different in the morning.<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-37332412681608818762017-05-19T10:08:00.003-04:002017-05-19T10:08:28.613-04:00SunshineYou would think after 9 years of writing this blog, I would run out of things to write. Especially about Ainsley, because I've been talking about her the longest. But my lack of posts has nothing to do with lack of material. Really, it's all about time. My day starts around 6:30. I read emails while toasting bagels. I take calls while tying shoes. I place orders while reminding kids to pack up their bags. Life is all about multitasking from 7-8:45 each morning. Then work keeps me so busy...from the moment I drop off at the bus, to the moment I sprint out the door to pick them up again...that it's tough to take a moment to write anything. And don't even get me started on the evenings. Between homework and t-ball and baths and trying to have small quality moments with each kid before tucking them in...well, blogging is just not possible.<br />
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But, things sit on my mind and my heart. Things that are like 4 year olds. Sitting patiently for a small time, until they can't take the wiggly feeling anymore. Then these things tap and poke until they are all out climbing through my soul.<br />
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Writing is so much to me. It is my passion, my validation, my therapy.<br />
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So today I have to write. No matter what else is going on, I have to take the time to let it out, because this thing that has been fidgeting on my heart has to come out.<br />
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I need to tell you about this girl. I need to put it all down so I can remember. I need to record it so she knows. I need to freeze this moment, for any hard ones to come.<br />
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When they handed me this sweet little girl almost 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting into. I had no idea how much joy she would bring me, how I would cry for her, how my whole body would ache over her, how I could spend hours and days worrying over the tiniest thing, how looking at her sleeping face could bring tears and smiles at once, how the thought of her could warm my chest.<br />
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This girl is so special, and it is apparent to anyone who meets her. She has a light that just bursts out of her. If I could pick one word to describe her it would be happiness. She is rarely sad. She is always flexible. She loves to laugh and sing and smile. I look at her and am amazed by her beauty, but I am in awe of her heart.<br />
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Nothing gets this girl down. I met with her teacher last week, because school doesn't come easy for her. She is easily distracted and would prefer to spend her time in her own imagination than doing long division. And I am worried for her. I worry that it will just get harder, that middle school is just around the corner and she'll never keep up. I worry that moving to a new school will make it worse. But then...<br />
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Her teacher went on and on about what a wonderful girl she is, how she brings a cheeriness and fun to the classroom that a lot of kids need. That she's the first to include anyone who's feeling left out. How she always encourages others when they are down. She assured me that it's not just teachers that feel this way about her...even her classmates recognize her for what she is. And as I sat there listening to this I had to keep myself from bursting into tears, because she's right. I fight with this girl over homework and I force her to focus on things she's not interested in, and all along, she is a light that we need in this world.<br />
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She may fall behind in school. She may struggle with math. But this girl is so much more than I was at 10 years old. She is going to bring so much to this world that you can't teach, that you can't learn. I know however she chooses to live her life, whatever she chooses to do to share with the world, she is going to bring so much sunshine to those that need it. She already does. It's just going to grow and blaze and shine brighter the older she gets. I have seen her arrive in this world has a happy, easy baby. I have seen her grow into a bright and compassionate little girl. I am so lucky that I get to witness her transformation into a passionate woman. That I get to watch that big heart get even bigger and stronger.<br />
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I am most grateful, above all else, that I get to bask in her light. I always thought, and still think most of the time, that mothers teach their children. But Ainsley has a knowledge that I don't have, and I am fortunate to have such a wonderful teacher.<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-17499775023311602652017-04-24T11:31:00.001-04:002017-04-24T11:31:54.116-04:00Change of PlansTwelve years ago, Clif and I moved to the Richmond area and we both thought we'd live there forever. But, the universe doesn't always cooperate with the plans you lay out for yourselves. Six years ago, we moved to Northern Virginia. First in with Clif's parents, and then into a little townhouse on the western edge of Fairfax County.<br />
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Ainsley started school, Cohen was born, Freddie started school, we got involved, we moved forward, we created a whole life for ourselves here. But...<br />
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There was always a thought to move back to Richmond. Northern Virginia is not an easy life. Commuting is hard. Affording...anything...is hard. We weren't sure how we'd ever get out of the townhouse we were renting and buy our own place while still keeping our kids in the same school. It didn't seem possible.<br />
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Eventually, we accepted that Richmond wasn't going to happen and then BOOM...that pesky universe just laughs in your face and says "You have plans, well those are not my plans!"<br />
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So this post is to tell you that the Whites <b><i>are</i></b> headed back to Richmond!<br />
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We are thrilled and sad all at the same time. If you had placed this in front of me a few years ago, I would have ran there, never looking back. But as we prepare to pack up our lives and head south, the whole thing is very bittersweet.<br />
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This is really the only home my kids have known, and they love their school, and they have friends, and I've made friends. We will miss all of those people that we see every day at the bus stop, and every month in Girl Scout meetings, and every season at T-Ball games. We will miss the acquaintances that have become real friends. We will miss our school and our teachers that are top notch.<br />
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But we are excited. Everything has fallen into place so easily so far...I mean as easy as can be expected when you are selling houses and buying houses and starting new jobs and finding new day care and registering at new schools and looking for new activities.<br />
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So I feel like the universe is leading us in the right direction. We finally sold the house we'd been renting down there...God willing, we close on May 10th. We bought a house. Clif starts a new job on May 1st - meaning he will be living in Richmond full time and we will be living in Fairfax until school is out. <br />
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Lots of changes that are exciting but also very scary. Change is so hard - good or bad. It would be so easy to just live in our little comfortable lives forever, right? But I guess that would also be pretty boring.<br />
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I was feeling particularly stressed recently and my mom was asking me questions over text message and I said "My life would be a lot less complicated if I just lived in this tiny townhouse forever." Yes, much less complicated. Because buying a house is annoying and complicated, but I complain about this tiny townhouse every day. And it would have been really easy just to sign that non-compete document at PVA. It would have been boring and easy to stay in that job forever because I had signed my rights away. But I would have complained about it and hated it and I would have never remembered what I liked about my old job.<br />
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So there you have it. Keep us in your good thought vibes...it's going to be a crazy ride for the next couple of months.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-7530445405751967442017-03-31T13:18:00.000-04:002017-03-31T13:18:04.899-04:00The Last Harvest<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wakes to early morning darkness, slipping from the warmth of the bed and pulling on jeans and boots. The dog shakes and stretches, slithering off the couch to follow at his heels. The screen door clatters and shatters the quiet stillness, announcing that the day has begun.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sun is not yet peeking over the world’s edge. Mist hangs in the air, dew clings to the blades of grass. There is a deep chill as the last wisps of summer are chased away by an early autumn. It doesn’t matter what the calendar says, every fiber of him knows that the comfort of the warm mornings is gone.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The wind whispers around him and his companion as his boots crunch the gravel beneath. His hands, his arms, his legs…they are strong, but used. Worn thin, like a leather belt or the souls of your favorite shoes. This will be the last harvest of the season and it has been a hard year. He is no longer a young man, and maybe it is time to move on. Leave the hard, difficult days of working the land and tending the herds to a younger body.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Though his bones creak, and his skin shrivels with each gust, he walks on, making his way to the barn. The cows anticipate his arrival with an internal clock he’s come to know as well as his own. Each stall unlatched after the barn gate is open and they make their way into the field, heading first for the stream before munching on the lush green buffet before them.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the sun’s fingertips grasp the earth’s horizon, and the sky takes on that orange-purple glow, he cranks the blue tractor to life and heads toward the golden tendrils waiting for him. The dog sits at the edge of the dirt, watching him zig-zag up and down the field. Occasionally a rodent or cat will catch her eye, and she’ll pounce and roll only to end up back in the same spot she’s sat for years.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sun is high and has burned the mist and dew away by the time he finishes. The old machine is not running as well as it should be. He smiles, thinking the same could be said for him. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He walks the fields, checking the animals. His rough hands grasp a handkerchief and wipe the moisture from his brow. They are callused from turning rusty bolts with wrenches. They are weathered from laying seeds in the thick dirt. They are wrinkled and spotted from a full life. But they are soft for coercing milk from a cow. They are nimble for removing wool from a sheep. They are gentle for pulling a colt into the world. And it is this gentleness, this softness that makes him the farmer. Strength is important, but it is love and tenderness that push him out the door each morning.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The warmth of the day quickly scurries off as the sun falls back to the horizon. As the colors of the sky darken, he surveys his work. So much left to be done. Tomorrow maybe? He’s running out of light. Running out of warmth. Running out of strength. He sighs and thinks, never enough time.</span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-9af41dbb-255e-bd3e-2e7a-3068ce2c1d4a"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The dog sits at his feet. He smiles at her and says in that gruff, ragged voice that comes from a life worked outdoors, “Well Sis, I reckon that’s about all.” And with that he makes his way back home, towards the sun, towards his rest.</span></span>Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-57519079965410801232017-01-20T10:52:00.000-05:002017-01-20T10:52:08.924-05:00Political Posts Are Just AnnoyingI had trouble sleeping last night. I kept thinking about a book I read when I was about 19 years old. It was basically about the human form of Satan being born and growing up and then rising to a status of power and eventually becoming President of the United States. Obviously fiction. But interesting.<br />
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I know what you're thinking...super dramatic Jaime, get over it. <br />
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Don't worry, I don't think Donald Trump is Satan! But it's funny how that book would not leave my brain last night and I haven't thought of it in years and I can't even remember who wrote it or what it was called. Funny how our minds work.<br />
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I don't talk politics. If you comment on this post, I most likely will not respond. Especially if you try and argue with me or call me an idiot. I don't respond to crap like that. I am definitely never getting into a Facebook fight...if that ever happens, please someone slap me and delete my account forever!<br />
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It's not that I waver on what I believe or don't have strong convictions, it's just - what is the point? There is no evidence I could provide to a homophobic person that would convince him or her that two men should be allowed to marry. There is no story I could recite to convince a pro-life supporter of a woman's right to choose. There is no statistic I could give to convince a gun lover to give up any of those rights.<br />
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And there is nothing, I mean nothing that I could say about Donald Trump that a Trump supporter would not argue with me about. I care about my family and friends and I'm not interested in letting someone the likes of Donald Trump come between us. He is not worth that. <br />
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But I won't lie, today feels...scary, sad, unsettling, defining - not necessarily in a good way. It feels...surreal. Like how is this possible?<br />
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I'm worried. And I get it. I know there are those of you that absolutely believe Obama is the Antichrist and Hillary was his lackey. That she would have ruined us...just like I believe we are witnessing something horrible today. I am not one of those people who believes that you are a replica of Donald Trump because you voted for him.<br />
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I just don't happen to agree with you because I don't believe those things about Obama or Clinton. I love the Obamas. I voted for him twice...and not because I'm racist or stupid as I recently read on a bumper sticker (and seriously as a side note - WHY in the world do you say those kinds of things, it's just so ridiculous and just deepens the chasm in this country)...but because I believe in his policies and I really like him and I like that he's a role model for my children. And now? Well, unless he does a serious 180, I can't point to Trump and ask my kids to look up to him. To model themselves after him. I would have gladly pointed to Hillary Clinton and told Ainsley that she could be like her one day.<br />
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So I don't talk politics but here I am doing it...why? And I hate reading politcal posts, I hate whey FB fills up with them. So why would I do this?!?!?! Why have I joined the ranks of the annoying. Because I haven't been able to write anything. I just deleted 12 posts from my drafts box. TWELVE! Do you know how many people have begged me to write a new post? I've lost count. No matter how hard I tried to write about anything else I always came back to this. It's just weighing on me so heavy. So I'm hoping just dumping it and rambling about it for a few moments, I can move on. <br />
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I don't want him to fail, but I have very little faith. I really hope he proves me wrong. I hope that in 4 years, I say, "Wow he's done so much good, I have to vote for him."<br />
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I will support him and pray for him and hope beyond my doubt that he is a good leader. But I will fight if I have to. I will fight every single thing he does that I think is detrimental to our country and it's people. I'm calling my representatives today about Betsy DeVos, because I don't want my kids mixed up in anything she has to offer. I will fight a wall. Good grief I will go to Texas and chain myself to a bulldozer. A wall!!! I will stand with Muslims and homosexuals and transgenders and women and Jews and anyone who feels threatened. I believe that this country should be a safe haven. I believe in what it says on the Statue of Liberty. I believe that people come here because they are looking for a better life. And I believe that should be celebrated, not diminished.<br />
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There you have it, the one and only political post that I will most likely ever write. You won't hear me discussing this - well maybe if I've had a few drinks and you ask the right questions. I won't be shouting it from the roof tops. I won't be soiling my children's minds with Donald Trump slurs. But I will fight for my family. I will fight for this country. I will fight for what I believe in. <br />
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So bring it Mr. President...bring it. I didn't vote for you, I thought you were an absolute joke, but you are my President now and I expect great things from you. So much more than anything you've done or said in the past. We're all counting on it. <br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-83655642515508871892016-09-18T19:35:00.000-04:002016-09-18T19:35:03.992-04:00The Perfect CakeOn Friday, I baked a cake. If you know me well, you probably know that baking is not really my thing. I make cookies with my kids and let them help me bake boxed cupcakes, because that's what moms are supposed to do. I don't really enjoy it that much. And baking from scratch...no.<br />
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It's too precise. I don't have the patience. Rarely do I have an hour or more to dedicate to the creation of sweet, baked goods.<br />
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But, last week was also my birthday. And this summer, my aunt gave me my grandmother's birthday cake recipe. In her handwriting. Framed. The most weep-worthy gift I can remember receiving in a long time.<br />
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And this cake...it's my whole childhood. It's part of every birthday, every celebration, every family get together. It recalls memories of gentle hand slaps as I tried to swipe the icing with my fingertip, smiles from my grandmother as she shooed me away, and laughter as we sat around enjoying the treat.<br />
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I had decided weeks before that I'd make it for my birthday. But just so happens that my birthday always falls at a bad time. Back to school. And this particular year...Back to School Night. So it had to wait a few days.<br />
<br />
Friday morning, after dropping the kids off, I went to the store to buy real sugar, white flour, and Crisco. Things I haven't bought in a long time. And that afternoon I set out following directions to a tee. Sifting flour and cocoa together three times. Adding only one egg at a time until it was fully immersed in the batter. Adding baking soda to freshly brewed coffee and watching it foam up the sides of the measuring cup. Whisking continuously until the flour thickened the milk. Waiting 5 minute for the vinegar to sour the milk.<br />
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So many times I wanted to cheat. Is it really necessary to add eggs individually? Sifting? Really, is it needed? Sour milk? Wouldn't regular milk do? <br />
<br />
But I didn't. I took every step as my grandmother had laid it out. Waited each time she asked. Alternated ingredients each time she instructed. <br />
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It took me an hour. An hour before baking. I'm not sure I've ever spent an hour baking one thing. Especially not a cake for myself. But as I was sifting and whisking and alternating I thought a lot of my grandmother. She was so patient and seemed to take her time with everything. At a time when conveniences and time savers were at a minimum, she seemed to enjoy the long tasks of shucking corn and canning vegetables. She could be found weeding her garden most spring days. If she wasn't home, she might be picking berries to make jam later that day. <br />
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I rarely have that kind of patience. I won't make a recipe that has more than 5 ingredients or takes longer than 30 minutes. My house is only kind of clean most of the time because I don't scrub grout with toothbrushes or dust picture frames. And it is a rare, RARE occasion that I move furniture to vacuum.<br />
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But Friday, I made myself enjoy it. And I did enjoy it. I performed each task meticulously and checked each direction thrice. Friday I had the time. Friday was my last day of unemployment. I had spent the last 6 weeks cleaning and organizing and playing with my kids and working out and maybe binging a few Neflix shows. And Friday was my last day of nothingness. The kids were all in school. No chores. I finished House of Cards on Netflix. So what else could I do but bake the perfect cake?<br />
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Tomorrow I go back to work. I go back to a previous employer in a town I used to live in. Tomorrow I go back to the craziness of juggling work and school and activities and me time. But Friday? Friday was all about the cake and making it just right and seeing to it that my grandmother gets to touch my kids life in some way. And after all of the instructions and time it took to create, it was perfect. Exactly as I remembered. And I know my grandmother would be happy to see me enjoy every moment it took to get there.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-3207369907496917302016-08-03T13:41:00.000-04:002016-08-03T13:41:13.418-04:00Summer FliesIs it seriously August? I always look so forward to summer. No strict school/homework schedule. We kind of bail on extra activities to free up our evenings. But between different camps and visits with relatives and family reunions and beach trips and weddings...the summer just flies by.<br />
<br />
I think I last wrote on Cohen's birthday and so much has happened since then. SO MUCH!!<br />
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Let's see. We went to the beach. It was not our typical beach trip with extended family, in a big house, in South Nags Head, for a whole week. Instead it was 5 days, in a hotel, in Kill Devil Hills. And it was just the 5 of us. It was nice to have a vacation with just us. Not that we don't love the big family trips, those are awesome. But it was low key and relaxing to just do our own thing for a few days. It was expensive, since we had to pretty much eat out every meal. The hotel was, ehh. I guess what you get with a beach hotel. The beach was crowded. But we had such a great time. We had one day where the water was so calm and shallow that the kids played all day and there was no worry about waves or riptides. We played putt putt and ate crab legs and drove bumper boats and had fun drinks. I would have loved for it to last a few more days.<br />
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Then we celebrated Ainsley's 9th birthday. I'm not even sure how that is possible. She is growing up so fast and everyday I'm slapped in the face with the realization that she's that much closer to being a teenager and an adult.<br />
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We are skipping parties this year so we took a couple of friends to Chuck E Cheese and then out for ice cream. Then we had dinner at a hibachi place.<br />
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Next we headed to North Carolina for our annual family reunion. My dad is one of 7 siblings. The alternate locations every year so the planning falls on each of them once every 7 years. My dad is not in the best position to throw a family reunion for 50 people, so my sister and I took it on this year. I got to spend the whole week with my two nephews (one of them just a few weeks old) and my sister. And we shopped and cooked and cleaned all in preparation for the arrival of aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. The reunion was great and I think everyone had a great time.<br />
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Then Monday it was back to camps and work and reality. And back to a big decision that we had to make. Let me take a step back.<br />
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About three weeks ago the organization I work for presented me with a non disclosure/non compete agreement. Originally they had wanted it signed by the following Friday. Due to questions and issues, it got put off a few times. I spoke to a lawyer and some HR people and some recruiters about the document. And here is what I gathered from all of that. It was enforceable and it was very broad. It would have definitely limited my employment opportunities after I chose to leave my job. It would have also limited my employability if I was let go from my job. Usually these types of agreements are given to high level people (which I am not) and are used to deter the sharing of proprietary information (which I don't have). It is also usually presented upon employment and can be used to negotiate pay and severance packages. The organization would not even consider a bonus or a pay raise tied to it.<br />
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Monday was the deadline for signing and I chose not to sign. I was then told that I was no longer employed with the organization.<br />
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So boom! I am unemployed. Yesterday was a tough day, but I think that had more to do with my lack of sleep than not having a job. Today is better. But it is a strange feeling, not having work to do. I've either been working or in school since I was 15. And to be basically fired? Wow. That's new too. I've never left somewhere like that. I'm friends with all of my old employers and coworkers. Seems like that won't be happening this time. Supervisors are not so happy with me. The organization apparently couldn't care less about me. But it is what it is and I don't regret my decision at all. I'd rather take my changes now without restriction than sign a document that would completely tie my hands.<br />
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It's hard to know what to do with myself, but I will work out and clean my house and do some projects I haven't had time for and look for something new. From the very start of all of this I've felt like it's one of those "a door shuts but a window opens" situations. I've been looking to leave my job for awhile, but haven't managed to gain the nerve to do it. So really, though it's hard to be so idle, I'm glad and I'm not worried. I know I'll figure something out.<br />
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And that about catches you up on all the happenings.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-59496679429175806712016-06-23T13:01:00.000-04:002016-06-23T13:01:00.659-04:00ThreeDear Cohen,<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIuDH1sajxrtZY5laULwFxUMgFSACLGrmUIs6Wv7bV09KOXjDQVZG3Alvb1CDi6W37YtcxLxblaGz8CmlpjaRx7uMgC0MemUXYieFFPGyaRubXUObmLkQeeKyIC7R3gcKbtoWEgLXOKg/s1600/IMG_0462.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIuDH1sajxrtZY5laULwFxUMgFSACLGrmUIs6Wv7bV09KOXjDQVZG3Alvb1CDi6W37YtcxLxblaGz8CmlpjaRx7uMgC0MemUXYieFFPGyaRubXUObmLkQeeKyIC7R3gcKbtoWEgLXOKg/s320/IMG_0462.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
Yes, I know...your birthday was 2 weeks ago. What can I say? You were born at a crappy time. I was just telling someone the other day, that if I had put any forethought into life I would have gotten married in March and had all my kids in April. <br />
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June is tough. The day we brought you home from the hospital, daddy dropped us off then ran around switching cars and installing car seats so we could pick up Freddie and make it to Ainsley's final cheerleading performance. Three days later, we had the end of year picnic for Ainsley's first year of elementary school. The next week was dress rehearsal and performances for dance class.<br />
<br />
With the end of school, the end of my fiscal year at work, mommy and daddy's anniversary, the end of all activities...birthdays can get lost. But somehow, I believe that you will always shine above all that. You definitely make your presence known. You are not a wallflower and you will not be overlooked.<br />
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Three is a tough year. I don't know one parent of a three year old that will say "Three is a breeze." They call them the terrible two's, but in my experience...two's got NOTHING on three. You, however, are WAY ahead of your time. You've been acting like a 4 or 5 year old since you were 1.5. So I'm kind of hoping we're past the worst of it. Although, knowing you...well, let's just say you take everything to a whole new level. I'm sure it will be awhile before we are out of the difficult years with you, that is, if there ever is an end.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pbga8me8O1AIs7NMM6WqR7tWUI_-e7SH9wVb_NRFKE0KJabewiLECHiUsZHdBi20GdhHSiTxVx_o_YBCSerboIErq2WOa09t2kA-ZTv25cuoDpSCn84xudhyphenhyphenwrrAG2lcactaMPjxU0E/s1600/IMG_0461.PNG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pbga8me8O1AIs7NMM6WqR7tWUI_-e7SH9wVb_NRFKE0KJabewiLECHiUsZHdBi20GdhHSiTxVx_o_YBCSerboIErq2WOa09t2kA-ZTv25cuoDpSCn84xudhyphenhyphenwrrAG2lcactaMPjxU0E/s320/IMG_0461.PNG" width="180" /></a><br />
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You are my toughest child. The most stubborn, the most strong willed, the least easily distracted. You know what you want. You have always known what you wanted. You get what you want, by any means necessary.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfQvD5Z8Y_yTaKF457yvTb6b5LKOysX7Ia7aJIQRjJii9PrLjBQggj-PhPlpU1tGm_KFFUjhRm0KTerRZxQd5E9jnicLzDCAxbHKmPTiPIBzrMmOlsbwPQ-tCPBBj5fz17K-lWt5RGn1k/s1600/IMG_0271.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfQvD5Z8Y_yTaKF457yvTb6b5LKOysX7Ia7aJIQRjJii9PrLjBQggj-PhPlpU1tGm_KFFUjhRm0KTerRZxQd5E9jnicLzDCAxbHKmPTiPIBzrMmOlsbwPQ-tCPBBj5fz17K-lWt5RGn1k/s320/IMG_0271.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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You are crazy, insanely, wickedly smart. You have the vocabulary of a 5 year old. I have no doubt that you could hold your own in a kindergarten class. You're just shorter than most kindergartners. But that brain and mouth work so quickly. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiPGPitDiO9B_uDQNctdflYh-sQ4zBhl0kVuo_jTHhF1ZHAUq2VK70NDjTAsaITEzVg3-ZXmh-w1EH4DGxtCaZz8FUEHWxgk__apJhdttXV9QMcIyPXfUr5kC_13EuMxkKr6_tza8pPRE/s1600/IMG_0373.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiPGPitDiO9B_uDQNctdflYh-sQ4zBhl0kVuo_jTHhF1ZHAUq2VK70NDjTAsaITEzVg3-ZXmh-w1EH4DGxtCaZz8FUEHWxgk__apJhdttXV9QMcIyPXfUr5kC_13EuMxkKr6_tza8pPRE/s320/IMG_0373.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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You are so beautiful. Recently we attended a memorial service for my grandfather, and I saw so many family members that I hadn't seen since high school or college. I pointed out my kids and I believe every single one of them said something along the lines of "Oh my, he looks like an angel." And you do. With those deep, big blue eyes and that soft wispy white hair. And your rosy cheeks and perfectly pink mouth. You look like you could sprout wings at any moment. But, please read the above paragraphs again.<br />
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You are sweet and loving. You kiss anyone that comes close to you. And everyday when you leave daycare, you hug every one of your playmates and teachers. But that angelic little face can contort into a monster before our very eyes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-zbBKhsYS-KCCbjiWNn3w-_pEPGmOXi-GMn8agCV5TfLBXvUaVsYtkHnJMk1PpO6FABQn2kTwElEjfgWAulqAfma00dcS7zSis6aOii0Il9QGo2tNlpXbvUYjHCnadNJ9MyZfrYyCUE/s1600/IMG_0455.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-zbBKhsYS-KCCbjiWNn3w-_pEPGmOXi-GMn8agCV5TfLBXvUaVsYtkHnJMk1PpO6FABQn2kTwElEjfgWAulqAfma00dcS7zSis6aOii0Il9QGo2tNlpXbvUYjHCnadNJ9MyZfrYyCUE/s320/IMG_0455.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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You are not shy. You talk to anyone. You tell stories to strangers. You have lots of friends and lots of admirers.<br />
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You are such a special little boy, even with all the challenges that come with raising a little guy with your big personality. You have made us laugh. You have brought us such joy. <br />
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The other day I asked Freddie if he remembered our family before you were born, and he said no. And honestly, I can barely remember what life was like before you. You complete us in every way.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FSg09Aesu9kKDYckww8Ox16DH-VzAyJuDGcpOddbfh-OwLrKANS725qPgthLqQeW2Ue29yE6_1cgReG3F0fQ0PMDDhSx8rbXr0-9tAObMkKmNGCwFTriFF4I9pTl9665emLXlBXqIYY/s1600/IMG_0829.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FSg09Aesu9kKDYckww8Ox16DH-VzAyJuDGcpOddbfh-OwLrKANS725qPgthLqQeW2Ue29yE6_1cgReG3F0fQ0PMDDhSx8rbXr0-9tAObMkKmNGCwFTriFF4I9pTl9665emLXlBXqIYY/s320/IMG_0829.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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Happy Birthday buddy.<br />
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Love,<br />
MommyJaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-72550658451465723162016-05-31T12:12:00.000-04:002016-05-31T12:12:24.593-04:00GoneI ignore news. I totally avoid big stories. So honestly, I have no idea how or why or when the gorilla thing happened. I know the very basic details and you know what? I'm not going to read about it. Because I don't want an opinion about it. You can call me ignorant and stupid...I don't care. The fact is, that we are in information overload these days with the internet and social media. I simply can not care about everything. I would be a ruined soul. I can't do it. <div>
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Just last night I told Clif that I had no idea what had happened, but my Facebook feed was cluttered with rants about how everyone should stop judging parents. Yet, I didn't see anyone judging.</div>
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And then I came to work this morning and browsed some websites and WOW. Judgy McJudgerson everywhere.</div>
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I have no idea what that kid's parents were doing. I have no idea if the zoo was justified in shooting the gorilla. I have no idea who is to blame for any of it. And I don't want to know. But what I do want to do is share the following story. But before I do, I want you all to know that I am a closet anxious person. I pretend to be really calm and collected, but inside ANXIETY ABOUT EVERYTHING. People think I have my stuff together and that I don't let things get to me. But inside WORRY AND OBSESS ALWAYS.</div>
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So when it comes to my kids, I worry. A lot. If I'm out and about, I'm constantly counting them and making sure my eyes are on them. One, two, three. Pause. One, two, three. Pause. One, two, three. Over and over again.</div>
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This past weekend, I took the kids to Virginia Beach to visit a friend. It was me and my friend and our 5 children, ages almost 3 to almost 9. On Friday night we walked about 5 blocks to a playground on the beach. It's in a very populated place. It's near a very large statue that Cohen immediately took a liking to.</div>
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"Mommy, what that?"</div>
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"Mommy, can my touch it?"</div>
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"Mommy, you throw me in the sky so I touch the turtle?"</div>
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I put him off for the 30 minutes that the kids played on the playground. Telling him we'd go look on our way home.</div>
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And there I sat, counting heads. One, two, three, four, five. Pause. One, two, three, four, five.</div>
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When it was time to go, it was dark and 5 kids and 2 moms were accounted for.</div>
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I told the older 4 to stay put and not run ahead like they had on the way. I told them it was dark and we wouldn't be able to see them as well. And then I walked Cohen to the statue, crowded with people. He touched a couple of fish and could not reach the turtle. I was gone for 3 minutes - maybe. I went back and only 3 kids remained.</div>
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Freddie was gone.</div>
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"Where's Freddie?"</div>
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No one knew. I froze in a sea of people. He was gone. </div>
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"Where's Freddie?" I asked again. Blank faces.</div>
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One of the other kids said something about the direction he had seen him go. I left Cohen and Ainsley with the other mom and started running down the beach, screaming for Freddie. I could barely breath. Tears were hot in the corners of my eyes.</div>
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What if I lost him? What if I never saw him again? What if someone took him? What if he wandered into the ocean? What if he gets to the street and is hit by a car? What if, what if, what if?</div>
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"Excuse me mam?" A man stopped me on the boardwalk, "Are you looking for your son?"</div>
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"Yes!" I cried.</div>
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"He's about a block up with a police man."</div>
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I don't think I even thanked him. I just ran. And there he was. Fingers in mouth, crying, hiccuping, terrified, and with a police officer.</div>
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I called his name and scooped him up as he ran to me. Thank God, thank God!</div>
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I lost him. But I found him. I wasn't watching for a few moments and he disappeared, but then he was back. And I wanted to cry and scream and laugh all at once. My legs felt like jello and panic continued to course through my veins as we walked back to the rest of the group.</div>
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I'm a good mom. I'm not perfect. I make lots of mistakes, but I do lots of things right. I don't lose kids. Ever. But I did. I looked away for a moment, walked in another direction when I thought my instructions were clear, and poof.</div>
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I don't know what that toddler's parents were doing - maybe they were smoking crack in the bathroom. Or maybe they were distracted for a tiny moment by a phone or a stranger or another kid. I'm really sorry that an endangered animal was killed. But the idea that it can't happen to any of us. Well, that's ridiculous. And in that moment, what would you want done?</div>
Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-5819443511206995572016-05-20T09:24:00.000-04:002016-05-20T09:24:09.816-04:00Light BulbI have always worried about money. Always. <br />
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I have always felt like I'm drowning in my finances. Always. <br />
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When I was a kid, my parents weren't handing me 20's every week for the movies or new clothes at the mall. It was made very clear, very early on, if I wanted that, I'd need to work. So, I started babysitting when I was 11. I even advertised. <br />
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I didn't get a car until I was almost 20. And then it was my parents' 1988 Bonneville. I paid and borrowed my way through college. I racked up lots of debt the moment I graduated and decided to live on my own, even though I couldn't afford it. Especially when necessities like rent and power were accompanied with happy hour bills and eating lunch out every day.<br />
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But, I pulled through. I paid off that debt. I bought a new car when the Bonnie died. I paid off student loans. I paid for my wedding. I bought a house. I did all of that with zero financial help. And I'm proud of that. Financial freedom, is freedom. No one got to to tell me who was invited to my wedding, because I was paying for it. No one could yell at me for skipping an 8 am class, because I was paying for it.<br />
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However, I have always worried about money. Always.<br />
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My one wish has always been to not worry about it. I'd like to not have to think about every penny. I don't need to be rich or live in a mansion or drive a BMW, but I'd like to just go through life not worrying about everything I spend. I've spent my entire teenage and adult life working towards that goal.<br />
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Yet, I do worry. All. The. Time.<br />
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And then in the strangest of moments, your brain comes to realizations. It happened last night as I was driving home from swim lessons. It's important to note that I was driving home from swim lessons because they aren't cheap.<br />
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I sat at a light and watched a young woman walk the median holding a sign.<br />
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"Please help. I have 2 children and can't pay the rent or buy food."<br />
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This is not a new sight. I see people holding signs, asking for money at least 5 times a day.<br />
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I watched her pace and hold her head down. I watched her look up shyly and accept money, whispering "Thank You" and "God Bless You." And I remembered that I was her, and now I'm not.<br />
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It wasn't that long ago that my husband lost his job and I was pregnant with a second baby and we didn't have a year's worth of savings and we collected unemployment and bought groceries with credit cards and fell behind on mortgages.<br />
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The light changed and I held out my $10 and told her to take care and drove away.<br />
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There was a time that I worried about how I would pay for groceries when my credit card was maxed out. And there was a time that I worried we'd lose our house and where would we go. And during that time I had 2 kids that needed me to figure it out.<br />
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I don't worry about that anymore. There's not a day that goes by that I wonder how I'm going to feed my kids. Ever. Sure, I think about how we only have 9 years until Ainsley goes to college and how on earth are we going to save for it by then. And I worry about coming up with a down payment to buy a house when all of our savings seems to go to one of the rental properties we own. And I worry about how I will pay for a vacation and a 3rd birthday party and a 40th birthday party and camps all in the course of one summer. But I never worry that my kids will have a warm, dry place to sleep. I worry about luxuries.<br />
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And all of a sudden a light bulb exploded in my head. All of my wishing and working and hoping towards a worry free financial life? Really, I have that. I don't have to raid my coin purse to afford diapers. I don't have to wait until pay day to buy milk. <br />
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Let's be honest, I'm still going to worry. Apparently, that's what I do. I'm not sure where all the brain activity would go without worry. But I'm going to worry less. And I'm going to remember that all of those things I worry about are not necessary. And I'm going to hope that the young mom in the median with the sign gets to the same place one day.<br />
<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-14887551590657508362016-05-05T12:40:00.000-04:002016-05-05T12:40:03.643-04:00Confessions of a Failed Tooth FairyWhen Ainsley lost her first tooth, <a href="http://ainsleylynn.blogspot.com/2014/05/my-little-box.html">I wrote a blog post about it</a>.<br />
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Freddie lost his first tooth about 2.5 weeks ago...but it seems much longer. A lot has happened since then, but that's another post.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXO6y8sz9CtD6umFRnUm1Wj0E937YAao7-viqSHKBO_7RsJ3ATt-cIqZUVA6DCOTxjn2MdV8bd0DhoBpH32M3VFhqn6px33lchcw4fyln_lXWXTU5uk0G_4Dz5-9dximTDBKcIEdIm19M/s1600/13047828_10208563528339590_7563164200720431435_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXO6y8sz9CtD6umFRnUm1Wj0E937YAao7-viqSHKBO_7RsJ3ATt-cIqZUVA6DCOTxjn2MdV8bd0DhoBpH32M3VFhqn6px33lchcw4fyln_lXWXTU5uk0G_4Dz5-9dximTDBKcIEdIm19M/s320/13047828_10208563528339590_7563164200720431435_o.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Yesterday, he lost his second tooth. If you look at that picture above, you can see that other bottom tooth holding on for dear life. That one's gone now too.<br />
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So today, I write a post about Freddie losing his first two teeth, and how Clif and I are possibly the worst tooth fairies ever, and how my sweet little Freddie is growing up so fast. So here it goes...<br />
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Freddie's front two teeth had been so wiggly for so long. He's not one to push things. He barely touched them, for fear of the pain. There were lots of questions "Does it hurt? Will I get a new tooth? Does it hurt? Will it bleed? Does it hurt?"<br />
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But just like most first lost tooth stories, it happened in the blink of an eye. All that worry and wonder and curiosity and then just, pop...out it came, like nothing.<br />
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It was bed time. As usual, Cohen and Freddie chose this time to really turn up the craziness. So I was lying in their bed trying to get them to calm down, when I just had to walk away. So there I stood, in the hall telling Clif something, my back to the boys' room.<br />
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I saw Clif's face first. Wide eyes, slow grin. I turned to see a crazy excitement and uncertainty in Freddie's eyes. Then, of course, there was the blood smeared lips.<br />
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Then the annoyance of late bedtimes and overactive children drifted and the house was filled with laughter and "Yay Freddie!" and giggles and hugs and "Freddie! You lost a tooth!"<br />
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When the story finally game out, after he got over the shock of it, after he laughed and high-fived and hugged back, then we found out that Cohen and his little left hook was the catalyst.<br />
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The boys were rough-housing...shocker. And Freddie wanted to make this part very clear...UNINTENTIONALLY...Cohen punched his cheek while his face was pressed against a pillow. And that gave just enough push on the tooth for it to pop from it's tiny socket. Always protecting his little brother, that one. <br />
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Yesterday, Freddie and I were alone in the car heading from the grocery store to pick up Cohen. He took a bite of his secret donut (don't tell Ainsley and Cohen!) and then out popped the second one.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG17dbeOG5UQgrCtCYlRQC_gDOVQ-jGg3IAoU8SwVJ5R2tO33GQZ5Cx8KI8JymXp5FiRD3AXABEQ3OGfyQueGNeQRoileJHXDdK1iF2TyPdb3CzY6c1KvNVxE3U5l2vv8sPE_KHvs7QT4/s1600/IMG_0196.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG17dbeOG5UQgrCtCYlRQC_gDOVQ-jGg3IAoU8SwVJ5R2tO33GQZ5Cx8KI8JymXp5FiRD3AXABEQ3OGfyQueGNeQRoileJHXDdK1iF2TyPdb3CzY6c1KvNVxE3U5l2vv8sPE_KHvs7QT4/s320/IMG_0196.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Look at those crooked little grown up teeth coming in. I think there will be braces all around for the White kiddos.<br />
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And just like that he's down two teeth. Of course this wasn't the first tooth, so the tooth fairy failed miserably and I am sitting at work writing a note in swirly handwriting and red ink from a little imp named Shimmer who has ONE JOB and she can't get it right!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6cVynsg9cpkOTtnt6Gnz3W4RqxusAxRBDL8rai60i6soefdAdy40XdcM36E4gM3fMqaw0e4qdsghyLN9-QV9gt1JkxcsXYGC4xft0VJO83gBW2_KB6FsuxtD7f_sEjRudAGjt98udak0/s1600/IMG_0200.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6cVynsg9cpkOTtnt6Gnz3W4RqxusAxRBDL8rai60i6soefdAdy40XdcM36E4gM3fMqaw0e4qdsghyLN9-QV9gt1JkxcsXYGC4xft0VJO83gBW2_KB6FsuxtD7f_sEjRudAGjt98udak0/s320/IMG_0200.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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I've said it before, and I'll say it again...pretty sure our tooth fairy is drunk in a ditch most nights, because who makes excuses like "I don't fly well in the rain?"<br />
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Shimmer is the worst. She's written lots of apology letters like this to Ainsley too. And we've learned that she doesn't get to teeth lost after 4pm until the next day, that she doesn't expect teeth to come out less than a month apart, that her magic is spotty and doesn't work on certain days of the year, that she has enough teeth for her current castle that she's building, and that she doesn't work on holidays...days before holidays...or days after holidays. That girl has a sweet benefit package.<br />
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I get so excited for them when things like this happen. When they take that next step to being grown. But then it makes me a bit sad. Right now, you can't even tell that Freddie has lost any teeth unless he shows you. But I know that lost baby teeth, means those giant grown up teeth come in right behind them. And that baby smile turns into a kid smile. And those chubby cheeks slide away and reveal cheekbones. And those big bellies slim to reveal ribs and ab muscles. And those silly words like "hopsital" and "shase" and "elligator" are corrected and become "hospital" and "chase" and "elevator." So I try to write it all down right here, so I'll never forget. So I'll always remember that sweet, gruff, Boston accent he had. That little big voice that was so deep and manly, but still soft and childlike. My Freddie will grow into an amazing man - sensitive and sweet and caring. But I always want to remember the beautiful boy he started out as.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-43714875793780018542016-04-11T10:12:00.000-04:002016-04-11T10:12:49.161-04:00Half WayWe are walking the dogs along the busy road, the sun is falling fast, and the cool April air is getting colder with every step.<br />
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Ainsley runs ahead, then runs back, "Mommy, watch. This is my tired round off." She runs again and does a lazy, crooked, cartwheel, sort-of. Then falls on her bottom.<br />
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She bounces up, runs toward me and says "Okay, now this is my real round off." She runs faster this time and does a round off. Definitely not perfect, but not bad either. "Did you see?" she asks.<br />
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I nod. I watch her skip towards the intersection and I try to remember the last time I skipped.<br />
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"Mommy?" She calls, "Are you still looking for them?"<br />
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"Yes, Ainsley." I scan the grass, "There's one."<br />
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"Oh wow," she exclaims, "That's a big one. How did we miss that on our way?" She runs up the slight hill and gently picks the green stem, not to disturb the cottony wisps on the end.<br />
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"You do this one," she says.<br />
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"No, you do it. It's almost perfect." I reply.<br />
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She stops, thinks, then blows. The little buds dance and flip on the wind. She tells me that she always wishes the same thing so it's guaranteed to come true.<br />
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And then we're walking again and I'm listening to her tell me silly lies, then scream "April Fool's" over the roar of traffic. And I'm thinking that she'll be 9 soon. That time is going too fast. Nine is half way. And I'm thinking that I just love this age. I never thought I would. I thought I'd hate the pre-tween, big kid, on the edge of childhood, years. I thought I'd always crave a baby. And sometimes I see a picture of her in a car seat, or a video of her singing as a toddler, and my heart almost explodes with want and need for time to stop. But I love her at this age. <br />
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Challenges? Yes, there are challenges. But mostly I love the contradiction that is this age. The moments of maturity surrounded by giggles, tangled locks, missing teeth, and cartwheels.<br />
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Yesterday, while I showered, she asked if she could wear make-up out of the house and I told her no. In a moment of content, she accepted no as an answer and left the room. As I finished washing my hair, I thought that I should have told her why the answer was no. That I should have said, this moment is fleeting - please hold it as long as you can. These are your last moments of little girl. That make-up makes you grown. And grown girls don't skip home. They don't do round offs or swing from tree branches. They don't sound exactly like Ariel when they sing in the shower. They don't rush down stairs on April 1st wondering what tricks have been played. They don't blow dandelions into the wind, believing the puffs will carry wishes into reality. They don't slip their hand inside their mother's absentmindedly while practicing times tables. <br />
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Nine is half way. How can we be half way? There will be so much time for make-up and grown up girl things. Right now, I just want us to enjoy the little girl that we'll both miss one day.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-79545718981035055802016-03-18T08:27:00.000-04:002016-03-18T08:28:05.916-04:00SixDear Freddie,<br />
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As a parent, you know your kids will grow up and you know there will be a birthday every year where you reflect back on that little baby. Sometimes it comes and goes easily. Sometimes it smacks you in the face.<br />
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You are six. SIX. It is a smack in the face kind of birthday. Five is still a little kid, but six feels like big kid territory. I'm not sure I'm ready for you to be a big kid.<br />
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Freddie, you are such a special kid. I am so lucky to be your mom. We are all so lucky that you burst on the scene. You bring such love and laughter to our every day lives. I'm not sure what we would do without you.<br />
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You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. And when I say anyone, I mean anyone - kids, grown ups, girls, boys. You love so unconditionally and so completely. I love how much you love with abandon. You get your heart broken regularly. Little things can just crush you, but you still love. Still dive face first into love. This is my favorite thing about you. You are so open to love, that you never consider getting hurt. I hope you stay this way forever. It is such an amazing and rare quality.<br />
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And you are funny. You make people laugh to a fault. I know this because I've already had the first parent-teacher conference regarding my "class-clown." I asked you why you were making up words to a school song, and why you were shaking your naked belly at your classmates, and why you were dancing during quiet time. You had a very simple answer, "I just wanted to be funny and make everyone laugh." Of course you did.<br />
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You are super smart. I love to watch that big brain of yours work as you roll a problem or question around and around until an idea or inquiry comes out of your mouth.<br />
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You talk endlessly. I remember having friends who's second child talked later or barely spoke, because they had this big brother or sister that did so much talking. Well, you have that big sister, but you could never be out-talked. Every day, you skip off the bus, jump into my arms and start. And you go and go and go. Telling me stories, asking me questions. Sometimes the stories are funny, sometimes they are about things you learned, sometimes they are things that hurt you. Always something new.<br />
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I hope that your heart always stays so open and young. I hope that this world doesn't crush you. I hope you always share everything you are feeling. I hope you always love with such passion. I hope you always tell me your joys and your sorrows. I'll always listen.<br />
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Happy birthday Fredders! Don't get too big, too fast.<br />
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Love,<br />
Mommy<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-53102494977167379002016-02-23T09:19:00.000-05:002016-02-23T09:19:09.605-05:00The Next StepAlright, time to address my lack of blogging. Promise, this is the last time I'll do this.<br />
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I think that my family may be outgrowing the blog. I know that you love to see pictures and read stories of the kids, so just hear me out. I think I've come up with a way to preserve something here and keep everyone happy.<br />
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Let's first talk about my reasoning. There are a few things that have kept me from writing the last few months.<br />
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1 - Though my subject matter is adorable and entertaining, I haven't been happy with anything I've tried to write for the blog recently. It feels redundant. Like I'm saying the same thing over and over again. See what I did there? I redundantly told you I felt redundant. And I did it again. I am a perfectionist and I consider myself a good writer. I'm obviously not a professional and there's so much I could learn and practice, but the blog writing has left me feeling inept. And I often feel like I just throw something up on the blog to put in the time. I don't want to do that anymore. There are so many things I'd rather be writing.<br />
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2 - Ainsley. And eventually Freddie and Cohen. Ainsley will be 9 this summer. Honestly, she gives me most of my material. She's on the cusp of those emotional years. We've started having the talks. You know the ones. And I've written about it. But I haven't published it, because I don't ever want her to feel embarrassment over something I put up here for the whole world to see. Especially because I'm trying to teach her, and eventually her brothers, the lasting impact of social media and the internet. For instance, a couple of years ago my siblings and I went through a very rough time with my father. I wrote about it. I wrote so much about it. I still write about it. But you've never read any of it, because where is the line? Is it my place to put his problems out there for the world to see? At what point do my stories about Ainsley become her personal stories? Shouldn't it be her decision to share them or not?<br />
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3 - Okay, this is the tough one. For the last 10 years, my life has revolved around creating my family. And I love my family. We found out we were pregnant with Ainsley about 4 months after we got married. And ever since then every aspect of my life has been about my kids and my husband and what's next and do we want another baby. Well, we're done having babies. So it has forced me to look at what's next. I try to stay grounded in the present, but I am a planner by nature. I have to plan for the next step. So now, there is no next baby. We have created our family and now it's time to nurture it and watch it grow up, not expand. And what does that mean for me? If I do my job correctly, I will become obsolete over the next 15-20 years. My children will move away and start their own lives. If I do my job really well, they'll allow me to be a part of that. But I'll never play the leading role again, and I don't want to arrive at that time and feel like I have nothing left...feel empty. The last couple of months I've been feeling like I'm not sure what to do next. I don't see a therapist, I write. And everything I write has been so personal and so raw and so emotional, that I can't put it out there. Not now. Maybe one day, but not now.<br />
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So with all of these thoughts spinning in my head, I thought I should just walk away from the blog. My last post was a good one, I thought. So I'd leave on a high note. But...but...but...<br />
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But I love this blog. And I know there are people that love it. And I've said many times that this will be what my kids read instead of a baby book. (Total hysterical side note: I suck at baby books, I've said that here so many times. This past weekend, my mom and I were going through some old things and we looked at her baby book. The one my grandmother started for her. I say started because there were literally about 3 pages filled in. The family tree, the birth information, and that may have been it. So I come by it honestly.)<br />
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Point is, I don't want to completely shut it down. But I am going to change my goals. New goal is to post twice a month. Put up pictures of the kids, tell some cute stories, and if Ainsley allows, share some growing pains. But otherwise, I will be cultivating the writing that is currently engrossing me. And one day when I'm ready, and when those pieces are exactly what I want to show of myself, I'll share all that with the world. Maybe in the form of a best seller...maybe.<br />
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I was going to stop posting my blog on Facebook, because Facebook is so mind-numbingly addicting and annoying all at once...but I think I will continue to do that for now so that the people who rely on it will still be able to see it. <br />
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I hope that explains my absence well and still gives you your fix for my adorable children. On that note. Here are some recent pics...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi47lJpr2VQ6cdqL2God3NPps-Bhyphenhyphen313Y27Yft2MAFrprp-vCdkITdQ2dEo7e5bHn9K9jtFBseTvuv1wWwRGxbChmYGRaS0sb-CP1QoFQZOIf_Ik9f4zRQibWW9HP4JKlActZHzcapm4-A/s1600/photo+1+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi47lJpr2VQ6cdqL2God3NPps-Bhyphenhyphen313Y27Yft2MAFrprp-vCdkITdQ2dEo7e5bHn9K9jtFBseTvuv1wWwRGxbChmYGRaS0sb-CP1QoFQZOIf_Ik9f4zRQibWW9HP4JKlActZHzcapm4-A/s320/photo+1+%25282%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kennerly adores Ainsley. It is so cute. This was the day after Kennie's 2nd birthday party.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Hair Cuts</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ainsley and Caroline in matching PJs</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cohen in hat and gloves, even though it was 50 degrees that day.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite girl.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Year's Eve toast.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaHeYFW7Wiw7Vv_NtQIaQSHSdlKD0we7xz9v3pn8u9E0BL4AiujqadA_ro7_wEAoPWIgh_0x5k38K3Gf9UzfqhyWbFUpq3ng22gXzE187ZBu5WYSWBn-_LpSi2gIelRstzVKl5wZILPU/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaHeYFW7Wiw7Vv_NtQIaQSHSdlKD0we7xz9v3pn8u9E0BL4AiujqadA_ro7_wEAoPWIgh_0x5k38K3Gf9UzfqhyWbFUpq3ng22gXzE187ZBu5WYSWBn-_LpSi2gIelRstzVKl5wZILPU/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cohen in a locker. I have about 10 of these on my phone. He asks for a picture in a locker every time we go to swim lessons.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzKC1Yfd7pYqG4giQWElB5kvdVigttsHSMkEYAIkSGlJ9x1my2JivEx0g-LJalagtLCBdJQ7OXCqDTqxkr0dN9_GxceEpgK45xdr_gkXshLPW68mgn2P0IN8RGN-xxxHZorkXy_vV_rs/s1600/photo+3+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzKC1Yfd7pYqG4giQWElB5kvdVigttsHSMkEYAIkSGlJ9x1my2JivEx0g-LJalagtLCBdJQ7OXCqDTqxkr0dN9_GxceEpgK45xdr_gkXshLPW68mgn2P0IN8RGN-xxxHZorkXy_vV_rs/s320/photo+3+%25282%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uncle Cam with his two favorite nieces.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9f-rlvD4LS416OG_pYfpLObFD1vaqjqUTeOpmiBNOxhz9Ih4aDiDljuwtnThKfX1aLvJWFbf_Bep-RWzFAoblX8yulkHFKkt5wA_N6_SUZsWXnK_gqvGKoSycJrJ2_CUGh0MBdIK0g70/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9f-rlvD4LS416OG_pYfpLObFD1vaqjqUTeOpmiBNOxhz9Ih4aDiDljuwtnThKfX1aLvJWFbf_Bep-RWzFAoblX8yulkHFKkt5wA_N6_SUZsWXnK_gqvGKoSycJrJ2_CUGh0MBdIK0g70/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freddie with the puppies.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8LNJdc0ObSV09ZM4Dr3U3VjwcNli3m_0ufVUZSzNH4I8jhXuDjL84ujjfhM6O_avblZkvIJrRDyzQSXwFqgoAz6SZxZOMx88A6bombjIaer717qrJ6O14ye_N1NTihYxVkaj8pARlI8/s1600/photo+4+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8LNJdc0ObSV09ZM4Dr3U3VjwcNli3m_0ufVUZSzNH4I8jhXuDjL84ujjfhM6O_avblZkvIJrRDyzQSXwFqgoAz6SZxZOMx88A6bombjIaer717qrJ6O14ye_N1NTihYxVkaj8pARlI8/s320/photo+4+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy and Cohen</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRlVPUvlSDTgRiRm6PW8UUfmSVTQYiEclzVm4rCFotCvxBPUfoFHV4GhKcAQu9PB9WIWkZs7RZBiFIt-5eKOh7bs4Ik21SzUCVAUqb391VQERXpf2gq4olOpkUavlDySx1n_LbT7DuuhQ/s1600/photo+4+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRlVPUvlSDTgRiRm6PW8UUfmSVTQYiEclzVm4rCFotCvxBPUfoFHV4GhKcAQu9PB9WIWkZs7RZBiFIt-5eKOh7bs4Ik21SzUCVAUqb391VQERXpf2gq4olOpkUavlDySx1n_LbT7DuuhQ/s320/photo+4+%25283%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Year's Eve s'mores making party.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5EStc_pUSsFtljuWmopc-wlLg3vJ4AFXcnujg16l_L4eFUHcPZDHnUAzweLzpXA0nttNAalmzsWoWtCi5qsUYaB4-HwBnJzckOLhpjzqy-zEbv3FDoiQS2qbo9BYZnL1u_2aGpnMYrc/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5EStc_pUSsFtljuWmopc-wlLg3vJ4AFXcnujg16l_L4eFUHcPZDHnUAzweLzpXA0nttNAalmzsWoWtCi5qsUYaB4-HwBnJzckOLhpjzqy-zEbv3FDoiQS2qbo9BYZnL1u_2aGpnMYrc/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cohen with little cousin Aubrey.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieLixhBfcApnZO7qVkZJqiHvmVq7u26t8kdz_quGAzsa0_YuX9FrZp7vWc8BGGuX78gmk3PRTolIg_DA5ixXSs2CuUks2pw3gTz7E_dxnhyJUSe7VLjmglJpzR1TWkZ-Vbq_dSvYW5mUg/s1600/photo+5+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieLixhBfcApnZO7qVkZJqiHvmVq7u26t8kdz_quGAzsa0_YuX9FrZp7vWc8BGGuX78gmk3PRTolIg_DA5ixXSs2CuUks2pw3gTz7E_dxnhyJUSe7VLjmglJpzR1TWkZ-Vbq_dSvYW5mUg/s320/photo+5+%25282%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ainsley with a tower as tall as her. We have a similar picture from when she was 3.<br /><br /></td></tr>
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Bye for now.<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-39289615824090905902015-12-03T08:57:00.000-05:002015-12-03T09:05:07.111-05:00Reasons the Two Year Old is PissedAhh 2 year olds. There's really nothing like them. Combustible dynamite in a cute, little, baby package. If someone could figure out how to weaponize two year olds, that person would rule the world. They are irresistible in their cuteness and lovableness. Yet, flip that switch and they are like wild banchees, running around naked, screaming injustice, beating on whatever thing or being stands in their way. Then suddenly, back to the sweet, little cherub you know and love. Two year olds run this world. I bet most world leaders have a two year old that they end up running around, waiting on, trying to suppress the madness.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodjbsm4XocF9TMbPETM9ShG_JPt45PtfXqbpfG9jQ3X9iBcyUYId-KsuZpVRYwbeurauK00SGZFre-IqwzFUXgZp1ZzoKOkdw2X3EhVaZpalvaa7ieFfKs6PHqRexagwB2Qbvq2ReGSM/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodjbsm4XocF9TMbPETM9ShG_JPt45PtfXqbpfG9jQ3X9iBcyUYId-KsuZpVRYwbeurauK00SGZFre-IqwzFUXgZp1ZzoKOkdw2X3EhVaZpalvaa7ieFfKs6PHqRexagwB2Qbvq2ReGSM/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Cohen is a rare species of two year old. He doesn't get mad, he gets pissed. Like instantly, and kid can hold a grudge. And the things that set him off are just, well, ridiculous.<br />
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So as a warning to all of you out there who hope to get in the Co-man's good graces. Here are the top 10 things that will PISS HIM OFF. Beware. <br />
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Legal notice from Cohen: This list is in no way all encompassing. The two year old is allowed, and should be expected, to lose his shit whenever he sees fit. Just because something was okay yesterday, does not make it okay today. <br />
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1 - <b>Putting his shoes on the correct feet on Wednesdays. </b>Twice now, when I've gotten the kids off to school, Cohen has lost his mind because I would not put the left shoe on the right foot and vice versa.<br />
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2 - <b>Making him open his advent calendar in order. </b>I need to be sure that on the 5th of December we go back and open the 2nd of December...all because Santa's glove happened to be the picture in the 5th of December box. Know what? The effing chocolate wasn't even a glove, it was a Christmas tree...which pissed him off even more.<br />
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3 - <b>I will not pour an entire box of cereal into his bowl.</b> He will kick, scream, throw, bawl when I refuse to open a regular box of cereal and not pour "allamen" into his little green bowl. Eventually, hunger wins out in this scenario. But whimpering will ensue between bites, because obviously the world is ending.<br />
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4 - <b>No more green lollipops.</b> Cohen loves lollipops. He asks for them constantly. And he wants green ones. But when you think about a bag of Dum-Dums, there are 4 different green wrapped lollipops: lemon-lime, pineapple, green apple, and watermelon. He prefers green apple, because not only is it wrapped in green, the actual lollipop is green. Since a bag of Dum-Dums has about 473 mystery flavored pops, that leaves only a few of the other flavors. When the green apple are gone, just buy a new bag. Other colors are out to murder two year olds. And those pretending to be green? Lemon-lime, pineapple, watermelon - I'm looking at you. Well those are the worst of all, they're traitors.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRqslTHa0J8Z3M0557eBSdjcgQ-LxbvIWwnqpVSzsLBL74XKS82HcAlkR0o448O5O4U6LOW09DvNXXO-MPCIeCwkP3tMCH-Oy46Q3dWXZ7RUPRAG6wW5P6xMumscdVXFzZ_iaQKKJTRrM/s1600/coheninlocker.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRqslTHa0J8Z3M0557eBSdjcgQ-LxbvIWwnqpVSzsLBL74XKS82HcAlkR0o448O5O4U6LOW09DvNXXO-MPCIeCwkP3tMCH-Oy46Q3dWXZ7RUPRAG6wW5P6xMumscdVXFzZ_iaQKKJTRrM/s320/coheninlocker.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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5 -<b> I won't put on his "ice-skating-shoes" at bedtime.</b> Last night, 30 minutes after bedtime, Cohen decided that some shoes he owns are "ice-skating-shoes" and he needed to wear them. I refused, because it was bedtime. He cried for a solid 30 minutes and refused to move from the bottom step.<br />
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6 - <b>Providing dinner in lieu of snacks.</b> Cohen "na yike dinner, mi yike nacks." Snacks are way better than dinner and if you force dinner and deny snacks, you are satan's spawn and deserve to be destroyed. Don't even talk about dessert. Dessert is a given and if you take dessert away...well, we can't even talk about that. The scars are too fresh.<br />
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7 - <b>Wiping his hands with a napkin instead of letting him wash them in the bathroom sink. </b>After dinner, we make the older kids wash their hands and faces in the bathroom. Cohen mostly gets wiped down because he's a disaster - when he eats, see #6 - but sometimes we'll let him wash up in the bathroom as well. Make sure you read his mind though, because you'll never know which he actually wants otherwise. That is until he's a crumbled mess on the kitchen floor, wailing for days. Well, and then it's just too late and you've ruined everyone's life.<br />
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8 - <b>Not allowing him to sit in Freddie's booster seat.</b> Cohen thinks he's as big as his siblings. He won't sit in a highchair. He hasn't worn a bib since he could pull it off. He refuses to use sippy cups. Car seats are no different. He knows that he's not in the same type of seat as his big brother, and that is totally unacceptable and you are discriminating against him for his height.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jAMEj22Wn3ow4-msMYegA_GbWZFgcEztSU-ViICZm53nar0_5pxj6fAis6g-ISRO_B8EUd2zFBA_pRRVAPgBgxQggyiEc6e0JZUqglDeA7WGtvV3xvVo4JdpP8KNvnBooNwrG1vjTMY/s1600/monkeycohen.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jAMEj22Wn3ow4-msMYegA_GbWZFgcEztSU-ViICZm53nar0_5pxj6fAis6g-ISRO_B8EUd2zFBA_pRRVAPgBgxQggyiEc6e0JZUqglDeA7WGtvV3xvVo4JdpP8KNvnBooNwrG1vjTMY/s320/monkeycohen.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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9 - <b>Helping him do anything he wants to do himself but doesn't have the physical ability to accomplish.</b> Examples, unlocking the front door with a key. Getting the mail. Brushing his teeth. Turning on the water in the sink. Turning off the water in the sink. Unloading the dishwasher. Checking dinner in the oven. Stirring a boiling pot on the stove. Buckling his carseat. Zipping his coat. <br />
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10 - <b>Anyone but mommy doing anything for him.</b> Mommy must do everything, from wiping the bottom to providing water cups. No one else must attempt to help Cohen or they will be met with a loud and resounding "NOOOOO, MOMMY DO IT!!!!!!" Mommy is the only one who can be trusted with such delicate matters.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTFQFsnUBHGu3J-L_XkQdmSk2bm3mHEPlCcoROwni-N9AYQZv12ZC8EXNBoZduI7h3RXJp0Iuyr1Vy32SXjBVI0RYJHJDVKICKjuMlJRBap2yuw07HyTRnxv3Tm-Z6_aZLjyVcpiTCYw/s1600/cohenatcounter.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfTFQFsnUBHGu3J-L_XkQdmSk2bm3mHEPlCcoROwni-N9AYQZv12ZC8EXNBoZduI7h3RXJp0Iuyr1Vy32SXjBVI0RYJHJDVKICKjuMlJRBap2yuw07HyTRnxv3Tm-Z6_aZLjyVcpiTCYw/s320/cohenatcounter.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Two year olds have to be cute. Have to be! Would anyone deal with this from anyone but a two year old? But we do deal, because they say things like "Mama, it's Bissmas time," and "Mama, zippidy do da my dacket," and "Dat a dood idea," and "let me-me see," and "Mama, I sow you." And how can that even, ever be resisted? It can't. Absolutely can not be. So he can spend 20 minutes naked in my room at 10 pm, screaming because I wouldn't let him bring cheese to bed with him - but all he has to do is say "Mama, I seep wit you?" and all is forgiven.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDDC-RLv89WxI5-UCJFkdgPkW5c5ixrHbniYxmHJCjc_yEInjYmKgNXQxjtmmnWC72Mod5pfzH_9zJ596D0_5hKcLUVoBgRYTN_zoOUgx7XRkk0Hw_HEw761fPENzTvCugbSlGweoAjk/s1600/mommyandcohen.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDDC-RLv89WxI5-UCJFkdgPkW5c5ixrHbniYxmHJCjc_yEInjYmKgNXQxjtmmnWC72Mod5pfzH_9zJ596D0_5hKcLUVoBgRYTN_zoOUgx7XRkk0Hw_HEw761fPENzTvCugbSlGweoAjk/s320/mommyandcohen.JPG" width="320" /></a>Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-74616461850995094762015-11-30T09:06:00.000-05:002015-11-30T09:06:14.965-05:00Lessons LearnedMy kids have taught me so much. They've taught me to be more open minded. They've taught me to embrace diversity. Their existence has encouraged me to be more patient, more kind, more loving. To be a better person for them to look up to.<br />
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Freddie, in particular, has taught me to never, ever, EVER, underestimate the significance of an upset stomach.<br />
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We spent the holiday in Connecticut at Clif's sister's house...Caitlyn. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving spent surrounded by family. Plenty of cousin playtime and snuggles. It was so nice to be away from work and life and just hang out with people we love.<br />
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We decided to leave Saturday. Avoid Sunday traffic. We'd drive at night. Have an early dinner with Clif's brother, Cameron, and his family. Then hit the road around 6. We'd be home by 11 or 12 and then have all day Sunday to relax and get ready for the upcoming week.<br />
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The universe had other plans in mind for us.<br />
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A bug took root over the holidays. Cohen got sick Thanksgiving night, but it was short lived. I chalked it up to no actual dinner and a bunch of pie and chocolate. Because why would a kid eat turkey and stuffing when there is blueberry pie, whipped cream, and amazing Thanksgiving cupcakes made by Auntie Amanda?<br />
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He got sick, and then he was fine. No other symptoms. But then Saturday, some grown ups started feeling ill and getting sick. And then Freddie started complaining of a crampy stomach on Saturday afternoon. He kept saying he did not need to throw up, that it didn't feel sick, it hurt. Looking back, I should have known.<br />
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We sat at the restaurant, and he went through another fit of crampy stomach.<br />
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"Freddie, do you need to go potty?" I asked.<br />
"Freddie, are you going to throw up? Maybe we should go to the bathroom," Clif suggested.<br />
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He looked at me, and I saw it. I saw that glassy-eyed monster behind his pupils.<br />
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"Let's go Freddie, let's go..." I urged.<br />
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And then it happened. At the table that our food had just been placed on, the monster let loose, and so did everything he had eaten in the last 8 hours. All over him, all over Cohen, in front of the entire restaurant. <br />
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I had never been so humiliated...except for that other time that Freddie spewed all over Fuddruckers in the middle of Ainsley's end-of-year soccer party. That was also pretty embarrassing. I saw the monster then too. But he never shows up until it's too late to maneuver a 5 year old out of a booth or long table and into a bathroom across the restaurant.<br />
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So we cleaned up. Changed clothes. Cohen tattled that Freddie had spit on him. Thanks Cohen. I hadn't noticed. Freddie felt much better, a bit hungry.<br />
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"Do we stay?" I asked. I didn't want to, but wasn't sure what to do with a 5 hour drive stretched out before us.<br />
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Before anyone could answer, my sweet little nephew, just 14 months old, followed suit. Took after the big cousin that I'm sure he'll look up to one day. Landon's monster let loose as ferocious as Freddie's had.<br />
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"We gotta go" I said, and Clif promptly flagged the waitress for the bill and boxes.<br />
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We spent the next two - three hours waiting for the next one to puke. Would Ainsley come down with it? Was Cohen's random puking on Thanksgiving related? Would he still go through the virus? Would Clif or I succumb? Turned out it was Freddie, every time. We pulled over two more times to use the bathroom, to clean up, to empty the puking trash bin. The third time we were still north of Philly. Still 30 miles from the Delaware bridge. We were done. The hotels, with accessible toilets and warm baths and cozy beds, were calling our names.<br />
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We spent the night in Westhampton, NJ, off of the turnpike. We got up and continued our trek home, through normal post-Thanksgiving traffic. We got home after 2, tired and hungry and annoyed.<br />
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So Freddie has taught me to never ignore a sour stomach. He's also taught me to be flexible. And he's taught me to ignore those judgy, disgusted looks from strangers in a restaurant. Maybe they're not what they seem. Because as we were gathering our things, our puke covered clothes, our green kids, our luke-warm food...the woman at the table next to us said "Hon, I think you forgot his shoes." And the table across from us the woman smiled and said "Hang in there mom." And the manager and waitresses treating it like it was a normal occurrence. They got a big tip.<br />
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When I think about it, how would I react? If a kid started barfing just 10 feet from me and my kids and my food? I probably would not revel in the experience. Would not rush to help. It would probably take a minute to let it sink in realize that it could happen to any of us.<br />
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So thank you Freddie. Thank you for throwing up all over everyone and everything. You taught me a valuable lesson once again. Next time though...let's just talk it out. No need for all that mess.<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-31273289278594714752015-10-22T08:56:00.002-04:002015-10-22T08:56:43.342-04:00Perfect World vs. My WorldSo let me set the scene...<br />
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Swim lessons. Three kids. Two of them heading into the pool, one eating snacks, watching videos, and terrorizing the lobby. One mom trying to get said kids to pool on time and hoping that the other one doesn't pee or poop all over himself in public. Also, hoping she can contain the younger one for the thirty minute lesson.<br />
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Child A is very excited and can't wait to get back in the pool after a two month hiatus.<br />
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Child B is very nervous and shy and really loves swimming, but insists he doesn't want to do this, but only just this minute, not any time leading up to the activity.<br />
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Child C is, as usual, along for the ride.<br />
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If you know my children, you know exactly which one is which.<br />
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Last night was the first swim lesson for a couple of months. We took a break at the end of the summer since we weren't around much, and then I just didn't get them signed up again until recently. My kids love swim lessons. LOVE them. Both of them love swimming. And they have come so far in the 10 months that they've been going to swim lessons.<br />
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So Ainsley goes right in. Freddie holds back and starts crying. And in my head, I know this is one of "those" moments. You know. Those moments that you read articles about. Like "How to be a loving, caring, mother and raise confident children without ever raising your voice or disciplining at all because kids are SUPER rational if you just give them the chance and if you talk softly and let them lead they way they will do exactly what you need them to do at exactly the right moment."<br />
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Bullshit. Well maybe not. Not in a perfect world, where I have unlimited time for each child to work through his or her issues.<br />
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In my head, I think - okay, stay calm. Who cares if every one's staring at you as you drag this determined, 50lb, 5 year old onto the pool deck. And who cares if the 2 year old is by himself in the lobby. A lobby that he has escaped from before. A lobby that opens to a busy parking lot. And who cares if the 2 year old decides that this exact moment, while his brother is throwing a fit, is the perfect time to relieve himself in the middle of the lobby. And who cares if I drop a small fortune on swimming lessons, and he wastes half the classes crying over being shy.<br />
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So instead of sitting on the edge of the pool and saying things like "Okay, let's just sit for a minute and see if you want to participate. Ohh...doesn't that look like fun. Hey look, you know how to float, show the teacher." And other soothing, calming, encouraging things like that, I end up "yelling" through hushed, gritted, teeth "Get in the pool. You love swim lessons. Get in the pool right now!!!"<br />
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Eventually, I hand a screaming, squirming, powerful child over to an instructor and escape through the door to find Cohen. And I listen to the instructor talk to Freddie. Say all of the things that I want to say. Do all the things I want to do. I think about these things, and figure out how I should handle them either before or after the fact. But the problem is, I'm never just dealing with this scene. I'm dealing with multiple scenes all at once.<br />
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If I had walked in there with just Freddie, I could have been as patient and available as he needed me to be. The the fact is, I can never be 100% available to any of my children. I can't spend all evening putting Cohen on the potty, so he has accidents. I can't sit all night with Ainsley explaining multiplication and division, so sometimes her homework doesn't get finished. I can't sit on the edge of the pool with my sweet, shy Freddie and gently coax him into the water, so he screams.<br />
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And I feel so guilty. I see people with one child and sometimes I think, "imagine how much I could give to one child." Now, one child is NEVER something I wanted or ever considered. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my siblings. When Clif and I go crazy and someone needs to figure out which home to put us in, my kids will have each other to turn to and that's important to me. But I will say, I look at families with one child and sometimes I feel a twinge of jealousy for my kids. That they could have all that attention and patience and love just showered down on them. A million free hours to talk about fears and shyness. Days on end to work through math and reading challenges.<br />
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Freddie finally got in the water. And I watched him sit on the side and pout. I watched the teacher eventually move the class closer to him. I watched him finally participate and then have a blast. I greeted him at the door with his towel and said "Hey! How was it?"<br />
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"Good," he smiled.<br />
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"So are you glad I made you go?" I asked<br />
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"Yes," he responded, and that made me happy. Made me feel like I made the right decision, but it doesn't erase the guilt. All I did was drag him in there and shut the door. Someone else gently coaxed him into the pool. And someone else figured out how to get him to participate. And I watched from the one way mirror.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-51767863312617382242015-10-13T11:11:00.000-04:002015-10-13T11:11:35.891-04:00The P WordSo I did it. I convinced myself that it was the right thing to do and now I am paying for it. I can't go back. I have to keep pushing forward.<br />
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I started potty training Cohen.<br />
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Excuse me while I scream and gouge my eyes out.<br />
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Is there anything worse than potty training? Changing dirty, stinky diapers is way better than carefully removing, dumping, and rinsing out dirty, stinky underpants!<br />
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For awhile now, I've been thinking he was ready. He was already asking to sit on the potty at times. They were putting him on the potty at daycare on a regular basis. He was telling me when he went so I could change him. Classic "readiness" signs as outlined by the "experts."<br />
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Experts...they need to come hang out in my house and sit on the bathroom floor while holding a squirming, pissed-off two year old on the toilet. All while trying not to get peed on.<br />
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Ainsley and Freddie were three or older when we really hit the potty training hard. It was difficult, there were plenty of tears (mine) and tantrums (mine) and screaming (also mine)...but after about 2 weeks, I felt like we were pretty solid and the accidents quickly subsided. It was around that two week mark that I felt like I could say "Yes, he/she is potty trained" and feel pretty confident that the child would let me know when he/she had to go. I didn't feel the need to carry around an entire wardrobe and rolls of paper towels, just in case.<br />
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Well, we are on week three with Cohen, and though there have been wins...there have been lots of accidents, lots of extra clothes, lots of clean ups in public places. I've never wanted to buy diapers so badly!<br />
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After a week, I was ready to throw the towel in. I could not get him to sit on the potty for longer than 7 seconds. During that time, he was able to dribble a little pee in the bowl and then proclaim "DONE!" and slide off the seat. Just to run to the corner and pee and poop all over himself.<br />
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It was then that I decided we need to buy a little plastic potty. Ainsley and Freddie had not used one. They were older and taller when they potty trained. But I bought one because his little toes barely brush the step stool when he sits on the big potty.<br />
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We had major success. Not only was he more comfortable, now he could do it on his own and that is just what my stubborn, independent, third-born needed. He could do it "BY MINE SEFF!!!" That night, I finished my dinner and got up to find him standing over the little potty, Star Wars underpants around his ankles, bowl full of...everything, and him exclaiming "Yook Mommy! I DID IT!"<br />
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I thought we were home free. He lulled me into a false sense of victory and accomplishment. I was feeling so proud of us. We actually could potty train a child at a reasonable age. The feeling was short lived. Yesterday I threw away an entire outfit at a playground just moments after putting him on the potty.<br />
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So that's where we are. He's definitely holding it and he's telling me about 30% of the time. But I'm still asking regularly and hearing "NO, my already went" or "NO, I no yike potty."<br />
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Deep breaths. Deep breaths. This too shall pass. And then we will be diaper free. And it will be awesome. It's just going to be a shit show (literally) getting there.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-80718857225356257992015-09-25T19:37:00.000-04:002015-09-25T19:37:14.463-04:00About Kindergarten...and Summer...and Graduation...We had this huge, momentous thing happen recently, and I didn't write about it. I honestly don't know how I ever found the time to stay on top of this blog. It's just not possible these days.<br />
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But the huge, momentous thing...<br />
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This guy started Kindergarten.<br />
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Here he is just a few months ago graduating from Pre K. I didn't post anything then either. The middle child really does get shafted.<br />
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When Ainsley was a year old, we took her to the beach for the first time. I posted a ton of pictures and broke the post into two parts - I used to have so much time, not sure where it all went. We also went to the beach this summer.<br />
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And Hershey Park.<br />
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Visited Philly for a day.<br />
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<br />
And we celebrated birthdays.<br />
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We got hair cuts.<br />
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Spent time with cousins.<br />
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<br />
And Grandmas.<br />
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<br />
And Papas.<br />
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We dressed as super heroes.<br />
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We played.<br />
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Ate lots of ice cream.<br />
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And apparently, lobster - but not lots of it.</div>
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I love summer. And suddenly, here we are at the beginning of Autumn (officially).<br />
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But I'm getting away from the point of this post.<br />
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Freddie. Our sweet little Freddie started Kindergarten and he is such a rock star. He was very nervous. He missed his old classmates. He didn't want to go. But he is doing so awesome. He comes home with new stories and new knowledge every day.<br />
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After the first day he got off the bus very excited, but soon explained that he didn't want to go back because of fire drills. Freddie does not like smoke alarms, or any loud, sudden noise. There would be a drill later in the week and could he stay home?<br />
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He talked about it a lot that first week, so much so that I felt the need to warn his teacher. Told her about is fear of loud beeps and buzzes. Told her, he'd be fine, but he might cry. Might lose his shizz for awhile. Be prepared.<br />
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The fire drill came, and went and when I asked Freddie about it, he shrugged and said "I'm not afraid of that, I'm a big kid now."<br />
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Yeppo, I guess you are.<br />
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Happy first year of school buddy. You are so bright and insightful and sensitive. I just know you're going to blow that whole school away with your sweet little smile and thoughtful questions. They're never going to know what hit them after they meet my Fredders.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-69586330673642991902015-08-28T09:23:00.000-04:002015-08-28T09:24:29.434-04:00Take A Beat...BreatheFor this past week, I've only had one child to feed and put to bed and look after and play with and pick up and do all the things with. Every year my mom takes Freddie and Ainsley for a week. And every year, I'm reminded what an awesome mom I <i>can </i>be with one child.<br />
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I finish the week psyched to be the mom I know I can be, because I've just done it. For a week I've been patient, I haven't yelled, I haven't doled out punishments, I haven't lost my temper, I've said yes more than no.<br />
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Then this week fades into next, and reality sets in. Three kids mean chaos that overwhelms me beyond my breaking point. <br />
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I love my kids. Of course I do. I don't think I even need to say that. But three kids is no joke. I have three little people with different wants and needs, clamoring for my attention from the moment we walk in the door at night until the moment the last one shuts his sleepy eyes.<br />
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So all week, I've been trying to figure out how I carry this calm, patient Jaime with perfect parenting skills into next week. Because so often I feel like my kids get the worst of me and I hate the thought of them growing up just wanting to get out of a house where mom is always stressed and annoyed and tired. So. Very. Tired. These three people are the most important people in my life, but because of all the other noise and demands and responsibilities, I can't give them the me I want to give them.<br />
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I get up and go to work every day and deal with a bunch of whiny, ridiculous, adult-babies. Then I fight through an hour of traffic and race through pick-ups to finally walk through the door and have dogs knocking me over to get out and dinner waiting to be cooked so homework can get done and reading can get done and bedtime can happen so I can have 30 minutes of quiet before I go to bed and do it all over again.<br />
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That's not life, that's survival. I don't want my kids to learn how to survive life. A lot of days, most days, I feel like that's what I'm teaching them...how to make it to the end of this journey, and that's no way to live.<br />
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Right now, we're a bit stuck with the situation. There's no space to quit a job. There's no wiggle room to hire help. There's no cushion to pick up and move to a slower pace. We are trying desperately to change all of that, but until then I have to be a grown up and do what needs to be done and I don't have a lot of choice in the matter. I guess there's always a choice, but not a good one.<br />
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So for now, I'm going to do my best at changing the one thing I do have control over...my attitude.<br />
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In a week and a half, my kids will be back in school and the autumn cacophony will fill our house and it will feel like the entire universe is crashing around me, but I'm going to breathe. I'm going to take a beat before I yell. I'm going to count to 10 before I scream a punishment. I'm going to be as patient as I can be. I'm going to do everything I can to slow things down and not have life rush past me in the blink of an eye. Just like I've been all week with just me and Cohen. Because my kids deserve a mother who's enjoying life and not just surviving it.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-75728135341746789022015-08-07T10:11:00.000-04:002015-08-07T10:11:21.746-04:00The Bikini QuestionSo it's been awhile...summers are crazy. I say that like the rest of the year is not crazy. But the rest of the year I have this support structure in place to take care of things. Summer time...all that goes out the window. Camps that I can afford do not cover a full work day. Super hero days are sprung on me hours beforehand. A different location every week. It becomes exhausting. In addition to all that, work is at it's fever pitch for both Clif and I during the summer months. At least it always seems to work out that way.<br />
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I love summer, but I'm kind of glad that things will be slowing down after today. Camps are over for Ainsley, she'll spend the rest of her summer traveling up and down the eastern seaboard.<br />
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So my point is that I have a lot of updating to do. Freddie graduated from preschool, Cohen turned 2, Ainsley turned 8 and life has been chugging along. But I'll save that for another day, when my pictures are not being held hostage in my Mac Book.<br />
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Today I'm contemplating parenting decisions. When am I not, right? You know what they don't tell you about being a parent? That you'll have this little baby, and you'll make all these enormous decisions...breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, organic or not, preschool or daycare, stay at home or work away. All these things that you think are so difficult to decide and will totally mold your baby. But now, I can sit on the other side of that baby mess and say those are not the big decisions. I mean, they're hard, and you stress over them, and I'm not belittling them. I definitely thought about all of those things for months before my kids were born. But the really big, character molding decisions...they happen in the tiniest of moments, when you least expect them. They are things that you did not discuss or ponder over as your baby rolled in your belly. They happen in Target or at the playground or in the bath tub. They slap you in the face when you're rushing out the door to swim lessons or when you're late for work...again.<br />
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I had one such moment recently and it made me feel like such a hypocrite that it's all I've thought about for weeks. It happened as I was getting the boys ready to go to the pool one afternoon. I had already packed up Ainsley's suit and towel and now we could pick her up and go straight to the pool for a couple of hours before rushing home to start dinner. Freddie refused to put on his rash guard shirt, and honestly I didn't really fight him on it. It's totally fine for boys to wear just their shorts at the pool, especially at 5PM when the sun wasn't a factor.<br />
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And as the words "Sure, whatever you're comfortable in" left my mouth, it rolled over me like a truck. This deep worry in the pit of my stomach. This realization that I was a part of the problem that I so desperately wanted to fix for my children and my grandchildren.<br />
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Ainsley hadn't been able to wear a bikini since she was a toddler. I felt that I should try and establish a healthy environment where she wasn't wearing skimpy clothes. But instead it had become a point of contention. Ainsley wanted to know why she couldn't wear bikinis. Originally, my intentions were good. Maybe it's not appropriate for a little girl to wear a bikini. But why? I couldn't really answer that question, other than she was a little girl and I didn't want to make her a target. Didn't want her to think that she should dress in skimpy clothes. Wanted her to place value on her internal strengths, rather than her external ones. All those "build girls up," "healthy body image," "don't sexualize a child" things you hear and read.<br />
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But in that moment, I realized that I had done exactly the opposite of what I wanted to accomplish. Without a moment's hesitation I had agreed to let Freddie go shirtless, but I wouldn't let Ainsley wear a bikini in a setting where she was already WAY less dressed than either of her brothers. And I had no explanation. All I could conjure up was "she's a girl," and that is BULLSHIT. <br />
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So how do I undo that? How do I now go back on what I had said and say a bikini is okay without pushing it on her. And how do I make sure that she still feels all those things that I was trying to instill by not allowing the bikini? <br />
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I HAVE NO IDEA!!!<br />
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In the end, she asked for a bikini and I bought her one. I tried to explain that I was wrong, that it shouldn't matter what she wears as long as she's comfortable in it and happy with how it makes her feel. I asked her why a bikini was so important to her and she told me it made her look cute. I asked her how it made her feel and she said happy.<br />
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So ridiculous that all this angst happens over a bikini. A little item of clothing that only gets worn for a few months of the year. But all this big stuff happens in these little moments and insignificant decisions. I still don't know what I'll say if she comes home at 14 with daisy dukes and a halter top that she wants to wear to school. Because the truth is that the world is going to label her because of it. I can do my best to alter my own opinions and show her how to be her best woman no matter the clothes, but that's not going to change the world view.<br />
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I'm at a loss in this department. It feels like a tug of war, go too far one way and you end up in the mud. I guess I just hope that Ainsley can forgive me for all the missteps and she's smart enough and strong enough to make her own decisions and stick by them. That she finds an inner confidence that will take her past all the bullshit. In the end, I hope that's what I can give her no matter what she's wearing.Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-39917690460419221652015-07-17T10:08:00.001-04:002015-07-17T10:08:39.098-04:00EightDear Ainsley,<br />
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I didn't realize this before hand, but apparently eight is a big deal. When you're a kid birthdays are always a big deal. Soon, you will snuggle into eight and it will become well worn. It will be comfortable and you will be itching to be nine.<br />
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But as an adult, I am looking at my eight-year-old and realizing that this is one of those times that I will look back on and think, "That was the moment when everything changed." <br />
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Maybe I'm being dramatic, but over the last few months there has definitely been a shift. Your thinking is different, your attitude is changing. You're maturing and aging and it's like I can see it happening.<br />
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Some of it's good, some of it is...difficult. But you are definitely growing up. I've seen that happen for eight years, but this past spring it's become very apparent that you will not be a kid forever. Something that my head knows but my heart is not quite on board with yet. So we have to take baby steps, because just like you've never been eight, I've never had an eight-year-old and we are navigating these new waters together. So we give little bits of independence and judgement, then we pull it back when it gets too scary. I think ear piercing is a good place to start.<br />
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You've been begging me for pierced ears for three years. I originally told you, you had to wait until you were nine. Why? Who knows, ask Grandma. That's when I got my ears pierced, so I figured it was a good age. But I won't lie...I couldn't wait to buy you little earrings. So when you begged and pleaded on your seventh birthday I made you a deal. You show me how responsible you can be and I would take you on your eighth birthday to get it done. Well, I'm not going to lie and say you were suddenly the poster girl for responsibility, because you so were not! But I think I wanted your ears pierced as much as you did, so I conceded.<br />
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It was a stressful event. I was so worried for you. Not about the actual piercing and if you would be allergic or get an infection. Those are all things we could deal with. No it was more the way you handled it that ripped me apart. You were so brave and insistent that you did not want to cry but you were afraid that you would cry. Ugh...how did you get so grown up to have this emotion? This need to not show your fear and emotion in public. And you did cry a bit. You cried before hand out of sheer excitement/fear/anxiety. But just a tiny bit behind your fists. Then it happened and you laughed and said "Ow, ow, ow..." Because it did hurt, but not nearly as bad as you had imagined.<br />
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I have to say, you have impressed me beyond my imagination with the ear hole care. You can be a bit...dramatic...especially when it comes to injury. A scrape on the foot needs a homemade cast and crutches in your opinion. So I was worried that there would be a lot of whining and complaining about turning and cleaning ears. But not once have you belly ached. You listened intently to all the instructions and you come and ask me, "Does this one look a little bit red? Could it be infected?" You always wash your hands before touching them. You worry about going swimming. You clean them every morning and every night without being asked. So I think we made the right decision.<br />
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In the end, they are your ears, part of your body. And I always want to make it clear that all of those things fall under your power and your decision making. Not mine. I hope this is one small step in that direction, and I hope that you let me help you make these decisions the older you get.<br />
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I'm so proud of you, Ainsley. I'm so proud of who you are and all that you do. I consider myself really lucky to know you, to be a part of your world. You're going to be great things and I'm glad I get to watch.<br />
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Love,<br />
MommyJaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-55115600191079317412015-06-10T14:25:00.001-04:002015-06-10T14:25:31.988-04:00For Now, Us Takes A Back SeatToday Clif and I "celebrate" 9 years of marital bliss.<br />
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I put celebrate in quotations because other than a quick kiss on the cheek and a whispered "Happy Anniversary" followed by a mumbled "You too" before I left the house this morning, there won't be any typical celebrating.<br />
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We won't toast champagne over an elegant steak dinner. We won't lie on the beach for hours as our fruity drinks sweat in the Caribbean heat. We won't spend all day watching a movie marathon with take-out on our couch.<br />
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This week has seen little shut eye with a coughing Cohen, a puking Freddie, and a big school project that Ainsley needs to finish before tomorrow. I think both of us would trade the beach for a secluded bed in a dark room for the next 72 hours. Still, <a href="http://www.ainsleylynn.blogspot.com/2014/06/for-better-or-worse.html">beats last year when we were battling the lice.</a> That is actually one of my favorite posts. It is absolutely the truth about marriage.<br />
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I think back over the last nine years. Nine is not a very exciting anniversary. Just shy of that decade mark. Years behind our predecessors. Years ahead of the newlyweds out there. Still, a lot has happened in nine years. We've been broke, we've been uprooted, we've grown our family, we've lost loved ones. A lot of life happens in nine years. And when you start stacking nine years on top of nine years on top of nine years, before you know it a lifetime will have passed. <br />
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So last night, Clif and I were joking about our anniversary and how it never seems to be about us anymore. I said "I passed right by a CVS today on my walk and I didn't even go in and get you a card." He said "Well, I didn't get you one either." And we laughed. Because we both think cards are a waste of money but it is a small, fairly simple gesture. Yet neither of us took the time to do it.<br />
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"We aren't very good at making it about us," I said. And he said, "Look around. How could we possibly? Don't worry babe, one day it will be all about us again."<br />
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And he's right. One day there won't be sick kids to sit up with. There won't be projects cluttering the kitchen table. There won't be babies being born the day before with birthdays to celebrate every year. There won't be lice to comb out and kill.<br />
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One day, we'll be able to celebrate our anniversary for weeks at a time if we so desire. For now we'll just take the quick kiss on our ways to our respective days.<br />
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So Clif, Happy Anniversary. We have seen ups and downs. Good times and bad times. I don't have time for you and you don't have time for me. But we still love each other and we've agreed to stay on the ride...at least until next year. We're already planning a 10 year anniversary vacation...without the kids. After that, I'm not making any promises.<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-19250376055276726622015-06-09T14:46:00.001-04:002015-06-09T14:46:36.480-04:00Little Tiny CEODear Cohen,<br />
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Two years. This is where I'm supposed to say, "I can't believe you are 2" and I can't because you're my baby. But then...when were you not a part of our family? A part of me? It doesn't seem like I just met you two years ago. It seems like you've always been around. So much so that I recently looked at old pictures from before I was even pregnant with you and thought "Wow, life must have been so weird then."<br />
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Strange how a person can come into your life and just make it the new normal without a word. There's no great shift. Just all of the sudden you exist and it's like you always have.<br />
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But two...<br />
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Two is so much bigger than you were a year ago. And just completely on the other side of the world from where you were 2 years ago. You amaze me. You are light years ahead of any other two year old I've ever known. <br />
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I guess that's the curse/blessing of the 3rd child. You're going to grow up so fast. <br />
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Already you are so independent. You want to be just like the big kids. We aren't even allowed to consider a highchair these days. Strapping you in takes an act of God. You'd much rather sit in a seat and come and go as you please. Sippy cups? No way. Pass the big kid cups.<br />
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You follow Ainsley and Freddie everywhere and pitch an absolute fit when I don't allow you down to the playroom or outside without me.<br />
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You started climbing out of your crib a month ago. I'm not really sure what to do with you there. Ainsley and Freddie were over 2, more like 2.5, when they did it. You no longer want anyone to take you out of the crib. You can do it yourself.<br />
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You want to brush your own teeth and read your own books and get your own milk.<br />
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You have lots to say, and even more to do. You're always busy. Always talking. I can remember you as a tiny thing, thinking how could you possibly ever talk or walk. But you can and you do, because that's how it goes. We spend so much of our grown up lives not changing, that watching a baby become a toddler, then a kid is incredible.<br />
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The older kids like to play "punch buggy" in the car. You are not one to be left out. So randomly I'll hear you yell "Buddy! White!" You have a favorite Knock-Knock joke...<br />
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You: "Not - Not."<br />
Us: "Who's there?"<br />
You: "Tow."<br />
Us: "Cow who?"<br />
You: "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"<br />
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You ask questions and then more questions and when we answer you reply "Ohhhhhhh" like it's so logical.<br />
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When the others ride their bikes, you ride yours. Down every hill, around every turn, you are right behind them. You can ride a scooter like a pro. You can climb up any playground structure. Just the other day, I turned for a handful of seconds, and when I looked back you were teetering on the top rung of a ladder about 7 feet in the air. Reaching your tiny foot over to the landing. Babe, that ladder was not made for a munchkin like you. It was not made for little toddler legs. I sprinted over, screaming for you to wait, but you had already made the leap and just giggled down at me as you ran to the slide.<br />
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You are fearless. You have no caution flag, no yellow light...just full-throttle. You run. You go. You jump. And you don't want any hand holding or help along the way. Railings were not made for you. You walk down stairs with your hands behind your back, defying us to stop you.<br />
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You have epic light saber fights with Freddie. You already have the fighting stance. You color with Ainsley. You pick your colors carefully even though right now they are all "bue" or "yeyow."<br />
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When we try to get you dressed, you have very strong opinions about your style. Yesterday we went through every single pair of socks you own. All of them discarded to the floor with an "Ah na yike dat sock." You ended up sockless.<br />
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Today it's choosing socks but one day I think you'll be tackling stock options or magazine covers with the same decisive authority. You'll go far, little man. And no one's going to help you. You're going to do it all on your own, because that's the way you like it. <br />
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Happy Birthday Cohen! We love you as big as your personality, as loud as your screams, and as funny as your knock knock jokes.<br />
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Love,<br />
Mommy<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5620272022310738991.post-38925994404741263622015-06-04T08:57:00.000-04:002015-06-04T09:02:07.599-04:00Thinking Outside the BoxFor a moment, let's take Caitlyn Jenner out of the picture. Because let's face it, she - along with all of the Kardashians - is a fame whore. And to paint her as a hero because she's brought attention to a topic...well it's slightly ridiculous. She said in an interview that you don't go through a sex change for media attention. Well, I would disagree with that when it comes to anyone associated with the Kardashians.<br />
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True, Caitlyn has stirred up some emotions, and people are talking about it. But I don't see her motives as selfless. Liberals are singing her praise. Weeping at her new found freedom. The religious right is calling her an abomination. A slap in the face to God's awesome and perfect plan.<br />
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So let's take her out of the story. Let's instead just talk about the topic. Instead of it being a 60+ year old reality TV star, who may or may not go to any length to remain in the lime light...let's imagine that it's a no-name college boy or an unnoticed high school girl. Let's put those people at the center of this topic and let's talk about them.<br />
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And instead of focusing on what our society labels us, let's broaden our mind and view gender and sexuality on a spectrum, rather than a box you check.<br />
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I think we could all agree, without screaming at each other, that there are different types of boys and girls. There are girls who like to wear dresses and pig tails and there are girls who like to play in the mud. There are boys who love to sing and dance and there are boys who'd rather spend their days on a ball field. Doesn't make these kids any less of a person or girl/boy...just means they're different. We're all different. We're all unique and no where will you find a person just like you.<br />
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I think we can also agree that as these kids age and grow, different sexualities emerge. And I'm not talking about homosexuality vs heterosexuality...though that is a part of it. But even within our own "categories," can't we agree that there are different tastes? A man may like only blond women. He may only like to have sex in the mornings. We don't put him in a "blond women, sex in the morning" category, he's just a heterosexual man. And we don't think it's weird that he doesn't find Zoe Saldana attractive, because he's more of a Reese Witherspoon guy. Right?<br />
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So instead of having these groups, why can't we look at both gender and sexuality as a spectrum? That over here on the right you have heterosexual people who are horned up all the time and will drop their pants at any moment to get laid, then all the way over on the left you have homosexual people who would do the same. And all through the middle you've got everyone else that fall, just somewhere. Some women are attracted to men, but just not all that in to sex. Some men are attracted to men and have sex once a week. Some women go out every weekend looking to take home a new person. Some women cheat. Some guys are uber loyal to their spouse. Some men save themselves for marriage.<br />
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Am I making my point? <br />
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If not, well here it is. I've read multiple articles lately that talk about not messing with what God created. I agree. I believe in God, I may not attend church every week or memorize bible versus, but I believe. And I pray. And I tell my kids about him. And I agree that God is perfect, and he has a perfect vision, and we are all made to perfection...fat, tall, thin, dark, smart...whatever. And I believe that God does make people all over the spectrum. <br />
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So why is it so strange to believe there are men out there that feel more feminine? And why is that a sin? God did make these people. They exist. It's not just Caitlyn Jenner. There are lots and lots of boys out there being made fun of for painting their toe nails. Did God make a mistake with them? Because my sweet, sensitive, 5 year old loves to have his toe nails painted. In fact, he and his 2 year old brother are sporting fuchsia toe nails right now. Just like mommy. So is that a mistake? Do they not fit into the correct box? Are they just trying to be something they're not to garner fame and attention?<br />
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I personally, don't believe that. I just think when God cut us all out of his fabric he spiced it up a bit. How boring would it be if we all looked the same? Just as boring if we all fit in the same box.<br />
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<br />Jaime Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513479633357397681noreply@blogger.com