tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3576151275728537682024-03-05T01:24:58.919-06:00One Mom...Just Trying to Get it RightLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-83177950865041197712011-06-13T11:33:00.005-05:002011-06-13T12:44:13.894-05:00The Closet Disgusied as a BathroomWe purchased our first home almost 5 years ago when I was pregnant with our first child. <span style="font-style: italic;">What to Expect While You're Expecting</span> must have officially fried my brain by this point, because for some unknown reason, I agreed to buy a house with the World's Worst Bathroom. (I'm gonna go ahead and claim that title, because I believe we have the goods to back it up.) Not only is it painfully small, but when we bought the home, it only had a bathtub. No shower. Eh....? Now, if you saw me when I was pregnant that first time, you will remember that I gained almost 70 pounds. Observe.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">Be nice<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7uX4nYo3bR12clTrI9eB9UwNPtGQsuyO0d62T8Z5F-ANAQiNnoszZT5Nz-u54HhC_fvKBil7rbEJAE134CPx61n7LbAiDZPV_2dv5La8Bjp7QaaQXWPIM2fO3m5hhdv8apx6Y6TZYTDZj/s1600/fatty2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7uX4nYo3bR12clTrI9eB9UwNPtGQsuyO0d62T8Z5F-ANAQiNnoszZT5Nz-u54HhC_fvKBil7rbEJAE134CPx61n7LbAiDZPV_2dv5La8Bjp7QaaQXWPIM2fO3m5hhdv8apx6Y6TZYTDZj/s320/fatty2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617755305294420242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Back away from the food, Leslie</span>!<br /><br /></div>Clearly I was in no condition to maneuver washing my hair under the faucet of a bathtub every day, and the thought of getting my big belly in and out of the tub each morning made me cringe. So, I made Rob PROMISE that we would convert it to a shower as soon as we moved in. And <strike>we</strike> he did convert it right away, so it is better than when we first bought it. (Trying to look on the bright side here, people.) Still. This room is a hall closet at best. The title, bathroom should never be used for a space this small.<br /><br />So, when <a href="http://www.babyrabies.com/">Jill at Baby Rabies</a> suggested that bloggers post videos or pictures of their homes, I knew I wanted to do it. She said we should show them in their real state and quit pretending like we all live in pristine castles. YES. Thank you! So here it is, the Bad and the Ugly that is our bathroom. I'm not even going to fake it and act as if there is any Good about it. Just keepin' it real.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Note: Before viewing this video, please keep a few things in mind. </span><br />1. I just woke up from a nap before shooting this.<br />2. I'm still tired.<br />3. I have bed head.<br />4. All my makeup mysteriously fell off while I was sleeping. <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Thank you for your time.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuwVw5b57Ow"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Click Here to Enter the World's Worst Bathroom</span></a><br /><br />P.S. Why did Oprah have to go and retire before I could appeal to her to remodel our bathroom?<br /><br />Not cool, Oprah. Not cool.LouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-52854275717673198162011-06-10T09:08:00.004-05:002011-06-10T11:41:06.973-05:00Insta FridayThis week has been loooong and has unfortunately revolved around the fact that I'm sick. Still. I am slowly starting to feel better thanks to <a href="http://loueffie.blogspot.com/2011/06/snot-drainage-and-other-unmentionables.html">my visit to the Minute Clinic</a> the other day though. And these babies are helping me out, though antibiotics and my stomach do NOT get along. Hello, nausea.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jtVIXCAuHy8gUXfV-vVeKwXhmOboxCzbRiRsEKv82l9EMeNAO8exL_7Ni9IuIlRNnzpVes4sj3G2hwKHI6l_Q0_ymKumi4c4DIQJkRS_DGjxTdvXWfl1PUJL5ixVTdwwU3QnL5AJmSMP/s1600/meds.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jtVIXCAuHy8gUXfV-vVeKwXhmOboxCzbRiRsEKv82l9EMeNAO8exL_7Ni9IuIlRNnzpVes4sj3G2hwKHI6l_Q0_ymKumi4c4DIQJkRS_DGjxTdvXWfl1PUJL5ixVTdwwU3QnL5AJmSMP/s320/meds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629079837872258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My illness did not stop me from having a beer or two last weekend however. (Sometimes you've just got to suck it up and power through.) Had it been any other beer, I would have passed, but this beer is my favorite from a <a href="http://www.yazoobrew.com/home.php">local brewery here in Nashville</a>. We've recently discovered that a beer store close to our house has a tap of this brew, and will refill our growler for a small fee. This revelation could lead to trouble.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4oospOOJRRWnJnmmk24nnrbVjUgocP67rDjUANDZHXHz9PUlfAK9kBDXgs_UqxvLANVrzVa58CkK438iJEmNxuuZ9ctyUcOZDcB-KLQRR0k0-BuXDw0Jizi70GeO5L_IHq2Z8ogCmH2_/s1600/yum.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4oospOOJRRWnJnmmk24nnrbVjUgocP67rDjUANDZHXHz9PUlfAK9kBDXgs_UqxvLANVrzVa58CkK438iJEmNxuuZ9ctyUcOZDcB-KLQRR0k0-BuXDw0Jizi70GeO5L_IHq2Z8ogCmH2_/s320/yum.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629217372719842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On Sunday, we went grocery shopping and decided to check out a new yogurt shop in the area called <a href="http://www.berrybearyogurt.com/">Berry Bear</a>. And thus, a new addiction is born. This place is so awesome. They have 18 flavors of frozen yogurt to chose from and 36 (I think I counted that right) different toppings you can add. It's self serve, so you decide how much yogurt to add to your bowl, and you dress it with your choice of toppings. They weigh it once you've created your bowl and charge by the ounce. It was fun for the kids and SO delicious. I picture us spending lots of time here.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdz0rqe4arPFJQkHiogHN_ho9zuV6DoKcsFPrg-z91XoBxAYeIO7-x34dy1bz4sEmvb9U2w6iD9Gd-5nN22TBKVnYrUYfejVhW7Q-dBKJFeBYZiDLl9eZbcuAal81totzgwwzV537dWrH/s1600/bearybear.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdz0rqe4arPFJQkHiogHN_ho9zuV6DoKcsFPrg-z91XoBxAYeIO7-x34dy1bz4sEmvb9U2w6iD9Gd-5nN22TBKVnYrUYfejVhW7Q-dBKJFeBYZiDLl9eZbcuAal81totzgwwzV537dWrH/s320/bearybear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629059268974386" border="0" /></a><br /><br />AND...they have a cool sink in the bathroom that I someday would like to have in my dream house, thankyouverymuch.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPcGjIpGIzbE9aT4KibPF_wAYkAuTmWdYZBSiUsPdx_IqjoO_WNeeGbqbSp8AmlgEAKgF8h8jkqibca9lxupI852rSUPka43RAg3CVL0BM2vBHb0FujlEa9m41uoB8rlK_80oS7K3AbBb/s1600/sink.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPcGjIpGIzbE9aT4KibPF_wAYkAuTmWdYZBSiUsPdx_IqjoO_WNeeGbqbSp8AmlgEAKgF8h8jkqibca9lxupI852rSUPka43RAg3CVL0BM2vBHb0FujlEa9m41uoB8rlK_80oS7K3AbBb/s320/sink.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629205774090898" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The rest of the week has been a haze of working, pumping, taking care of the kiddos and muddling through the best I can.<br /><br />I did snap some shots of my "pump room" because it is so near and dear to my heart. I've pumped in this room for 15 months (and counting), so she and I have a history now. And yes ladies, it's a bathroom. Don't be jealous! Honestly, I don't mind that much. I'm the only person who uses the room (we have several other restrooms in the office), and it's nice that it has a sink so that I can clean my supplies at the end of each session. What I don't particularly care for is that our cleaning service uses this room as their storage area. It's not a problem per se, it just doesn't make for the prettiest scenery.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_x-74Z4MfmGFogpDJm9tZqZRkxNon-3RLoXzquCHWWT5R09AkSNDg0kwbY4jMYFD2AblAhzcSpANaGUGdOy0g62_IsyV2tSOQ4Kb2wj10wPPnb4WlHgNwL3zUis2SOgslobJ_DgNvyyq/s1600/scenery.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_x-74Z4MfmGFogpDJm9tZqZRkxNon-3RLoXzquCHWWT5R09AkSNDg0kwbY4jMYFD2AblAhzcSpANaGUGdOy0g62_IsyV2tSOQ4Kb2wj10wPPnb4WlHgNwL3zUis2SOgslobJ_DgNvyyq/s320/scenery.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629090276868082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And this is where the magic happens. Behold, the beauty of my Medela. <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Cue bright lights and angels singing.) <br /></span>Seriously though, I love this thing, and couldn't have made the breastfeeding relationship I have with my babe work so well without it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvVSJ7Uo2Mffh012A0539n3fQFyqUwg393vnpVUlS8wVvCwoS7F2bDVsLoVqFlj76igqeNGGlSczKh0ibG6nuASNanuvnb0ewVypVSSxba87E2TQudt3kjQp8cAK0Wg0KxKeTrXfq8F3X/s1600/station.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvVSJ7Uo2Mffh012A0539n3fQFyqUwg393vnpVUlS8wVvCwoS7F2bDVsLoVqFlj76igqeNGGlSczKh0ibG6nuASNanuvnb0ewVypVSSxba87E2TQudt3kjQp8cAK0Wg0KxKeTrXfq8F3X/s320/station.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629211004707586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Proof that one of my boobs is a show off and a total over achiever.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_FMQ2QLIMr3sirYqmB4MJLk9BAHEPGy4EXbP1w6uoOcVASQefbsktODNyKv97QHDyNIe9bVtQXKPi2lHS1GL1SFn5MiOCbc0mdtZ1QzjC9gl7y8R6D-7slA_iYlbWALXJPfKkpk1LC10/s1600/overachiever.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_FMQ2QLIMr3sirYqmB4MJLk9BAHEPGy4EXbP1w6uoOcVASQefbsktODNyKv97QHDyNIe9bVtQXKPi2lHS1GL1SFn5MiOCbc0mdtZ1QzjC9gl7y8R6D-7slA_iYlbWALXJPfKkpk1LC10/s320/overachiever.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629084188434610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It's all worth it to be able to do this though. I love this time with my girl. And I'm holding on to it as long as I can.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPyEybFETReAHIFSEzA7vy5gCihPFYgwupTI8X1qEbJBmkDadfDgNbBdJDGc6f8SfhDTJd_xZq_63B5Bxq62Rx94m0Q2rWUEneZu4-cj50SYLzNF1CTtjsz6L7cKumr0Kdx1Vh80_zmTf/s1600/babeonboob.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPyEybFETReAHIFSEzA7vy5gCihPFYgwupTI8X1qEbJBmkDadfDgNbBdJDGc6f8SfhDTJd_xZq_63B5Bxq62Rx94m0Q2rWUEneZu4-cj50SYLzNF1CTtjsz6L7cKumr0Kdx1Vh80_zmTf/s320/babeonboob.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616629056675452738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Happy weekend,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-70530612800044534852011-06-08T16:12:00.003-05:002011-06-08T16:44:41.706-05:00Snot, Drainage, and Other UnmentionablesI'm sick. For 12 days now, I have been under the weather. Sore throat, cough, snotty nose, etc, etc. I've been through 3 bags of cough drops, and I'm about to polish off my second box of tissues. (Woooohooo!) My cough gets worse at night, which is pretty inconvenient since we co-sleep. Every single time I get Avery to sleep, I start hacking and wake her up. She then proceeds to give me this "how dare you wake me out of my perfectly restful sleep" look, and back on the boob she goes. This little game that we've been playing each night, while buckets of fun and laughs, is starting to get old. <br /><br />So today, I decide to venture out to the Minute Clinic. I didn't want to go to my PCP, because I kept picturing myself sitting in his waiting room for a couple of hours, surrounded by people even sicker than me, only to have him say, "Just a virus, nothing I can do, you'll just have to wait it out." And then I kick him in the nuts. (Note: That last part is just in my dreams.) Obviously I have been hanging out at the peditrician's office way too much, because that is always her response when my kiddos are sick. And then we've wasted precious moments of our lives with zero outcome, and been exposed to a million more germs in the process. So, no thank you on that one.<br /><br />So okay, back to the Minute Clinic part. OMGosh, this nurse practitioner was awesome! She actually listened to me when I was talked, seem to empathize, was very thorough in her exam, AND even gave me some medicine that is suppose to make me feel better. Word. It seems to her that what was probably just a virus in the beginning has developed into a sinus infection and bronchitis. <---- That is why I should have went in 10 days ago. Lesson learned. So, I'm doing antibiotics for 10 days (yippee, a yeast infection!), some "cough pills" that she says will loosen up all that lovely stuff that is currently wedged in my chest and throat, and cough syrup to help clear up the bronchitis, soothe my throat, and help me sleep. <br /><br />Fingers and toes crossed that this works. <br /><br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-44160041265892740522011-06-03T09:47:00.008-05:002011-06-03T10:41:23.648-05:00Insta FridayI finally joined the rest of the world and bought an IPhone. I was always one of those, "What's the big deal about the IPhone?" people, but now I'm all, "O.M.G. my IPhone is the best thing ever." I want to kiss it and sleep with it and have little IPhone babies with it. I especially love my <a href="http://instagr.am/">Instagram app</a> that allows me to take random photos and spruce them up with all sorts of fun filters. It's so easy to use and has the easiest sharing capabilites of the photo apps, in my opinion.<br /><br />So, imagine my delight when I found that <a href="http://liferearranged.com/">Life Rearranged</a>, leads these awesome "Insta Friday" sharing blog posts. I was doing Friday's Photo here anyway, so this is the perfect new thing for me. Especially since the bulk of the photos I take these days are via Instagram.<br /><br />Without further ado, I present to you my first Insta Friday offerings.<br /><br />We traveled to Kansas City last weekend to spend time with Rob's family. This was our first road trip since Sis came along, and we were nervous about how the kids would do. I would have photos of the car ride, but the kids were doing so well, I didn't dare look at them or try taking a picture for fear they might melt down and make me want to jump out of the car.<br /><br />Our first stop when we got there was to a BBQ joint called <a href="http://www.oklahomajoesbbq.com/restaurant/">Oklahoma Joe's</a>. We read that they had the best ribs in the universe and since Anthony Bourdain has them listed as one of the 13 places to eat before you die, we thought we couldn't lose. Okay people, gaze upon these beautiful ribs. Best I have ever put in my mouth.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27AlJI2nRu9vOUSbziqxSza1xRqWZwzW8e2ymUbOEn3zUoknwO1aFMKb7NwM2Nszzqoqj3hhwRBCQAT6tuV10uItJukcLMII2gVuvYrHS2W3a-IelQlFr9qW46JMEeJI_EmGupJJ9EmZY/s1600/ribs.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27AlJI2nRu9vOUSbziqxSza1xRqWZwzW8e2ymUbOEn3zUoknwO1aFMKb7NwM2Nszzqoqj3hhwRBCQAT6tuV10uItJukcLMII2gVuvYrHS2W3a-IelQlFr9qW46JMEeJI_EmGupJJ9EmZY/s320/ribs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614016316659821938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We also made a trip to the <a href="http://www.thecitymarket.org/">City Market</a>. It was nasty, cold and rainy that day, but we had a good time despite the weather. Will was especially proud of the new Adidas outfit and AIR JORDANS he got from his uncle Pat and Aunt Steph. He wants to wear the shoes every day now. Even when they don't match his outfit. Thanks, guys.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRYj-9yniaLYPdC4D2J69WCxM-iHlGvIbOCkT8J7lL7CfK9SyOH5-tAgaCIx5ngzo2scgVGmaXaItUoGdmCQUpAoiKYDtkZHOQfoSXB_zWw-5Wh5m0BLnSeOqkL9Tgng28giHIQJ05LvBV/s1600/boys.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRYj-9yniaLYPdC4D2J69WCxM-iHlGvIbOCkT8J7lL7CfK9SyOH5-tAgaCIx5ngzo2scgVGmaXaItUoGdmCQUpAoiKYDtkZHOQfoSXB_zWw-5Wh5m0BLnSeOqkL9Tgng28giHIQJ05LvBV/s320/boys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614016462944895170" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Cannolis from Carollo's Italian. Need I say more?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqwYeyiobcQQpxUTTqCVWjPTMYLSXIYQPrxuPSQV8WlR1e5yjZgmv9m5eoC8VAB5D_WAjfk9ZnzojxIWQoBBsG26OI1XxsdQ1JFcy8BGzvwvHQs2qvh7yWHYlqOyVdYdve_b9xewZKyDI/s1600/canolis.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqwYeyiobcQQpxUTTqCVWjPTMYLSXIYQPrxuPSQV8WlR1e5yjZgmv9m5eoC8VAB5D_WAjfk9ZnzojxIWQoBBsG26OI1XxsdQ1JFcy8BGzvwvHQs2qvh7yWHYlqOyVdYdve_b9xewZKyDI/s320/canolis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614016578663185122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Every time we go to Kansas City, Rob has to have a pizza from <a href="http://www.minskys.com/home.aspx">Minsky's</a>. It's his favorite pizza in the world. No matter how great the other pizza that we find in Nashville may be, for him it just doesn't compare. And I must say, it is AH-MAZING.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDqx-BZYnkBz16VSJcAOK4ISwvBZR7JBm6RtVkdC0MVUBbiP92JQNX_PYBUUc9gGh7gRLFyA_NBVDUNcpe_SX9ANkDUsZDlJMvhRbIHXcKmhX3tu2bvt45Xf7QO5bvwLxp7ASPyz3UgC-/s1600/minskys.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDqx-BZYnkBz16VSJcAOK4ISwvBZR7JBm6RtVkdC0MVUBbiP92JQNX_PYBUUc9gGh7gRLFyA_NBVDUNcpe_SX9ANkDUsZDlJMvhRbIHXcKmhX3tu2bvt45Xf7QO5bvwLxp7ASPyz3UgC-/s320/minskys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614016713539492146" border="0" /></a><br /><br />(Note: I realize that most of these photos are of food. We reeeeally like food.<br />A lot.)<br /><br />After we visited and ate ourselves silly, it was time to head home on Monday. I found fairly inexpensive airfare that I took advantage of so that Avery and I could fly home. Since she's still a lap infant and can fly free, it was a no-brainer. It was worth every penny to not have to endure another 9 hours in the car climbing back and forth from the front to the back seat. Did I mention that I also nursed her in her car seat? Let me just say a few words about that experience, OWWWWW MY RIBS!!!<br /><br />The little stinker was much better flying a couple of hours on the way home.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJImsCOU5ozNUEq2YPoQMl05maKk5asb9-U8tfaQOaZDisr11c6ZEVpiYMbrbf5fdk51YCm_GUH2PJovF-_eklnqqfWhP_XpagXHaGfwAuHhvr3sa-hmpemHnq1N7AJB51E0kX7H_QuorW/s1600/babeonaplane.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJImsCOU5ozNUEq2YPoQMl05maKk5asb9-U8tfaQOaZDisr11c6ZEVpiYMbrbf5fdk51YCm_GUH2PJovF-_eklnqqfWhP_XpagXHaGfwAuHhvr3sa-hmpemHnq1N7AJB51E0kX7H_QuorW/s320/babeonaplane.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614016841643135042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And then she was all tuckered out once we finally arrived back in Nashville. You know how good your couch feels after you've been staying in someone else's house for a few days? So does she.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmsbeWgTbfYLxeejhtEKwq9U8u7GiwqNHmL8DGG3JAkHvW9PH6ji1V9Bk6g2QBjRFFTdrI8vdkJkatwLsit-5MTfZkRvUfFxCPfLjT46uOx-EmnmRu1y55P-aitPPcczeFmBv3hsz8Z5s/s1600/homeatlast.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmsbeWgTbfYLxeejhtEKwq9U8u7GiwqNHmL8DGG3JAkHvW9PH6ji1V9Bk6g2QBjRFFTdrI8vdkJkatwLsit-5MTfZkRvUfFxCPfLjT46uOx-EmnmRu1y55P-aitPPcczeFmBv3hsz8Z5s/s320/homeatlast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614017066558739410" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I came down with a cold or some other nastiness while we were gone and completely lost my voice. These became my best friends and were the only thing that made me sound somewhat like a normal human being.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8gs7KIcHlVvWlJ_-yGn4WUx-yUV3fC9z6L0wtcW3qpJ8dTQjYVf-btm5DaK0zSfzcZke-_jplkzDdkq1JfSZfYvhqt8kX6z0W0HPmBiVV9YaHnxK6b86kht75M4FUrpAFSMFtQEfaMbc/s1600/sick.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8gs7KIcHlVvWlJ_-yGn4WUx-yUV3fC9z6L0wtcW3qpJ8dTQjYVf-btm5DaK0zSfzcZke-_jplkzDdkq1JfSZfYvhqt8kX6z0W0HPmBiVV9YaHnxK6b86kht75M4FUrpAFSMFtQEfaMbc/s320/sick.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614017359465555810" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Wednesday, Rob had a terrible day at work and we came home to our AC being out. Fun times. We had these plans for dinner that got completely thrown out the window as it was 84 degrees in our house, and I didn't dare turn on an appliance that omits any more heat. My husband managed to fix the AC himself in about an hour (THANK YOU, HONEY), but by that point, it was too late and still too hot to cook at home. Wednesday=$1.99 Wacky Packs at Sonic. Yes, please.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3txEXfFCtf_rZmqMXegLOvXJu5XftIkc5evr9LlIGip6YvUyxcPURPdtT7ewnDYHjPnZvAwk1F9R8wK-58HnaJhoeJdDC5MY8l68jb3C-hDwLYGPxtO4H1ks7USSBLnMkts0Z3TjRYey/s1600/noAC.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3txEXfFCtf_rZmqMXegLOvXJu5XftIkc5evr9LlIGip6YvUyxcPURPdtT7ewnDYHjPnZvAwk1F9R8wK-58HnaJhoeJdDC5MY8l68jb3C-hDwLYGPxtO4H1ks7USSBLnMkts0Z3TjRYey/s320/noAC.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614017368654325698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And, it's finally Friday again. I'm all jazzed because I'm actually feeling a little better today, and I managed to put makeup on for the first time this week. Though, if it weren't for Rob driving us to work every day, I would never have makeup on. The car ride in is my time to nap, apply makeup, play Words with Friends, check Twitter, and of course, play with Instagram.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGK9bITinjRieCQ6Q-zC8t6y3OP3WivYw1LM0JYyVp5vFOAX7l5F52wLkyOmO4j409rPHFni3xlGWAv9zdttOMPKaLf4iJjptXxXp1_4gZlOI9lNqhJViOfnvOojzuyDl7t7SE-MZNz-ao/s1600/Friday.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGK9bITinjRieCQ6Q-zC8t6y3OP3WivYw1LM0JYyVp5vFOAX7l5F52wLkyOmO4j409rPHFni3xlGWAv9zdttOMPKaLf4iJjptXxXp1_4gZlOI9lNqhJViOfnvOojzuyDl7t7SE-MZNz-ao/s320/Friday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614017355842225218" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Happy Friday folks,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-65733857998461684112011-06-01T12:34:00.002-05:002011-06-01T13:09:37.367-05:00Drama KingWill has a flair for the dramatics. (Disclaimer: he did NOT inherit this from me.) Allow me to demonstrate.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">in the whiniest voice possible</span>) Mommy, Sis wants my Explorer.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Well, it would be nice if you could share it with your sister. You've been playing with it for a while now.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">cranks whine up an octave</span>) But, she'll just EAT it! Is that what you want!? Do you want her to eat it!?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Will, she doesn't even know how to play. She just wants to pretend, she'll be over it in a minute, and you can have it back.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">indignantly hands Explorer to his sister</span>) FINE! I won't play with anything then! I just won't ever play with anything ever, ever again!! (<span style="font-style: italic;">Huffs and crosses arms across chest</span>)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">stares blankly</span>)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: You don't want me to play with anything, do you!? You don't even like me, do you!?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: You're being silly, Will. Of course I like you, but you need to share with your sister.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">pouting</span>) You want a new son, don't you??<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Don't say that, Bud. No, I don't want a new son.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Avery bores of Explorer, drops it on the ground, and moves on to the next thing. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">smiling as if nothing happened</span>) My turn!<br /><br />I am left wondering silently what on earth just happened and how long this "I Must Have Every Toy He/She Has" stage will last.<br /><br />If you know the answer to that question, please don't tell me.<br /><br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-36648033502221628722011-05-19T12:31:00.002-05:002011-05-19T15:22:29.981-05:00I am a VictimYou won't read those words very often. They are taboo. We associate them with being weak. To say you are a victim is to claim you've been defeated. That you aren't strong enough to overcome something that has happened to you. <br />Or is it?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/victim">From Webster's: </a><br /><br /> <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/victim">Victim: one that is injured, destroyed, or sacrificed under any of various conditions</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/victim"> one that is subjected to oppression, hardship, or mistreatment </a><br /><br />The definition itself doesn't suggest anything about weakness, fault, or guilt, but we have come to associate it as such. <br /><br />Let me back up a little. I haven't written here in ages, and I've made excuses to myself and others as to why. I <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> been much busier than usual, but I could have found the time. The truth is, I've been struggling to put into words what has been on my mind for the past several months. And I didn't want to say it the wrong way, because I think it's important.<br /><br />So here's what happened. I was home, snuggled in bed with my baby, nursing her to sleep, watching Private Practice. And then it happened. At the end of the show, just briefly, you got a glimpse of KaDee Strickland's character, Charlotte being attacked from behind. It was evident from the final scene of the show that she would also be raped. I sat staring at the TV in disbelief. <span style="font-style: italic;">Blink, blink, blink.</span> It felt so horribly real. I couldn't move. I lay in bed shaking. I didn't sleep much that night. The scene was horrific and scary, and brought about a reaction in me that I'm sure a lot of viewers experienced.<br /><br />I was molested. <br />I wasn't raped. <br />I wasn't beaten. <br />It wasn't a stranger. <br />I was 15. <br />It was dirty. It was slimy, and it was degrading, and it was wrong. I felt that in every inch of my body. I tried to get out, attempted to "take myself to another place" like they say on TV, but there was no escaping what was happening to me. It took only minutes. It felt like hours. Days even. It only happened that one time. That night, after I was able to get away, I cried to my dad riding in the passenger seat of his police car. It wasn't easy, but I told him everything that happened. It never happened again.<br /><br />That's all I'm going to say about "the event." I'm not going to talk about <span style="font-style: italic;">him</span>. I'm not going to say his name. It isn't important now. What I want to talk about is what happened after. I began going to therapy, and almost immediately, I remember the therapist saying to me, "You are not a victim, you're a survivor." Okay. I had heard it before. I had heard it on Oprah, or a movie, or read it in the monthly issue of my Teen magazine. I couldn't recall exactly where, but it was familiar to me, and it sounded like the right thing for a therapist to say. I've heard it many times since then. I heard it on Private Practice the week following Charlotte's rape. I recall her saying, "Stop looking at me like I'm a victim." If you go online and Google, "I am not a victim," you will get thousands of hits. It is a mantra that many embrace.<br /><br />Now maybe these words help a lot of people out there. And if they do, great. Go with that. I realize they are meant to be empowering. They are designed to give the power back to you when you feel like it has been ripped away. But I must say, all those words did for me was push me to pretend that I was okay. I wasn't. Hearing that I wasn't a victim, but yet a survivor, gave me this impression that I needed to act strong even though I didn't feel strong. It said to me that I should just overcome what happened. But I hadn't. I hadn't even began to scratch the surface on dealing with what happened. I immersed myself in this role of playing a survivor. But that's all it was, an act. So, I started stuffing all those "weak" feelings deep inside myself. I pushed that victim away as hard as I could. I didn't want to be that girl. I didn't want to be vulnerable. So, I wasn't weak or vulnerable on the outside. I smiled, I laughed, and I just kept stuffing that victim down. I acted like the girl I was before. But I wasn't the same girl. Whether I wanted it to change me or not, I had been changed forever. What I didn't realize at the time, was that I was trying to stick bandaids over a gaping hole. I wasn't being honest with my parents, my therapist, or myself about how I was really feeling. Because I was strong, remember!? I was a survivor. I wasn't a victim.<br /><br />My quest to appear strong led me to a slew of bad choices throughout the years. I just kept pushing that victim down. Eventually, I had to put Xanax and Prozax and Zyprexa on top of her. She was starting to get out of control in there. I even found a man who I allowed to push her around and remind her of how weak she was. I did so many things to drown out the voice of that weak, pathetic victim inside me. But as much I tried to silence her, I could still hear her from deep within. And finally, after a breakdown that would lead me to a week in the psychiatric ward, I came face to face with her. She told me all the things she had been wanting to say in those years I had stuffed her down. She cried for days and days. She forgave me for what I done to her. And on the day before I left the hospital, I finally realized something about that girl. She may have been a victim, but she wasn't weak. She was vulnerable, but she wasn't a push over. She was damaged, but she was honest. She just wanted to be heard. I just wanted to be heard. <br /><br />I finally stood inside of what had happened to me. I told that 15 year old girl that I was sorry. I told her that it wasn't her fault. I told her that she didn't have to be strong until she was ready. I told her there were people who loved her enough to hold her up in those moments when she couldn't stand by herself. I told her it was okay to be a victim. I told her that I believe a person can be a victim and a survivor at the same time. I told her that there was no shame in feeling whatever it was she needed to feel to move on. And eventually, she did. I finally moved on.<br /><br />Do I still have moments when I'm effected by what happened? Yes, of course. Every experience that I've had in this life made me the person I am today. But now, I love that person. All of her. Even the victim.<br /><br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-71070277237747804112010-10-27T09:44:00.003-05:002010-10-27T10:03:00.092-05:00The Birds and The Bees and a Three Year OldIt was just an ordinary weeknight in the Milner house. Rob cooked dinner, I nursed Sis while trying to simultaneously fold laundry, and Will took every single toy he owns out and scattered them throughout the house. Things were going like clockwork.<br /> <br /> After I got Will's jammies on and read him a couple of books, I asked, as I always do, what story he would like for me to tell him tonight. You see, reading 2 books at bedtime just isn't enough for this kid. He expects an off the cuff story from a topic of his choosing each night. It's pretty amazing what random subjects he manages to dream up.<br /> <br /> And then this happened.<br /> <br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Will:</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Deep in though</span>t) Hmmmmmm....tell me the story about......ummm....(<span style="font-style: italic;">light bulb goes off in 3 year old brain</span>) how Sis got in your belly. (<span style="font-style: italic;">smiles, thoroughly satisfied with his choic</span>e)<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Chokes on water</span>) Really? You want to hear <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> story? What about the one about the DRAGON? (<span style="font-style: italic;">scary eyes and emphasis on "dragon" to promote my alternative story</span>)<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Will:</span> No, I don't want the one about the dragon. Tell me the one about Sis in your belly.<br /><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">LET THE FUN BEGIN.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Well, one day, Mommy and Daddy talked for a really long time about what it would be like to have another baby. We wanted you to have a little brother or sister to play with and since we love each other very much, we decided that another baby would be awesome.<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Will:</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Puzzled</span>) But how did she get <span style="font-style: italic;">in</span> there?<br /><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh my gosh, this is not happening right now.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Seriously, this story isn't suppose to come up for another few years at least, right!?</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Well, Daddy put her in there when she was very, very small.<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: How?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What is this an interrogation!?!?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Well, there's a special hug that mommies and daddies give to each other to make babies. (<a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.momversation.com/momversation/mommy-where-do-babies-come">Thank you, Momversation</a>!)<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: Oh. (<span style="font-style: italic;">shakes his head seemingly satisfied</span>)<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: And Sis was just this big (<span style="font-style: italic;">holds thumb and forefinger together closely for visual</span>) when she went in Mommy's belly. She was so little, she didn't have eyes or ears or even arms and legs yet. She lived in Mommy's belly in a little sac filled with warm water. She just floated around in there, and as time went on, she grew and grew. When Mommy ate, some of my food went to feed her and help her get bigger. She got bigger and bigger until she was ready to come out of Mommy's belly and meet us. Then Mommy went to the hospital and she came out.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: How did she get outta there?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">AGH, not this part!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Well.....she came out of Mommy's privates.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will:</span> YOUR PRIVATES???? (<span style="font-style: italic;">falls back on the bed laughing hysterically</span>) How did she get out of your privates? (<span style="font-style: italic;">still in stitche</span>s)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: There is an area on mommies' privates where babies come out of when they are ready to be born.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">still giggling</span>) I didn't come out of your privates. I came out of Daddy's.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">joining Will's laughter</span>) Uh, no Bud, you were in Mommy's belly too, you didn't live in Daddy's belly. Daddies can't have babies in their bellies, only mommies.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will</span>: (<span style="font-style: italic;">now serious and in deep thought</span>) Oh. Well, that's not fair. (<span style="font-style: italic;">long thoughtful pause</span>)........<br />Now, tell me the story about the DRAGON.<br /><br />And there you have it ladies and gentlemen. My first official bird and bees talk. I'm sure I have much more explaining to do in the future. Next time, I'll pour a glass of wine first.<br /><br />Cheers,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-90858732913358000402010-09-27T11:38:00.003-05:002010-09-27T14:46:37.724-05:00Team MilnerI'm not going to go in to how insanely busy I have been. I'm sure my absence here speaks for itself. I could give you a play by play of how jam packed my days have become, but it's nothing you haven't heard before. I think we all have those periods in our lives when we overextend, put our heads down, and push forward as best we can. We all experience times when we seriously question why days can't be longer than 24 hours. <br /><br />Single parents, especially those with more than one job, have officially become my new heroes. Simply because I don't know how I would make it through, emotionally or logistically, without the help of my husband right now. I would say that having someone by my side fighting the good fight is what is most important. But that's not true. Because having just any "someone" wouldn't do. It's having Rob there with me that makes it all worthwhile. He isn't just my husband or my best friend. He is, in every sense of the word, my partner. We work together for the good of our little family. He cooks dinner, I clean the kitchen. I teach Zumba, he hangs with the kids while I'm at class. I read books, he tells bedtime stories. I change diapers, he changes diapers. You get the point. He has never made me feel as though I'm in this marriage or parenting thing on my own. His heart is in this game just as much as mine is. Knowing that makes all the little sacrifices not seem like sacrifices at all. And looking in the faces of those little ones that we love so desperately, I know that all this "hard work" is actually a blessing and a privilege. Thank you, God for trusting us with the lives of these children. We're doing the best we can.<br /><br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-52584377634703262442010-08-15T05:48:00.000-05:002010-08-15T05:50:05.299-05:004amI wake and <span style="" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">watch</span> you sleep.<br />The tiny glimmer of street lights outside make the night in our bed more gray than black.<br />I study your features as best I can in the haze.<br />Yours is a face that I've come to know, so my memory fills in what the darkness leaves out.<br />Our baby girl sleeps sweetly between us.<br />Her face somehow even more precious than in her wakefulness.<br />She stirs and nurses quietly on my breast.<br />Her tiny hand grips my night gown.<br />Her little toes press gently against my stomach.<br />Her eyes never open.<br />After a few moments, her latch loosens and releases me as she suckles the air desperately before succumbing to sleep.<br />I slip quietly and carefully from bed to go look at our boy.<br />The dim light from his fish tank gives me a view of his face.<br />He sleeps upside down in his bed with his pillow at the foot.<br />His sandy blond curls contrast bluntly against the red pillowcase.<br />I stare at him for longer than I can recall, losing all concept of time.<br />He is the ultimate culmination of the two of us,<br />So much you and so much me, all at the same time.<br />I can't fathom a more perfect boy.<br />I bend to tuck the covers around his skinny body.<br />His eyes blink sleepily as he wakens just for a moment, somewhere between dreams and reality.<br />"Daddy?" he asks.<br />"No Buddy, it's Mommy."<br />"I want my Daddy."<br />"Okay Bud. Go back to sleep, and I'll get Daddy."<br />I smile recalling the many times he asks for you, his best friend.<br />He is, of course though, dreaming again before I can leave his room.<br />I slide back under our covers gently, nuzzling next to our girl again.<br />I close my eyes and listen to the stillness of our home as we all breathe softly in unison.<br />I reflect again on our little family as I drift back to sleep, imagining our four hearts beating in time.<br />Even my best dreams don't compare to this.LouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-64518981611146608582010-07-20T16:25:00.004-05:002010-07-20T17:13:05.226-05:00THE WeekendI haven't blogged in over a week. There is not really a word to sufficiently describe how busy we have been since coming back from our trip. Life has been crazy hectic, and that's about the biggest understatement of the year. I feel like the moment we left for Knoxville, I was set into this alternate universe where there are only 12 hours in each day. Because suddenly no matter how much I do, or how hard I try, there's never enough time in the day to finish it all. And after arriving back in Nashville and meeting with a center that wants me to teach a couple of Zumba classes there each week, I have been working tirelessly on getting together my music and routines for the new class. I'm nervous and excited at the same time. It's much more work than I anticipated looking at it from the student's perspective. But it's a blast putting my class together, and Will is really enjoying jumping around the living room and doing somersaults with me each night. (Note to any potential class attendees: There will be no somersaults or tumbling included in my class. Will is pretty disappointed about this decision.)<br /><br />Another new task that I decided to add to my list recently is coupon shopping. I'm sure you're thinking, "Okay, so what? Coupon shopping can't take up that much time." And you may be correct, normal coupon shopping where you clip coupons out of the Sunday paper and use them at your favorite store doesn't require much time and effort. But the kind of crazy, mega coupon shopping that I've gotten into where you match coupons to sales, stack coupons, use e-coupons, print online coupons, participate in rebate programs, and request rain checks and competitors price matches does take some time and effort. It's totally paying off though and I love seeing how much money I'm saving. I'll come home on a coupon shopping high, wild eyed and be all "LOOK HONEY! I BOUGHT THESE WAFFLES FOR 19 CENTS! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? 19 CENTS!! AND THIS MUSTARD, GUESS HOW MUCH IT WAS?? JUST GUESS!" And Rob is like, "I don't know, 18 cents?" and I'm like, "NO, IT WAS FREE!! FREE! CRAZY, HUH?" And then he just nods his head in agreement, and moves away from me slowly so that his shirt doesn't get all messy when I explode from excitement.<br /><br />So, between putting a 13 to 14 song Zumba class together, working a full time job, trying to maintain a (somewhat) clean house, being a crazy coupon lady, nursing a 6 month old and chasing after a 3&1/2 year old (who I swear keeps a sugar stash somewhere, b/c OMG that kid has some crazy energy) I've been just a smidge preoccupied. Just the thought of writing a new blog post last week was too much for me to even entertain. My brain was like, "Oh, no you don't! There's not room in here for anything else, missy!" So, I had to wait until I was able to put together complete sentences again. And even now, I'm probably not entirely meeting that requirement.<br /><br />But, I digress. I must update about our trip to Knoxville since it was our first night away since Avery was born. I was all worried about how she was going to do without me that night, and much to my surprise, she was awesome. She didn't go to sleep quite as early as normal, but once she did, she slept ALL NIGHT. I couldn't believe it. She was, for the most part, a pretty happy baby while we were away. It's a huge relief to know that I'm able to leave her and not feel guilty because she starts screaming as soon as we pull out of the driveway. (That's not an exaggeration either, that used to happen any time I'd try to go somewhere without her.)<br /><br />Our hotel room was really nice and comfortable. I keep going back and forth on what my very favorite part of it was, and I just can't decide. It's a toss up between the warm chocolate chip walnut cookies they give you upon checking in (YUM!), or the king sized bed that I would rate among the nicest I've ever slept in. Both were fantastic! The bathroom wasn't too shabby either. I'm not hard to impress, however, when it comes to bathrooms, considering that I hate ours with every fiber of my being, and want to curse it straight to the recesses of hell each and every time I step foot in it. (If you can comfortably fit more than one person in your bathroom without elbowing them in the crotch, you've got me beat and I'm extremely jealous.) I stood in the shower for a good 35 minutes, and even dried my hair and got dressed in the bathroom! That's a luxury around our house.<br /><br />Here are a few shots of my favorite things in the hotel.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim0_7p1kTDEbSTTPxjJ-NduoCskH4TRGHHTf92dh6keFbxEqDs3t1reLunqMwBk3ZFjiW8UTGfRRRU59UnsMj9r0VMjunws9vw64Zpq-u06CJYESNJSoF8V0SF_3esU11GhOo60b9JtCRa/s1600/knox.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim0_7p1kTDEbSTTPxjJ-NduoCskH4TRGHHTf92dh6keFbxEqDs3t1reLunqMwBk3ZFjiW8UTGfRRRU59UnsMj9r0VMjunws9vw64Zpq-u06CJYESNJSoF8V0SF_3esU11GhOo60b9JtCRa/s320/knox.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496113767541366754" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidvhR2XDTzsBIYT6D9m42ctD07Z8pOL3GmFw5yVza8Q6r7ZlQGbPoM3LIZLs4VNgxPXTRv5n0uRZ9ThksWobsIN4Np3LORxGaeMwLFjU5bAJOaFNo_dlYPL3uZ-zKnfnOYE8mJeuO-6A2n/s1600/knox3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidvhR2XDTzsBIYT6D9m42ctD07Z8pOL3GmFw5yVza8Q6r7ZlQGbPoM3LIZLs4VNgxPXTRv5n0uRZ9ThksWobsIN4Np3LORxGaeMwLFjU5bAJOaFNo_dlYPL3uZ-zKnfnOYE8mJeuO-6A2n/s320/knox3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496114517864522674" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05zsL9WoJ9_SHQDscdIlUTsrJjdWfh3bV3GgI-YQd4xrz6dL8kAF_1vCAQxwIJ-PAb7-k6cx97rDjYzQ3MZVuE4XiDytH80SVAu7kADK8UCXvJbOcmGyknLIPBvGtHnU2lwTqfEa2IuyY/s1600/knox4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05zsL9WoJ9_SHQDscdIlUTsrJjdWfh3bV3GgI-YQd4xrz6dL8kAF_1vCAQxwIJ-PAb7-k6cx97rDjYzQ3MZVuE4XiDytH80SVAu7kADK8UCXvJbOcmGyknLIPBvGtHnU2lwTqfEa2IuyY/s320/knox4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496113790537419106" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-x6C4-MUjjAnaoSLC_qNdJitHPQ7AcLEZJbCgyw7NWJbrWfA7HFnxuLvKdIQckBOK24DHWST4o_d6nWKt2Do4EH2tyOiyRFfYP1HDORXjQQ08hTILRq0GFjHtBt0LgM9BbiIfM39Lo9e/s1600/knox2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-x6C4-MUjjAnaoSLC_qNdJitHPQ7AcLEZJbCgyw7NWJbrWfA7HFnxuLvKdIQckBOK24DHWST4o_d6nWKt2Do4EH2tyOiyRFfYP1HDORXjQQ08hTILRq0GFjHtBt0LgM9BbiIfM39Lo9e/s320/knox2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496113783749630178" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And this was Rob's favorite part of our room. Men aren't too hard to please, and he was beyond happy to be able to crank the AC down as low as it would go and not have to foot the bill for it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhby5sxvlXxcitwZA2B0dFPdvCw2mkTd4NrPE2kpOHseuX3qO0vh4j3UIdY_bXfDms7U1vm5gN-tQnQOOS8WcCHBEIhSNx9o6ILRl8weUHMkCIgx-LMlG-qMpgrr4SFgpUjSiBQ78r7wkXo/s1600/knox5.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhby5sxvlXxcitwZA2B0dFPdvCw2mkTd4NrPE2kpOHseuX3qO0vh4j3UIdY_bXfDms7U1vm5gN-tQnQOOS8WcCHBEIhSNx9o6ILRl8weUHMkCIgx-LMlG-qMpgrr4SFgpUjSiBQ78r7wkXo/s320/knox5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496113800174124306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After checking out our room, we decided to venture out on the town and have some dinner. We set out with my Google Map directions, and were excited to go have a nice meal together. We got lost on the way there and I made Rob stop at a hole-in-the-wall pet store so that I could ask for directions. Here's how that conversation went.<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: I was wondering if you could help me. I'm looking for this place. (points to map) Are you familiar with it, because we went west and didn't see this street anywhere.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">22 year old pet store guy</span>: Hmmmm....yeah. I do know where that place is. Let me see........Yeah, my dad plays there a lot. (looks back at me like this information is suppose to help)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: That's nice. So are we on the right street or....?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pet store guy</span>: Yeah, yeah. Uh, let me think.....hmmmmm.....when you go there from my house, it's just a straight shot right too it. (looks at me again like I know where he lives and can find it from his house)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Okay. Hmmmm, well....So I just stay on this road, then?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pet Store Guy</span>: Yeah, just stay on this road until you see some warehouses. It's right after that. It's about 2 or 4 miles from here. If you see the mechanic shop, you've gone too far. The restaurant is right across from a playground.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> </span> Okay, thanks a lot.</blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote></blockquote> I jump back in the car, tell Rob that we need a GPS, and to just keep driving until we see a playground or pass by Pet Store Guy's house, since you know, it's right down the road from him! We go about 5 miles and realize that we're nowhere close to the place and are, in fact, headed out of town. I call the restaurant and asked for directions from them. After turning around and several more rights and lefts, we arrive at the restaurant (which is, in fact, across the street from a playground). I'm so hungry at this point, I want to chew my arm off, so I order a steak sandwich. I figured since I was going to be doing lots of physical exercise and cardio the next day, I might as well load up on protein. Apparently, I was more hungry than I even realized, because once my steak arrived, I proceed to take a bite of it and pretty much swallow it whole, thus lodging it in my throat. I tried several times to swallow it down. Nothing. I put my hand on my throat and tried to swallow really hard. Didn't budge. I took a drink of my beer in the hopes that some lubrication would slide it on down. But apparently, it hit a big ol' steak roadblock in my throat, because it came right back up out of my mouth. By this point, Rob has caught on to the fact that I'm choking. I'm not sure if it was the beer foaming out of my mouth or the crazy eyes I was giving him with the telepathic "OMG, GIVE ME THE HEMLICH!!" looks that he picked up on, but he told me to get up and come outside. Luckily, we were sitting right by the back door of the restaurant, and when I stood to rush outside so that he could help me, the steak went down. Gravity, I suppose? Either way, there I was with beer spit all over my outfit thankful to be alive. It freaked us both out pretty bad, but at least we came home with a story to tell. (I'm a glass half full kind of girl.)<br /><br />The next morning, I had to get up bright and early to get ready for my Zumba training. It was a long, but fun and exciting day. I learned a ton and did so much Zumba, I thought my legs might fall off. We headed to my folk's house as soon as the class was over, and I was anxious to see my babies. Will was at the rodeo with my dad, but our girl was there to greet us with smiles.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vseWhso-B6EnsuttKKnBB_Ic6KvOyNbZ16uLL0RP8ygc3rn3NjA7ycFgNyuP-6EHGpcIlsgn3xUjvetjd9yBp_p5ikcAxK1oqYGt7JAF4c7K5j2oMD3N9_PzzyVjNsD1GDlHOJztSp7N/s1600/knox6.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vseWhso-B6EnsuttKKnBB_Ic6KvOyNbZ16uLL0RP8ygc3rn3NjA7ycFgNyuP-6EHGpcIlsgn3xUjvetjd9yBp_p5ikcAxK1oqYGt7JAF4c7K5j2oMD3N9_PzzyVjNsD1GDlHOJztSp7N/s320/knox6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496113807225525170" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And as soon as I saw that face, I knew I was right back where I was suppose to be. I think I'll stay put for a while.<br /><br />Don't forget to chew your food.<br /><br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-58611874274126218762010-07-09T08:38:00.004-05:002010-07-09T09:01:05.924-05:00Friday's Photo (Zzzzzz...Edition)I'm really on a roll this morning. I think this is the first time that I've ever posted in the AM. (No, I didn't drink more sugar.) I've got a very busy day ahead, so I thought I should get this post in before things get crazy.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">This is a rare sight.</span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-11iCKNLUwcX5O2V5bIhvxveiRZee4bqfV2E7lZguyrOslccI5GX7tp-Qr8Pms2yjjbsNqyjvW2qpx2BdfdNlVHFk4FL6goYsweGulfJPp2DbquvrfHWFyIbpbEvP9IPw-1FIId6Lzt_/s1600/SleepySis.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-11iCKNLUwcX5O2V5bIhvxveiRZee4bqfV2E7lZguyrOslccI5GX7tp-Qr8Pms2yjjbsNqyjvW2qpx2BdfdNlVHFk4FL6goYsweGulfJPp2DbquvrfHWFyIbpbEvP9IPw-1FIId6Lzt_/s320/SleepySis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491905307644310018" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It's not that she's sleeping that makes this photo rare, it's that she's sleeping without me. You see, my girl has always been really attached to her mom. Since she came out and pressed her tiny little feet onto my belly to work her way up to my breast, she's been hooked. So for that reason and <a href="http://www.askdrsears.com/html/7/T071000.asp#T071005">the many other benefits of co-sleeping</a>, she has always slept snuggled in beside me to sleep every night. It makes it SO much easier to nurse, as I pretty much sleep through her breastfeeding at night. It's wonderful bonding time for not only she and I, but for she and Rob as well. We've talked about how nice it is to wake up and see her sweet face first thing in the morning. My heart melts every time.<br /><br />So, when I say that I'm nervous about tonight because this will be the very first time that she and I have slept apart from each other, maybe you'll understand. Rob and I are taking a short overnight trip to Knoxville so that I can get certified to instruct Zumba. It's something that I've been wanting to do for a long time, and I finally got the guts to quit putting it off and just do it. I'm really looking forward to attending the class and having a night for just Rob and I. I must admit, however, I am afraid of how my girl is going to handle it. I keep having these terrible visions of her screaming all night and my dad and step mom pacing the floor with her. I really hope that doesn't happen. It would be awesome to feel like I can leave her overnight every now and then should Mommy and Daddy want some Mommy and Daddy time. Cross your fingers, pray, do Hail Marys, or whatever it is that you think may help Sis (and I) get through this night with as few tears as possible.<br /><br />I'll update with a full weekend report on Monday.<br /><br />Happy Weekend,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-9286720502896407152010-07-08T15:38:00.006-05:002010-07-08T16:55:27.728-05:00Weekly Wish ListDon't you love how I just up and changed the name of my wish list? Thing is, I can't commit to doing it on a certain day each week. You would think a person as organized and anal as I am could make it happen, but I seem to be failing miserably. On Wednesdays I work from 8 to 5 rather than 9 to 6, and I swear it feels like I have less hours in the day. Of course, in reality, that's not the case, but my crazy brain tells me that it is. So I've titled this week's wish list "Weekly" because, uh, it's not Wednesday. (I'm a real brainiac.) (I just had to spell check the word "brainiac".) Anyway, I'm doing a wish list and here it is.<br /><br />P.S. Can you tell I've had a lot of sugar today and that I never drink sugar? I made punch for a party at work and drank approximately half the punch bowl by myself. One minute I feel like running around the building and the next I fear I might start snoring at my desk. I'm a hot mess right now.<br /><br />Anyway, on with the wish list.<br /><br />P.S.S. Today's list has no theme. It's full of random stuff. I just can't get my brain to slow down and cooperate long enough to put together a theme. <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">::: shakes fist at sugar :::</span><br /><br />P.S.S.S. I'm really wearing myself out.<br /><br />Remember last week when I talked about the cottage in the woods with the white decor and crumpets? Here is something else that I'll string in our "girl hut." This <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/51025270/shakespearean-paper-garland-of-hearts">Shakespearean paper garland of hearts</a> makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. It's so delicate and romantic. I love Shakespeare. I love this garland. The end.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-I_Jzv0n7QpDnQpMO6drLUTYGmhnh_wlMxUdVT5x1ypyv_OLpvJCeEgj3D6KVeVVVaNvxyfbXG03qGKzYXxjlqKM5Lgi6Ax04ZKLdd4VQy0tFJCW5OGNuhq2G_yb-AxoaWgSZLFrUBCDk/s1600/garland.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-I_Jzv0n7QpDnQpMO6drLUTYGmhnh_wlMxUdVT5x1ypyv_OLpvJCeEgj3D6KVeVVVaNvxyfbXG03qGKzYXxjlqKM5Lgi6Ax04ZKLdd4VQy0tFJCW5OGNuhq2G_yb-AxoaWgSZLFrUBCDk/s320/garland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491654915685206434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I need this <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/51076390/je-taime-pillow-in-light-teal">Je T'aime pillow</a> for my bedroom. (Ahem, cough, cough, hint Rob, cough) It is the color of my sheets, and would look divine with my fluffy white down comforter. I adore everything about this pillow, and for that matter, all the other handmade goodies in <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/HoneyPieDesign?ref=seller_info">HoneyPieDesign's shop</a>. Gorgeous stuff!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMttK0VBNoz2plBwMEqq156qXNNe1k18lcDBBsRgsyrsMXAK-nYl3pawVmp-ZUcaUSU9uh7P98cOm7eTN0bSvOsYBj4wdqtfWiFbARDmXDKmniHw5X5MENgbex7jrNRHAQbAPBWJvqvIZ4/s1600/pillow.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMttK0VBNoz2plBwMEqq156qXNNe1k18lcDBBsRgsyrsMXAK-nYl3pawVmp-ZUcaUSU9uh7P98cOm7eTN0bSvOsYBj4wdqtfWiFbARDmXDKmniHw5X5MENgbex7jrNRHAQbAPBWJvqvIZ4/s320/pillow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491654546132322786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Have I ever told you that I love bath bombs? I used to have a pretty serious addiction to <a href="http://www.lushusa.com/shop/products/bath/bath-bombs/">the ones from Lus</a><a href="http://www.lushusa.com/shop/products/bath/bath-bombs/">h</a>. Then I got married, had kids and had to stop spending all my money on myself. Funny how that works out. Every now and then, however, I think every woman should indulge themselves, and there's no better way than a nice hot bath with a bath bomb. (Note: Wait till after your toddler goes to bed so that you won't spend the entire time answering, "No, I'm not done yet." "Nope, don't need any help in here, Will." "Just taking a bath right now, bud." "I'll be out in a minute.") My favorites are the <a href="http://www.lushusa.com/shop/products/bain-douche/bombes/pied-marin">Big Blue</a> and the <a href="http://www.lushusa.com/shop/products/bain-douche/bombes/bombe-de-sexe">Sex Bomb</a>, but they are all amazing. Their <a href="http://www.lushusa.com/shop/products/bath/bubble-bars/">bubble bars</a> are great too!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yTT_sQ624N4sdvxATiwP4rCL29cs6Z-p823djK8IrYAUE31_IBEB4fm11S4DBlQfzqLTgauvGBv4yeei6280FYVL-b9e1tIq4EBlGcvIPUKhCRYD0UIQ12p595HsJ-3vVJBsEGiEhvpm/s1600/big+blue.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 100px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yTT_sQ624N4sdvxATiwP4rCL29cs6Z-p823djK8IrYAUE31_IBEB4fm11S4DBlQfzqLTgauvGBv4yeei6280FYVL-b9e1tIq4EBlGcvIPUKhCRYD0UIQ12p595HsJ-3vVJBsEGiEhvpm/s320/big+blue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491654907990610850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6N8mldtSBhu3GJsMfdLpd2UKJPyNcr7TLDY3GyvEdExFCh1kbccRSBN0-rg6CVzglAjwSnI5G8j6uZoekdydgaRqMrtnwdlXhwD_OLVIZ7QlPRaspODgpEyIM08PNQFFfGaMGh9au7j4/s1600/sex.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 100px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6N8mldtSBhu3GJsMfdLpd2UKJPyNcr7TLDY3GyvEdExFCh1kbccRSBN0-rg6CVzglAjwSnI5G8j6uZoekdydgaRqMrtnwdlXhwD_OLVIZ7QlPRaspODgpEyIM08PNQFFfGaMGh9au7j4/s320/sex.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491654921213126834" border="0" /></a><br /><br />If you read this blog much, or know me at all, you probably realize how passionate I am about breastfeeding. I'm not going to rehash <a href="http://www.nrdc.org/breastmilk/benefits.asp">the many benefits of breastfeeding</a> now, but basically, it rocks on so many levels. I think this <a href="http://www.cafepress.com/+peace_love_breastfeeding_womens_tank_top,132112472">Peace, Love & Breastfeeding tank</a> is super cute, and would love to have it to show my support of nursing moms.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGc3WYAxVWwiJ6oxhGcdy993ycnYfSkviI53aic53swO4Z7PFWbltntQnlZueJZPhN1SVejoAs-AToiL9NCKURaHi2Cca7BLdz-dInfH5l2dxt9GlKZiaB3V3ax0_S4CG2X0Ki4p5lMKOq/s1600/peace.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGc3WYAxVWwiJ6oxhGcdy993ycnYfSkviI53aic53swO4Z7PFWbltntQnlZueJZPhN1SVejoAs-AToiL9NCKURaHi2Cca7BLdz-dInfH5l2dxt9GlKZiaB3V3ax0_S4CG2X0Ki4p5lMKOq/s320/peace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491654919094070546" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I had a hard time deciding which bag in <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/bayanhippo?ref=seller_info">bayanhippo's shop</a> was my favorite. Seriously, I would carry all of them. But I'm particularly fond of this <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/50424264/abanoz-in-apple-green">Abanoz in apple green</a>. It's big enough to hold all of my junk and the color is bright and lively. One of these days, I'll retire my old bag, and this shop is where I'll buy my next one.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4Qef30t-1fMsshOjS2D0h7O9RGiIxSqllL3X6Ck8VL09Jsb9b-5c8b02UCn5tNh3d91royxZx_xikosH3ScqtqhvxBtidyVQMU6SAc5_mX1CxGFYSngUJtq2o-Jl04w0IUg5JV4wYfKF/s1600/Abonez.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4Qef30t-1fMsshOjS2D0h7O9RGiIxSqllL3X6Ck8VL09Jsb9b-5c8b02UCn5tNh3d91royxZx_xikosH3ScqtqhvxBtidyVQMU6SAc5_mX1CxGFYSngUJtq2o-Jl04w0IUg5JV4wYfKF/s320/Abonez.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491655554619891602" border="0" /></a><br />Off to take a nap. Or maybe run laps. Decisions...<br /><br />Till next time,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-22866438270293011202010-07-07T12:58:00.003-05:002010-07-07T14:33:10.017-05:00CinderellaWill and I went shopping this past weekend, and I told him that if he was very good while in Target, he could pick out a $5 toy. He was excellent. He didn't get out of the cart once, played quietly with his monster truck he brought along, and no whining the entire time. (Shocking, I know!)<br /><br />So, just as I promised, we ventured over to the toy section for him to pick a reward. We looked at Buzz Lightyear stuff, water guns, bubbles, balls and super heroes. We spent a solid 15 minutes scanning the aisles as he looked for that perfect toy. As we rounded one of the aisles, he looked on the end cap and saw it. His mind was made up immediately. This is what he wanted.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0Y4HJFXH0Pc9yJPq5ev8XOGE5iL1ZB0DBYkQ9dbpyzGjRCiZmxv7WkEcHHuusZQjtFooQnb_6W0Xj-io7VLQHP1ZQR93hC5IZynLZTss9SVdxxCwQJxBkQG2ZcH5NeDIAFGg7e0TY6gw/s1600/cinderella.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0Y4HJFXH0Pc9yJPq5ev8XOGE5iL1ZB0DBYkQ9dbpyzGjRCiZmxv7WkEcHHuusZQjtFooQnb_6W0Xj-io7VLQHP1ZQR93hC5IZynLZTss9SVdxxCwQJxBkQG2ZcH5NeDIAFGg7e0TY6gw/s320/cinderella.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491246658484076098" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I reminded him of the other things that we looked at, and asked if he was sure this is the toy that he wants. (Not because I wanted to change his mind. I just wanted to be sure he knew he wouldn't be getting any of the other toys that moments earlier, he was freaking out over.) <span style="font-style: italic;">"Yes, I want Cinderella. She's pretty."</span> So, that's what we bought. Will has gotten several funny looks since then. Even the cashier in Target did a double take to make sure that he wasn't a girl, and then commented, "A Barbie? Okay, then," like it was the most bizarre thing she'd ever seen. Call me crazy, but I just don't buy into this whole, "these toys are for girls/these are for boys" idea where everything is so gender specific. I'm not going to limit my kids on what toys they can play with because of this crazy notion that there are girl-only toys or boy-only toys. I bought Will the Barbie because that is what he wanted. And if Avery asked for a GI Joe or a race car, I'd buy her one without hesitation. Believe me, she already chews on her fair share of trucks since she just so happens to live with an older brother.<br /><br />Will is really proud of his Cinderella, and has been sleeping with her at night and taking her to his friends' houses. He does however also crash her into his cars and knock things over with her head. I give Cinderella about 2 weeks before she loses an extremity.<br /><br />Wednesday's Wish List coming this afternoon...<br /><br />Cheers,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-80202614785491821542010-07-02T11:01:00.003-05:002010-07-02T11:47:44.030-05:00Wish List and ApologyI'm a bad blogger. I've really been slacking on updating, but....no, no excuses. I should be updating here more often. There are things happening that I need to write about, so you'll be hearing more from me next week. In the meantime, I'm going to do a wish list since I didn't post one on Wednesday. I'm also going to post Friday's Photo later this afternoon. I'm really on a roll today.<br /><br />This wish list is very colorful and happy. I chose these things because it's beautiful outside, and when the day is this pretty and vibrant, I gravitate towards bold colors. You'll never catch me in a bright colored shirt on a rainy day. True story. I just can't do it. More proof that I'm a certifiable weirdo.<br /><br />So here we go.<br /><br />I love this <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/46678972/lampshade?ref=sr_list_19&ga_search_query=shabby+chic+lamp&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_page=4&order=&includes[]=tags&includes[]=title">magazine lampshade</a> from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/1oakfinds?ref=seller_info">1oakfinds</a>. When I was younger and living alone, I actually made collages from magazines and newspaper. I never showed them to anyone, but it was a sort of therapy for me clipping and arranging and pasting all my different little finds. This lamp reminds me of that time in my life.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHE_ZxzVnXOHafwGTQG_vIrtPgMLuQmhhsuH2ec_MYKBfGfUxku90_e0UkR7CTLkgcLi0NubZ8FxBObQfDLP6GajbwuT6mtg0X7rYVKjVIhxMF_tYGkOpmuvKzOdV8Fxodl3SMMBTEYNy0/s1600/lampshade.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHE_ZxzVnXOHafwGTQG_vIrtPgMLuQmhhsuH2ec_MYKBfGfUxku90_e0UkR7CTLkgcLi0NubZ8FxBObQfDLP6GajbwuT6mtg0X7rYVKjVIhxMF_tYGkOpmuvKzOdV8Fxodl3SMMBTEYNy0/s320/lampshade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489349154495069970" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I am drawn to this <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/41568389/the-rainbow-umbrella-original-signed?ref=sr_list_2&ga_search_query=rainbow&ga_search_type=&ga_page=&order=&includes[]=tags&includes[]=title">Rainbow Umbrella photo</a> because of the sharp contrast in it. Everything around the umbrella is so dark and dreary, yet the umbrella is so bright and striking. I can't pinpoint exactly why, but I really enjoy this photo. It has a sort of mystery about it.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54v1ogqe2W4gf5DixmxOk8qVI9rEtEaU6cU1YxWSBNCnwz7G8usSqt8-62JZoueH2wMZ3OBfogh7WY7WKPk4JQaHpLJ8bzV6zYXCjZNyp0uclR107PqgztPIJ5BTtyspflyFva4X6robP/s1600/umbrella.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54v1ogqe2W4gf5DixmxOk8qVI9rEtEaU6cU1YxWSBNCnwz7G8usSqt8-62JZoueH2wMZ3OBfogh7WY7WKPk4JQaHpLJ8bzV6zYXCjZNyp0uclR107PqgztPIJ5BTtyspflyFva4X6robP/s320/umbrella.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489349165481111186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />One day, I'm going to win the lottery and build a little cottage in the woods where I can take Avery and all the women in my life to have tea and eat crumpets. <span style="font-style: italic;">(Note: I don't know what a crumpet actually is, but doesn't it sound good??) </span> The cottage's purpose would be solely for girl time and frilly girl things. No boys allowed. I can't have them getting my beautiful white space all messy. When I get my cottage built, I'm going to put decor like this <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/50667195/12-volume-set-the-book-house?ref=cat1_list_6">12 Volume Set of The Book House</a> inside. I love this set of books from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/DJandPvintage?ref=seller_info">DJandPvintage</a> so much, that I might actually just decorate everything around them.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPklH9xpUUaPkyc6g8Ho0WFh3WOao2yg4Hj9BnENKZpDFu-Qrkfd3tCeyO7V0PXowF7U-gVRvjSKiIz2x1yQzM2fTb82MqT-Q_TpZhuockXbnTfDAPasgpxSL9g6oDymnCnVCjNedjV4Du/s1600/books.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPklH9xpUUaPkyc6g8Ho0WFh3WOao2yg4Hj9BnENKZpDFu-Qrkfd3tCeyO7V0PXowF7U-gVRvjSKiIz2x1yQzM2fTb82MqT-Q_TpZhuockXbnTfDAPasgpxSL9g6oDymnCnVCjNedjV4Du/s320/books.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489349134678275010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm coming back down to Earth now, and going with a more practical item that I really do wish I had now. First let me preface by saying, I have an almost 6 month old who is very fascinated with everything that is going on around her. I love to watch her little eyes scan the room, and take it all in. Since she's become so curious however, she likes to look around while she's nursing. If someone walks into the room and says something, she turns her head to look for them. If she hears the TV click on, she turns her head to see where the noise is coming from. If she sees any ol' thing out of the corner of her eye, she turns her head to check it out. Did I mention that each time she turns her head, she never breaks her latch and continues to hold on to my nipple?? So, yeah, for the sake of my boobs, I need this <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/50419656/mommys-rainbow-nursing-or-mommy-necklace?ref=sr_list_12&ga_search_query=nursing+necklace&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_page=&order=&includes[]=tags&includes[]=title">Mommy's Rainbow Nursing Necklace</a> to give this child something colorful to play with while she's eating. Isn't it pretty?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMtZZfptKkT_Ls1J2c15maRfIhlOBPv6LGlicxMpRFJ958JnkdXisz5hFqF4-hiDKlyNqKedqhMbdgryaOtsc3kr0Sv_xtjU2DQtmOTP5UZIMkp0yAdCtzOMmV-t4z6TC47Ud-WYsRfyk/s1600/necklace1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMtZZfptKkT_Ls1J2c15maRfIhlOBPv6LGlicxMpRFJ958JnkdXisz5hFqF4-hiDKlyNqKedqhMbdgryaOtsc3kr0Sv_xtjU2DQtmOTP5UZIMkp0yAdCtzOMmV-t4z6TC47Ud-WYsRfyk/s320/necklace1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489349145711967090" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And last by not least, have I told you how much more fun it is to dress a girl than a boy? If not, this <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/50257228/rainbow-lollipop-tutu-wfree-clip?ref=sr_list_6&ga_search_query=tutu+rainbow&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_page=&order=&includes[]=tags&includes[]=title">Rainbow Lollipop Tutu</a> should give you an inclination as to why. Enough said.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3goLmaifgUKK_M1PnUuUIcTENO11UyghSgeGClJmx_hhu5aNZFJeMnr84HTojak8z6tPrI_FmakUi-jRfk9gTsuTsUwZNln20BExcKtGO6r8Oe3BZBxae1H76dORFTXNYvlx8kqJbB264/s1600/tutu.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3goLmaifgUKK_M1PnUuUIcTENO11UyghSgeGClJmx_hhu5aNZFJeMnr84HTojak8z6tPrI_FmakUi-jRfk9gTsuTsUwZNln20BExcKtGO6r8Oe3BZBxae1H76dORFTXNYvlx8kqJbB264/s320/tutu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489349159021558050" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Until this afternoon,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-50246595728947373632010-06-25T16:05:00.005-05:002010-06-25T16:25:33.575-05:00Friday's Photo (Brothers & Sisters Edition)At first glance, my kiddos don't look that much alike sitting side by side. Will was born with little to no hair and has always been thin as a rail. Avery, however, came out with a head full of jet black hair and is a chunky little monkey. Since Will is 3 & 1/2 now, and has that "boy"look to him instead of the "baby" look, it's hard to see them in each other.<br /><br />But when you compare their baby pictures, something crazy happens. They look like the same kid! Same mouth, same round cheeks, same blue eyes and the same "What'chu talkin' bout Willis" (RIP Gary Coleman) look on their face.<br /><br />See for yourself.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Will at 4 months<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3kx7CnyZ2m_RRuFUSSYvuWwfvxWuyfqWiAJNta94qkPJlL3wYDOWFKNNWhlBmMNvrJVUgv5m1KE4a6hO0VLS9TgkUj91S8-ulE0_dk7HOzhBPXe_x7biesrdJ2B4KNwXJorUUV3vyVr-/s1600/B&S.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3kx7CnyZ2m_RRuFUSSYvuWwfvxWuyfqWiAJNta94qkPJlL3wYDOWFKNNWhlBmMNvrJVUgv5m1KE4a6hO0VLS9TgkUj91S8-ulE0_dk7HOzhBPXe_x7biesrdJ2B4KNwXJorUUV3vyVr-/s320/B&S.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486822827616640850" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Avery at 4 months<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_XKhl0YZSR-yf-crLANGitkQDG6lVP06D8blQcq_HkRbkliQ70ugG9B7unO5MwiIX9iWQBh6dbEhQZ2DqBoDgA8vWysgFFWN3T_ZZezg4Hsk4jz_eYoh6-imyhT8JhYLPUcAbxp7uWH_/s1600/Sis35.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_XKhl0YZSR-yf-crLANGitkQDG6lVP06D8blQcq_HkRbkliQ70ugG9B7unO5MwiIX9iWQBh6dbEhQZ2DqBoDgA8vWysgFFWN3T_ZZezg4Hsk4jz_eYoh6-imyhT8JhYLPUcAbxp7uWH_/s320/Sis35.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486822834663940594" border="0" /></a><br />So much the same on the outside, yet so different on the in. Both perfect in their own way. I adore those kids.<br /><br />Happy weekend,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-69797441016209304102010-06-18T15:33:00.008-05:002010-06-25T16:26:05.478-05:00Friday's Photo (Father's Day Edition)Instead of one photo today, I'm going to post several in honor of my husband. Since this weekend is Father's Day, it needs to be said that I think he's the best dad around, and that I'm the luckiest girl that's ever lived to have him beside me raising our children. I loved him before he was a dad, but since he's become a father, my love for him has grown past what I even knew was possible. It's moments like the ones in these photos that make it happen.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0wFQxLGq9itE4GFJY5o_w_eJeX7E6fn6ynfv2RvUhLu0R0KgZFgDHSKSpR8bUgy60tpt2eyAuaA-CRfXiQdIPLfVG35TqKRma_-9kFdJGbARm6VpcjJ-3lUUhmVALJh6WmpSvM-vIDrfc/s1600/057.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0wFQxLGq9itE4GFJY5o_w_eJeX7E6fn6ynfv2RvUhLu0R0KgZFgDHSKSpR8bUgy60tpt2eyAuaA-CRfXiQdIPLfVG35TqKRma_-9kFdJGbARm6VpcjJ-3lUUhmVALJh6WmpSvM-vIDrfc/s320/057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484215394443258498" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mxE2uHKme0rk77xA4ewQZcO5udfg4rc3LJcTBSLSMyT7ip5LpvLBcXMGhz50UNqa3_C5zgNr2trEovD_KoyMfOEn5McMF-dE8Z7w-BDr0K4WTMO_nyOoTh6P81Z_GACyabq-IfaqGzV-/s1600/083.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mxE2uHKme0rk77xA4ewQZcO5udfg4rc3LJcTBSLSMyT7ip5LpvLBcXMGhz50UNqa3_C5zgNr2trEovD_KoyMfOEn5McMF-dE8Z7w-BDr0K4WTMO_nyOoTh6P81Z_GACyabq-IfaqGzV-/s320/083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484215405295487810" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv93tep5bAEZETP13x-ryvnwV_SkAubpJdWy7Wuac_Ak4aTbLm1ld1ldXrdmsxAYChC05osQxG0EQ58JwZU0wrBtghR_jfjCD9NynJAjOpY0MvZ4uWXHczF-_P-6TrmoY8MBs8DI_7Ouca/s1600/015.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv93tep5bAEZETP13x-ryvnwV_SkAubpJdWy7Wuac_Ak4aTbLm1ld1ldXrdmsxAYChC05osQxG0EQ58JwZU0wrBtghR_jfjCD9NynJAjOpY0MvZ4uWXHczF-_P-6TrmoY8MBs8DI_7Ouca/s320/015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484219542534343778" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihv5Tg6aDFS6cDfLRY3dscGNo41ilQxTE2woVSb0uRJp5mNxGtiIGTBsXqx2jhdAjb6xhZncspE8c2osMOyKVp975knnjqICpF_o5ZbCnh146M8F3VCS19OIbizRfSyNdqHkDJSVjSrVQg/s1600/031.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihv5Tg6aDFS6cDfLRY3dscGNo41ilQxTE2woVSb0uRJp5mNxGtiIGTBsXqx2jhdAjb6xhZncspE8c2osMOyKVp975knnjqICpF_o5ZbCnh146M8F3VCS19OIbizRfSyNdqHkDJSVjSrVQg/s320/031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484219565505712530" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGxCt4ew4qN2WMTY7eCeE8nIZ9-SbMvmRSM5L-6fBrlo32yibYy53qBZSXLFmxctQPdDEAxpJbh2LxPMmdd8z8ZCHeWNQZ8CO4nrXQqvZEuhp4cf9v5SoMU9zwCyu_KAhZH3QD6twlRQs/s1600/DSC03024.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGxCt4ew4qN2WMTY7eCeE8nIZ9-SbMvmRSM5L-6fBrlo32yibYy53qBZSXLFmxctQPdDEAxpJbh2LxPMmdd8z8ZCHeWNQZ8CO4nrXQqvZEuhp4cf9v5SoMU9zwCyu_KAhZH3QD6twlRQs/s320/DSC03024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484219556783720802" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA9ISlRC5JjC54CtQKvRMb5Q2PLEh_cJc54WyCWbJYDWZ-nQVxJEBYqPpNfQ_Osifea9WjUCWD8EphqyFpSrSObuQIx2JKiDq3GetozZFJEtgh_McU_8J1pVySEfKo24cYslMid5dloBb/s1600/Averysbirth3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCA9ISlRC5JjC54CtQKvRMb5Q2PLEh_cJc54WyCWbJYDWZ-nQVxJEBYqPpNfQ_Osifea9WjUCWD8EphqyFpSrSObuQIx2JKiDq3GetozZFJEtgh_McU_8J1pVySEfKo24cYslMid5dloBb/s320/Averysbirth3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484216354300273074" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vjLikaMMctW82KhKlt00Nr1EZV67aE5KTwNHIfAgjK1n5q0T7JVVCctK2mT_qClw12d_C_uRn12PPkRLrMoiACFqkkrUXg3VQhgvnH5CdrKZEk-Dj3ONH79i4nVnR422ozjAaghghQkx/s1600/Averysbirth4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vjLikaMMctW82KhKlt00Nr1EZV67aE5KTwNHIfAgjK1n5q0T7JVVCctK2mT_qClw12d_C_uRn12PPkRLrMoiACFqkkrUXg3VQhgvnH5CdrKZEk-Dj3ONH79i4nVnR422ozjAaghghQkx/s320/Averysbirth4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484216360179530578" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSwsoEaXA2YN9KEHDsZy-fuWUCrNXjERJ7NRxAKLVc8i8_m0WoB6g2KutUpR9Ye6_cloeB_p-udqwp9HbVz5yVnlEez3gIBZU9cQdDCrl2K0TZaYCsXlQz-zz9SuTncjXFeJdrLy5moEp4/s1600/Averysbirth.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSwsoEaXA2YN9KEHDsZy-fuWUCrNXjERJ7NRxAKLVc8i8_m0WoB6g2KutUpR9Ye6_cloeB_p-udqwp9HbVz5yVnlEez3gIBZU9cQdDCrl2K0TZaYCsXlQz-zz9SuTncjXFeJdrLy5moEp4/s320/Averysbirth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484220589683023458" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh82S_umX_qBeit0Auq7Q1jHHPM_NcNzIfl1A8rBh6V8_JdLxZLkfpabPhaCGfxVHgOq353JU8VPTAzhGQ20ZbHmiTGH5CL5Zz7c3MSRGFuqkIxVPuujj4HZHG5YG1hKComBkmut9OmA1Tr/s1600/Sis18.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh82S_umX_qBeit0Auq7Q1jHHPM_NcNzIfl1A8rBh6V8_JdLxZLkfpabPhaCGfxVHgOq353JU8VPTAzhGQ20ZbHmiTGH5CL5Zz7c3MSRGFuqkIxVPuujj4HZHG5YG1hKComBkmut9OmA1Tr/s320/Sis18.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484215434278642322" border="0" /></a><br />There are thousands more "little" moments in between. More wonderful times than this blog has room to hold. Funny thing about those little moments, one day when you look back and realize how quickly it's all passing by, you discover that they're actually the big ones. That they're the ones that matter most. That quiet time, when no one else is watching and it's just us and our kids, those are the ones that make a father a dad.<br /><br />I love you, honey. Then and now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHExAZKQ04miADlh8lKMgex-1K7W0X7_hp5i5gRTVtkC9eZipeHuCDXT1MxmhGaOk5x9imKLYg1pVKICEBKI8HVbTl8Ty_I6TRoqzxKM5GidDINQW_ZGtg9CmT2mzvHpgSu03y84wecp9/s1600/Wedding+7.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHExAZKQ04miADlh8lKMgex-1K7W0X7_hp5i5gRTVtkC9eZipeHuCDXT1MxmhGaOk5x9imKLYg1pVKICEBKI8HVbTl8Ty_I6TRoqzxKM5GidDINQW_ZGtg9CmT2mzvHpgSu03y84wecp9/s320/Wedding+7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484216790264312722" border="0" /></a><br />Happy Father's Day!<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-66819819321315246702010-06-16T14:39:00.007-05:002010-06-16T15:30:05.389-05:00Wednesday Wish ListThe Wednesday Wish List is back! And on time too. (Believe me, I'm as shocked as you are.) I've run into a lot of fun stuff on the net lately, so I thought we'd make that the theme for today. Because with oil spills and floods and 100 degree JUNE days, we all could use a little fun in our lives. So, here we go...<br /><br />First is the cutest little change purse ever. It's called the<a href="http://www.curiosityshoppeonline.com/kicopu.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Kisslock coin purse</span></a>, and I want it. It's simple, fun, and I love the colors. Forget the fact that I never have any actual change because Will takes it all to put in his piggy bank. I'll find something else to put in there. Like Xanax! I kid. (Unless you have some and then I'm totally not kidding.) Just kidding!.... <span style="font-style: italic;">Or am I?</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFH2DJQ87M_3AGi8ScGFXxv9wABeIGwRcozdYBNQexA0x1Rs-SYctJiSOK1uZoPxFxrm6eK417iYM3iEQESVpAt7GzkiNm-3rmutQvUo6ZgNyuN_UCT44JzCS5a7cwJWhwM8072EVIj6QU/s1600/coinpurse.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFH2DJQ87M_3AGi8ScGFXxv9wABeIGwRcozdYBNQexA0x1Rs-SYctJiSOK1uZoPxFxrm6eK417iYM3iEQESVpAt7GzkiNm-3rmutQvUo6ZgNyuN_UCT44JzCS5a7cwJWhwM8072EVIj6QU/s320/coinpurse.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483469056780179074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And check out this <a href="http://www.lamadesigns.com/store/show/1?cat=totes#"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Recycled Picnic/Market Basket</span></a>. It looks like it will hold a ton of stuff, which is right up my ally. Something happens when you have children. You go from being able to carry those cute little purses to needing full sized luggage every where you go. I could get so many uses out of this basket. You could take it shopping, to the beach, or on a nice, little picnic. That is, if you are brave enough to eat outside in the 100 degree JUNE weather. (I'm not bitter or anything.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVu8D3PvEc-ACUJER8B0almmVm8lddub7xTfHswWSXfeDdthM67w9u_9xzLgCfWzbM-NPYFjzRTB-Pd60dDbm2_llwAZuYcRII2M-xtEtlYbNEEGpOIHlckoMxvkXeLCBgRgDb8KjLxqB/s1600/basket-1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVu8D3PvEc-ACUJER8B0almmVm8lddub7xTfHswWSXfeDdthM67w9u_9xzLgCfWzbM-NPYFjzRTB-Pd60dDbm2_llwAZuYcRII2M-xtEtlYbNEEGpOIHlckoMxvkXeLCBgRgDb8KjLxqB/s320/basket-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483469459664784658" border="0" /></a><br /><br />When I saw these <a href="http://www.anthropologie.com/anthro/catalog/productdetail.jsp?id=970029&parentid=BAYNOTE"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Florist Measuring Cups</span></a> from <a href="http://www.anthropologie.com/anthro/index.jsp"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Anthropologie</span></a>, I immediately thought about my step mom. They look like something that she would have sitting in her kitchen. They are beautiful, playful, and practical at the same time. Love them!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlZLMp86js6sTGl1pwbUxjN_2-k1hV5EG4yQtEmMdt27wmbY81SEoPb0myHJ9Uf9R7z5N7sB0lZpk-tgXEyDb99ZS8_tnrmeEL6pi76hfs3palCj-vYYECjGIEPQmp3aXxqMyepaIQAXT/s1600/measuringcups.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlZLMp86js6sTGl1pwbUxjN_2-k1hV5EG4yQtEmMdt27wmbY81SEoPb0myHJ9Uf9R7z5N7sB0lZpk-tgXEyDb99ZS8_tnrmeEL6pi76hfs3palCj-vYYECjGIEPQmp3aXxqMyepaIQAXT/s320/measuringcups.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483469461529886898" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Everything in the <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/3dots"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Etsy shop of 3dots</span></a> is fabulous, but I was especially impressed with this<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/49241868/peacock-tail-2"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Peacock tail 2 necklace</span></a> she has listed. Loving the wood in this piece. It's the perfect size, and is cute and whimsical. Would be so adorable to compliment a simple outfit.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNflyH_v7N-5k5XN34cSlVRbVYs6UX8na-U2barx7bWyUSSPyUT83b2MphvTesMROXl4QhDYJ23G6mApPw9dwXRn-h3sMUf5-DDbIK0PrFqJ6pNGeZKL2_yYRy40VTufa7NLykQptN62wm/s1600/peacocktail.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNflyH_v7N-5k5XN34cSlVRbVYs6UX8na-U2barx7bWyUSSPyUT83b2MphvTesMROXl4QhDYJ23G6mApPw9dwXRn-h3sMUf5-DDbIK0PrFqJ6pNGeZKL2_yYRy40VTufa7NLykQptN62wm/s320/peacocktail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483469066059229282" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-R-2rJ6qbwCc_FM8XcJ7fwDOd4EU6klBcQdSiReW99gBHek_tw42iwiBE7kuXBKYS0YingGoDmLGEhz6lvPUucFpmlrs5vjo3UTDvzVUuD_NM2S7AwSih4w_cGp_7xSD6-hyqVvEhvlGI/s1600/peacocktail2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-R-2rJ6qbwCc_FM8XcJ7fwDOd4EU6klBcQdSiReW99gBHek_tw42iwiBE7kuXBKYS0YingGoDmLGEhz6lvPUucFpmlrs5vjo3UTDvzVUuD_NM2S7AwSih4w_cGp_7xSD6-hyqVvEhvlGI/s320/peacocktail2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483469070560729106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Did you know that one of my most favorite flowers is the hydrangea? I adore them. I also really love the idea of wallpaper, but don't like the commitment that it demands. If you've ever stripped wallpaper, you know what a pain it is. I've always been reluctant to put it up for that reason. Well, hold onto your seats, because today I discovered....are you ready for it?... <span style="font-style: italic;">removable wallpaper</span>! What a concept! Not only did I discover that it exists, but look at this fun <a href="http://www.realshopping.com.au/Catalogue/For%20Your%20Home/decorating/wall%20decoration/13DD95B9-B936-4AB6-AFC6-49074DFDC634/?item=2A44A420-68EC-4025-8F6F-B2FD1AB0A1C8"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hydrangea print removable wallpaper</span></a> that I came across on <a href="http://www.realshopping.com.au/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Real Shopping</span></a>. Lu-hu-huv it! Rob would never in a million years go for it, but now that we've got a girl, I have a better excuse to slap up something like this in her room. I'm sneaky like that.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3baJZRWvX4FgqO8mf1pZ8VW1OhbygtuP3LNoxvcOyILeIMkW6CDTJCr_R-200-GnTop52HHfBhji6W6qVxyKbFlzRXM6zhEfsnKo_jiSb0Bizv3O27ggq_QqSsP41bPoyWsabEsSHHEYW/s1600/wallpaper.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3baJZRWvX4FgqO8mf1pZ8VW1OhbygtuP3LNoxvcOyILeIMkW6CDTJCr_R-200-GnTop52HHfBhji6W6qVxyKbFlzRXM6zhEfsnKo_jiSb0Bizv3O27ggq_QqSsP41bPoyWsabEsSHHEYW/s320/wallpaper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483469572676679954" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A couple more days till the weekend. I'm holding on for dear life.<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-87874795374400483732010-06-11T12:46:00.004-05:002010-06-11T13:01:24.148-05:00Friday's PhotoTrying out a new section on my blog. Go with me on this one. Every Friday, I'll blog a photo that I want to share. Forgive me, but 99% of them will probably be of my children. They're just too cute, so I can't help myself.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmyLw5BAHm408pAD0UQr_XVk1GeRtJ_95EYIY9SwxZZkPVPIKmsjGIN0b_btZLT_wsI0xYAYlWwPuAYyRwPBAXp_0rBjAxKquUvWj_6yzwCgocdSeNAvnkOKv06DisdjW4rISRi0sAUAOf/s1600/Will25.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmyLw5BAHm408pAD0UQr_XVk1GeRtJ_95EYIY9SwxZZkPVPIKmsjGIN0b_btZLT_wsI0xYAYlWwPuAYyRwPBAXp_0rBjAxKquUvWj_6yzwCgocdSeNAvnkOKv06DisdjW4rISRi0sAUAOf/s320/Will25.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481576770706127730" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My aunt took this photo of Will, and I just love it. It nails his personality, and also captures the essence of how I feel about a few things too.<br /><br />1. The feeling I get when my alarm goes off in the morning<br />2. My sentiments about baby corn<br />3. The look on my face when Will says, "Look Mommy, I got a booger for you!"<br />4. TRAFFIC<br />5. The face I give crazy women who try and humiliate me for nursing in public<br /><br />Hope your weekend is filled with happy faces.<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-36235723079038522762010-06-10T16:32:00.004-05:002010-06-10T17:26:13.070-05:00Wish ListIt's been a long time. Too, too long since I've posted a wish list. And since things have been so serious around here lately, I thought it was high time I got back to sharing some finds with you and lighten it up a little. Also, since it's been so long, everything that I'll be showing you today are things that I've already purchased. I know, I'm bad. But, in my defense, all but one were gifts for someone else, so there!<br /><br />And, just so you know that I'm not crazy, I realize today isn't Wednesday. But next week, the official Wednesday Wish List will be back in full swing. For today, however, it's going to be Thursday's List. Because I'm a crazy, wild rebel like that. Snap!<br /><br />First up is a <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/38546061/reversible-baby-pouch-sling-carrier"><span style="font-weight: bold;">reversible pouch sling</span></a> that I bought shortly before Sis came along. I knew that with a toddler and a newborn, I would need as many free hands as I could get, so I dove into the world of babywearing. Let me tell you, I'll never go back. I love having my baby close to me, and being able to get things done at the same time. And she really enjoys it as well. She often goes to sleep in there. (Especially when her daddy starts playing guitar, because for her, it's like a baby sedative. Pretty amazing stuff, really.) But, I digress. This sling has been awesome. It's so well made, soft and easy to use. If you are a fan of the peanut sling design, I would highly recommend trying the slings from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/BabyinaFishBowl"><span style="font-weight: bold;">BabyinaFishBowl</span></a>. She has a ton of other great products as well.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzi8Q0bkp0A6IzVA6iiZLzXhMtmzyEiLi6xBgZiMlyK1oOJHFoH7dml6bSyjF0mwe4DyYusMe7MNBX9nX0z-yaQ30MsJAkbKMNP1ZICnujC0C-Hs2p25NMUhZI9h1qOpHRtAUY4MfYMlr/s1600/sling.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzi8Q0bkp0A6IzVA6iiZLzXhMtmzyEiLi6xBgZiMlyK1oOJHFoH7dml6bSyjF0mwe4DyYusMe7MNBX9nX0z-yaQ30MsJAkbKMNP1ZICnujC0C-Hs2p25NMUhZI9h1qOpHRtAUY4MfYMlr/s320/sling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481272628713220194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Next is the <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/48430979/birthday-monster-tshirt-12-18-24-months"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Birthday Monster Tshirt</span></a> from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/SpeckledSunshine"><span style="font-weight: bold;">SpeckledSunshine</span></a>. I bought this for Will's birthday, and he looked adorable in it. (You'll have to take my word for that though, because he was in one of his, "No, Mommy, don't take my picture" moods. ::::huge eye roll::::) The tshirt is super soft and washes up very nicely. I expected that the colors may run or fade, but he's been wearing it for a while now and it's still going strong. Anyone who has a messy toddler knows that is saying alot.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfN2sHEqVhYK0xeW70JZbsD0E01m__mNTNnLX4Yj0zjFBLRhY29pxqMr34s3gM4G4xPPiLh0D79wylmwqxAh0zQFKxS08l2mNTgisTSXL-LLagRo_jJJIX-c2LsntTf7O1_TvEWcoWoBPt/s1600/tshirt.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfN2sHEqVhYK0xeW70JZbsD0E01m__mNTNnLX4Yj0zjFBLRhY29pxqMr34s3gM4G4xPPiLh0D79wylmwqxAh0zQFKxS08l2mNTgisTSXL-LLagRo_jJJIX-c2LsntTf7O1_TvEWcoWoBPt/s320/tshirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481272655878534578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I bought a set of these <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/43887413/custom-photo-tile-coaster-set"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Custom Photo Coasters</span></a> for my step mom for Mother's Day. It's truly one of my favorite Etsy purchases ever. So beautiful, and the seller, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/patriciao82173"><span style="font-weight: bold;">patricia082173</span></a> was wonderful to work with. The packing was just as gorgeous as the coasters, and she even did a custom design on the from of the box for me. I can't say enough about these, and my step mom really loved them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgih9y_p1IybEFWMWqpEEiKd_9VtL2VzNpmpu055nNB7tUPobj9y1nj4EGSKLwM7lVO8OFs-Vvb5hVPkF46GVmAbM7VZKRvAaFyEA1v_A3Gw0N3hIiZCdS00s_NWFFfPgjji_BYdoXhciM-/s1600/coasters.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgih9y_p1IybEFWMWqpEEiKd_9VtL2VzNpmpu055nNB7tUPobj9y1nj4EGSKLwM7lVO8OFs-Vvb5hVPkF46GVmAbM7VZKRvAaFyEA1v_A3Gw0N3hIiZCdS00s_NWFFfPgjji_BYdoXhciM-/s320/coasters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481272651627715106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Here's another of my favorite purchases. I bought one of these <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/48771372/custom-personalized-photo-of-vintage"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Custom Photos of Vintage Cash Register Keys</span></a> as a wedding gift for a friend of ours. The color in the print was AH-MAZING. The quality of the print paper was gorgeous. You just message the seller with the date you would like to appear on the print, and she'll take the custom photo for you. The turnaround time was very quick for a personalized order, and the couple we gave the gift to absolutely loved it. You could also purchase this for a graduation or baby's DOB. The seller, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/lilacpopphotography"><span style="font-weight: bold;">lilacpopphotograpy</span></a>, also sells this print in sepia or black and white, and has a whole shop full of other beautiful work.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrzGG3b1Y2A5Mz2meVy0MpyNYD9fwwagyNbuo5OEqJBiFP_7qzNqlMHzVWHpnq3fR24mskoUVJbVWjIC7suFa_JUcD7panQE4jBbd_0ZUixMrdcFNKrq8q3Y4K30WuTHblOpGruDQbpQJJ/s1600/weddingprint.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrzGG3b1Y2A5Mz2meVy0MpyNYD9fwwagyNbuo5OEqJBiFP_7qzNqlMHzVWHpnq3fR24mskoUVJbVWjIC7suFa_JUcD7panQE4jBbd_0ZUixMrdcFNKrq8q3Y4K30WuTHblOpGruDQbpQJJ/s320/weddingprint.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481272644945676114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And finally is the <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/44593285/well-behaved-women-rarely-make-history"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History Print</span></a> that I bought for one of my friend's birthday. I framed it alongside a picture of all the girls on one of our ladies nights out. I love the feel of this photograph, because the message is typed out on a vintage typewriter. The seller, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/RighteousLens"><span style="font-weight: bold;">RighteousLens</span></a>, has a lot of other great pre-made vintage typewriter prints in her shop, (my favorite being the <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/40468626/youre-so-cool-4x6-vintage-typewriter"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"You're so cool" print</span></a> inspired by the movie True Romance) or you can do a <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/47447306/custom-personalized-4x6-photographic"><span style="font-weight: bold;">custom print </span></a>and she'll type out and photograph whatever floats your boat.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdf6y3IEkSeN5Sq7LzdRSlNOzNJH4b1Ifk1U9r9isJA8VafZ7Rm-AwrJsS4QIpqpp3mqyqodwa1Yt4pDlvjexCDITHEnA8Z4XNb8GGzZ1QzSL1h7gSNdQejYcoyTi3WupcSWSdR7kAbZ8F/s1600/wellbehaved.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdf6y3IEkSeN5Sq7LzdRSlNOzNJH4b1Ifk1U9r9isJA8VafZ7Rm-AwrJsS4QIpqpp3mqyqodwa1Yt4pDlvjexCDITHEnA8Z4XNb8GGzZ1QzSL1h7gSNdQejYcoyTi3WupcSWSdR7kAbZ8F/s320/wellbehaved.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481272649058663202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Tomorrow is Friday. I can hear the angels singing already.<br /><br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-22506434277709377492010-06-07T16:43:00.003-05:002010-06-11T13:02:53.545-05:00Is There a War on Breastfeeding?My girl and I went shopping this weekend. It was a typical June day in the South, steamy, 95 degrees, and the humidity was at about 8000 percent. But we ventured out anyway, because Momma needed a new pair of shoes and Sis needed some jammies with her big ol' 4 month old self in 6 to 9 month old clothes. (Lurve my chunky babe.)<br /><br />She rode happily in her stroller, taking in all the scenery, while I tried on clothes and bought some makeup. (Seriously, she already loves to shop at 4 months old. She is my child.) About an hour and a half into the shopping trip, she got a bit fussy, so we stopped so I could feed her. We found a nice little bench outside, parked her ride and sat down to nurse. (Note: The outlet mall we went to is an outdoors rather than in, so walking from one store to the next is all outside.) She was nursing quietly, as I sat and watched shoppers stroll by. I didn't pay much attention to her, but I saw a woman pass, and looked up just as she turned and started coming back towards us. She approached me, and this is how our conversation went...<br /><br />Her: You know, they have restrooms here for that.<br />Me: (Shocked, looking for words) Um, no thanks.<br />Her: Well, don't you have a blanket you could cover up with?<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />At this point, I'm gaining my composure and realizing that this is actually happening. When she first approached, I was so shocked, I didn't really know what to say.</span><br /><br />Me: It's 95 degrees out here. I'm not covering her. She'll burn up!<br />Her: Which is why you should just take her into the restroom where it's cool.<br />Me: (Angry now) Seriously!? You must be one of those women who think God gave us these things for men to gawk at.<br />Her: (Stumbles a bit) NO, I breastfed all three of my children, but I had the decency to do it in the restroom while I was out in public.<br />Me: Yeah, I'm not doing that. I'm not ashamed to feed her. She's going to eat right here. If you're offended, don't look!<br /><br />She didn't say another word, just turned on her heel and walked off in a huff. I was stunned. I was beside myself. My hands were shaking, I was so angry. I didn't understand why this woman wanted to humiliate me and make me feel dirty for breastfeeding.<br /><br />What made it more confusing to me is that this incident occurred one day after a good friend of mine told me of the struggle she is having with her company after returning to work from maternity leave. She went back to the office last week after 3 months of leave, and was promptly asked by management to write down all of her pumping times so that they could keep track of how much time she was spending doing so. At the end of the week, during her review, they also asked her not to store her breast milk in their fridge anymore because "someone complained." She told me that she was certain she knew who this complainer was because, get this, he called her AT HOME AFTER WORK HOURS and told her he was anti-breastfeeding. <span style="font-style: italic;">Come again??</span> He said to her, "Why can't you just give her formula?" and suggested that since her baby is sleeping through the night and she goes all night without feeding, it shouldn't be much different going all day without pumping or nursing.<br /><br />So, I tell my friend to write any and everything down that happens from now on with her company where pumping is concerned. This guy is obviously an idiot, and her company seems to be doing everything in their power to discourage her or make it harder for her to continue the breastfeeding relationship with her daughter.<br /><br />Imagine my surprise when I fire up the internet this morning and find that many of my favorite blogs are buzzing about <a href="http://www.beliefnet.com/Love-Family/Relationships/2006/07/Moms-Dont-Forget-To-Feed-Your-Marriages.aspx?p=2"><span style="font-style: italic;">this article</span></a> written by Rabbi Shmuley stating that breastfeeding can drive a wedge between couples. I started reading the piece and the more I read, the more hot my face became. I thought about my friend and her co-workers rude comments to her. I had a little flashback to the disgusted look of the woman waving her finger at my nursing. Then, I got to this part of the article, "Furthermore, I said, her obsession had turned one of her most attractive body parts into a feeding station, an attractive cafeteria rather than a scintillating piece of flesh," and my head exploded. He, just like the woman at the mall and my friend's co-worker subscribe to the idea that God gave us breasts for the satisfaction of men. It's not only insulting and maddending, it's flat out wrong.<br /><br />He goes on to say, " Obviously, breast-feeding is not the same as carrying on an extramarital affair. <a itxtdid="22063978" target="_blank" href="http://www.beliefnet.com/Love-Family/Relationships/2006/07/Moms-Dont-Forget-To-Feed-Your-Marriages.aspx?p=1#" style="border-bottom: 1px dotted rgb(153, 102, 51) ! important; font-weight: normal ! important; font-size: 100% ! important; text-decoration: none ! important; padding-bottom: 0px ! important; color: rgb(153, 102, 51) ! important; background-color: transparent ! important; background-image: none; padding-top: 0pt; padding-right: 0pt; padding-left: 0pt;" classname="iAs" class="iAs"><nobr style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51); font-weight: normal; font-size: 100%; font-family: Georgia,serif;" id="itxt_nobr_7_0"></nobr></a>But when a mother gives her breasts to her son and takes them away from her husband, the effect on the marriage can feel the same," suggesting that a woman feeding her child can give her husband the same feelings as if she is sleeping with another man. Say what!? Okay, yeah. Wow. Loss. For. Words.<br /><br />He says that if a mother is tired from waking to breastfeed the baby, that she'll be too tired to be intimate with her husband. Rabbi Shmuley never once mentions that getting up, mixing formula and washing bottles in the middle of the night also requires that you be awake and therefore would leave a mother just as exhausted.<br /><br />He advises that women should cover up while breastfeeding in their own homes to save their husbands from having to see them nurse. Because, God forbid that he actually see breasts for what they are, a source in which to nourish his offspring. Obviously there aren't any men out there who would look at this act taking place, and actually have MORE love for the woman who has carried and given birth to his child and is now providing food for them. Not only is this article insulting to women, it's highly insulting to the fathers who the rabbi paints as being so shallow they can't see past breasts anything other than sexual play toys for their arousal.<br /><br />The article also states that "breast-feeding is usually the best thing for a baby." Apparently the rabbi missed <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/04/05/breastfeeding.costs/index.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">this article</span></a>, because now more than ever, the evidence shows us that there is <span style="font-weight: bold;">no</span> nourishment for our babies that is superior to mother's milk.<br /><br />I said on my blog not too long ago that we need more support when it comes to breastfeeding, and these three examples are exactly what I was talking about. My friend's co-worker, the woman at the mall, and the rabbi all attempt to shame and sabotage the breastfeeding relationship that many mothers fight so hard to establish and maintain. Whether it be from ignorance or something else all together, that is the result.<br /><br />But what I love about breastfeeding mothers is that we will not let them win this battle. Nature and science is on our side in this one, ladies. Don't ever let anyone make you feel dirty or shamed for nursing. Whip those boobs out and feed your babes as you see fit. The real men out there will love you more for it, not in spite of it.<br /><br />Cheers,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-69272683092777376742010-05-20T15:09:00.011-05:002010-06-11T13:03:21.606-05:00And The Rain Came DownIt's been over two weeks now since The Rain That Changed Our City showed up on our doorsteps, and sent many of our lives into a complete tailspin. I capitalize, because it was <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> big and deserves those letters and emphasis. When a city gets more rain in two days than it normal receives in 3 months, that warrants big letters.<br /><br />It started on Saturday. It was the first day of May, and it rained all day. Not only did it rain all day, it rained <span style="font-weight: bold;">hard</span> all day. By the time that night approached, we were watching images on television that none of us ever thought we'd see. We watched <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5gYhLKwSp4">this video</a> of a portable classroom float down an interstate-turned-river full of stranded cars. Our eyes were glued to the coverage on TV, fixed on the weather. The rain wasn't slowing down. There was more to come. This didn't look good.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApIQCAozYaI5BcBVqwtyOUwomzeqbkLofkdcPcT5HuZ2TrzQnZbeR7NsCRUBs6pUq9smghpZvCJGj5mOhSEiQe1ixqNL9MFB2rH58wLYi6XHJuT1JabmzYBCbpsimzYAKjS_VKxIR4CSD/s1600/Flood23.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApIQCAozYaI5BcBVqwtyOUwomzeqbkLofkdcPcT5HuZ2TrzQnZbeR7NsCRUBs6pUq9smghpZvCJGj5mOhSEiQe1ixqNL9MFB2rH58wLYi6XHJuT1JabmzYBCbpsimzYAKjS_VKxIR4CSD/s320/Flood23.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473448142885390866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sunday, we woke up to more news. There were roads beginning to flood all over our city. Reporters urged us to "stay inside and don't leave your house unless it's absolutely necessary." So, that's what my little family did. We stayed inside and kept our eyes on the local news until our power went out around 10 that morning. Over the next 8 hours, Will and I played every game he owns, read books and put puzzles together. All the while, it continued to rain. Our friends who still had power called us throughout the day with updates and reports. The message was always the same, "This is bad. This is really bad." One friend called to tell us that they just watched their fence, kiddie pool and doghouse get washed down the creek (which was now more like a roaring river) behind their house. We couldn't fathom what was going on. We were still without power with no time line of restoration in sight. Finally around 6pm that night, we decided to drive to our friend's house (very close by), so that we could watch the news and use the internet. That's when we really started to realize the scale of this storm, and the damage that it would do. We watched as people were rescued and evacuated from their homes. We saw roads, homes and cars flooded beyond our belief. Never before had any of us witnessed anything like this. It was historic. It was heart breaking. It was scary.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVHviRlrPGVg4rP-jyXh2ZM_uulemowYn4ss5maLnmaqVNuaBE3k2aqF_6saugiU0j3ZKQFQ1TUPLrsyWDhnBfPtWpvg1LK5iaPIN3XQCbPj6J5Wxck0M4MA_QCmyifD9pOqmFGfLME7T1/s1600/Flood30.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVHviRlrPGVg4rP-jyXh2ZM_uulemowYn4ss5maLnmaqVNuaBE3k2aqF_6saugiU0j3ZKQFQ1TUPLrsyWDhnBfPtWpvg1LK5iaPIN3XQCbPj6J5Wxck0M4MA_QCmyifD9pOqmFGfLME7T1/s320/Flood30.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473448834119583698" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0eBeuHXPfuxBnn4apOv8SD483k8YGP7P5rzEpbd0kW4ra-P46mFuE42nfou13F3NJfgOFjbWNvIRtO_psxieDcklN9zDvrIVkb0MwwkN7JT6C2AOTZF3gC26T_NNOw6vNbKCTmcn7Mdm/s1600/Flood29.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0eBeuHXPfuxBnn4apOv8SD483k8YGP7P5rzEpbd0kW4ra-P46mFuE42nfou13F3NJfgOFjbWNvIRtO_psxieDcklN9zDvrIVkb0MwwkN7JT6C2AOTZF3gC26T_NNOw6vNbKCTmcn7Mdm/s320/Flood29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473448631523808082" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItXQ188msb-t2jcUFue91hfiO5oChvdGjaeAYm0kVKvAketfsBqi2iGLIL6QBAfi2eB1qwx0o6CtKSsckhTbcW-cnLJiEGYzYrtdOIE3_LQcNU9SCDx9KAW1DDFIltN7ad2N3qx9vnBzk/s1600/Flood21.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItXQ188msb-t2jcUFue91hfiO5oChvdGjaeAYm0kVKvAketfsBqi2iGLIL6QBAfi2eB1qwx0o6CtKSsckhTbcW-cnLJiEGYzYrtdOIE3_LQcNU9SCDx9KAW1DDFIltN7ad2N3qx9vnBzk/s320/Flood21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473448619936888530" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJrBQB6PtDJt5vaoVUoVw8pHOsQ-5iSIKVSykfk-9WzrdNi_65gv9fUIhaax66WTePcCWmcs6bsWuoqznZjiQGWoR0Xmcv1nAdAHbcxfzCY3ilepapguLGNcnZichh93519EmpP0TNbL7/s1600/Flood19.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJrBQB6PtDJt5vaoVUoVw8pHOsQ-5iSIKVSykfk-9WzrdNi_65gv9fUIhaax66WTePcCWmcs6bsWuoqznZjiQGWoR0Xmcv1nAdAHbcxfzCY3ilepapguLGNcnZichh93519EmpP0TNbL7/s320/Flood19.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473448615430364482" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYClaUhQt15zCAVao1-lO5eJa_HCCMSg20IPNQ6y-VCaPv1Ylox2NBsIwg8KHx4nKwEENZv4-yufsU-bXsqkP0Dk0zjsIgIBq-d3ky485_AusKFzQevZiWeIHzIj3IAPVav-7LlRTfl09/s1600/Flood15.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYClaUhQt15zCAVao1-lO5eJa_HCCMSg20IPNQ6y-VCaPv1Ylox2NBsIwg8KHx4nKwEENZv4-yufsU-bXsqkP0Dk0zjsIgIBq-d3ky485_AusKFzQevZiWeIHzIj3IAPVav-7LlRTfl09/s320/Flood15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473448609894484018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LEIiAtFLIT2TySmv_qrZSYjdP1-atJHxDbqjrD8ZcOHEJpcMlA9rAb5MWWTNsHnADBqknQ8jJl1V1gG3QpbtxZU6zVVrf_dSD2BbIwUbFFIP1k0N5viDTUawzhCL44XqMFyF0nBth-w6/s1600/Flood13.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LEIiAtFLIT2TySmv_qrZSYjdP1-atJHxDbqjrD8ZcOHEJpcMlA9rAb5MWWTNsHnADBqknQ8jJl1V1gG3QpbtxZU6zVVrf_dSD2BbIwUbFFIP1k0N5viDTUawzhCL44XqMFyF0nBth-w6/s320/Flood13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473448600142961330" border="0" /></a><br />The next morning, the sun came out, and all that was left was the devastation that the rain left behind. We could not reach our office. The roads leading to our business were flooded and police had the area barricaded off allowing no one entrance. We wouldn't be allowed to return to work for 4 days.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The street leading to our office<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_jJ-nHAhmqRSNIJZ4jVBD-_YLVGn-2vBTBs2s7nk9oSvlJLhUlbNMLDf7VTzja4GPUNvn7H22-Gu3khT3aBjhpgvnBnIWBSEdCTdfp4dYRcRLPar4sjuP2QjYhnG2Kfx7fxg9Mh1szNQ/s1600/Flood11.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_jJ-nHAhmqRSNIJZ4jVBD-_YLVGn-2vBTBs2s7nk9oSvlJLhUlbNMLDf7VTzja4GPUNvn7H22-Gu3khT3aBjhpgvnBnIWBSEdCTdfp4dYRcRLPar4sjuP2QjYhnG2Kfx7fxg9Mh1szNQ/s320/Flood11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473456031564313858" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Our basement was filled with 3 feet of water, and the brand new hot water heater we had purchased a couple months prior was submerged somewhere beneath. I'm not going to go into how stressful and inconvenience it was for our basement to flood. I won't share all the details of pumping all the water out, discovering a broken pipe, buying another new hot water heater, and finally having hot water restored after 6 days of quick showers at friends' houses. It was a pain. It was a headache. But in the grand scheme of things, compared to what others in our city and community have lost, it's so insignificant, I feel ashamed for even mentioning it.<br /><br />That day and in the days following, we watched television news reports that were airing without commercial interruption. I teared up as I saw images of the beautiful Opryland hotel, now a virtual swimming pool. It wasn't just that some of our most beloved landmarks were now under water, it was the memories I have tied to them that stung the most. This is where Rob and I had our first date.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAJRdXsYwEYIgqAQezVyfyVLz3U8deorovClBHca9x02WhyYXOO4jMIXzPE26cAE-nobuF3160-5qTEJNU2sg5RY35ucVpqT68mTLf2uiCGbptpolh0qKOHUj5JR6gnE9bwquHMwToaps/s1600/Flood5.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAJRdXsYwEYIgqAQezVyfyVLz3U8deorovClBHca9x02WhyYXOO4jMIXzPE26cAE-nobuF3160-5qTEJNU2sg5RY35ucVpqT68mTLf2uiCGbptpolh0qKOHUj5JR6gnE9bwquHMwToaps/s320/Flood5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473449492680357986" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The Grand Ole Opry took on water. The place where I sat in the audience and watched Willie and Waylon and many others legends, and got chills because, "Wow, I'm at the Opry having <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> moment."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5qOuByrLuiKRMrqeUEzEJZPGaWALdYV7chzirxtGf1-9i_pxSl_4qhIsSpYRi-1kzr3Os-9CsQhOrPavOnoVW-R7E3qQnvxY8-lZ4TrVcDjp2pmlfB2JOOuWrlvA7GDh46LJRMg6Uy8Q/s1600/Flood32.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5qOuByrLuiKRMrqeUEzEJZPGaWALdYV7chzirxtGf1-9i_pxSl_4qhIsSpYRi-1kzr3Os-9CsQhOrPavOnoVW-R7E3qQnvxY8-lZ4TrVcDjp2pmlfB2JOOuWrlvA7GDh46LJRMg6Uy8Q/s320/Flood32.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473450279292772242" border="0" /></a><br />This is the go-kart track that is among Will's favorite places in the world. Just last summer, I stood on the sideline waving to he and Rob as they sped around the track. Will smiling with the biggest grin I've ever seen, and me snapping away with my camera trying to capture the moment.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDnPok-CQXE_H6-Q6gGGymo8cSDbe4sPLz18zrPOAddn7eVawzIGB1jllVADskyLDCisC9Vkc0vzrtHEAlrxZC7kHUmm5pBqLSB__f7Hr_QMRRqlsfhgkzf2ZEYvn2tdC0WcE7BiV-jNB/s1600/Flood14.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDnPok-CQXE_H6-Q6gGGymo8cSDbe4sPLz18zrPOAddn7eVawzIGB1jllVADskyLDCisC9Vkc0vzrtHEAlrxZC7kHUmm5pBqLSB__f7Hr_QMRRqlsfhgkzf2ZEYvn2tdC0WcE7BiV-jNB/s320/Flood14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473450625593172626" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But the most gut wrenching images were these. People's homes destroyed. Families left with no where to live. You could drive around and look at their lives sitting on their front lawns. Their memories and treasures scattered around in the grass, wet and dejected. Most do not have flood insurance to cover the damages. We didn't know we needed it. Tennessee never floods, right?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLPyJk7jFXfxuYjvzfARO55yK3Havnq8CWAsqH8tVWnlRDsgkt8FlzputXLdlctJbMnHXLiJYM9DpmBhPBTRIaFbt4unKv5wD4JhiE2X_ubMjBtBOEuuGS0WiqIVDnEypiTBX8N8AEF0Y/s1600/Flood7.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLPyJk7jFXfxuYjvzfARO55yK3Havnq8CWAsqH8tVWnlRDsgkt8FlzputXLdlctJbMnHXLiJYM9DpmBhPBTRIaFbt4unKv5wD4JhiE2X_ubMjBtBOEuuGS0WiqIVDnEypiTBX8N8AEF0Y/s320/Flood7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451490461784130" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DSr2ane0v7kJ9gxNRuWjsUu2zZFVGW0xMSQKOF1gBK8J_QdNXFL5DrHC7PjNsuLeSe4sS5w_oVqamgr0H_i1BxohZFKp9OokfVo_G-Gh_LcJ2mT7wFrxntL-_4swbskIEdaryQOYek7F/s1600/Flood8.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DSr2ane0v7kJ9gxNRuWjsUu2zZFVGW0xMSQKOF1gBK8J_QdNXFL5DrHC7PjNsuLeSe4sS5w_oVqamgr0H_i1BxohZFKp9OokfVo_G-Gh_LcJ2mT7wFrxntL-_4swbskIEdaryQOYek7F/s320/Flood8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451498871884450" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIuwzuIZnZ9jSHkGn87PjB-vgl5tokesEqMm_UaX92Vmt-IZIyaf1SIiWL_WVYYI2A3fNUn2x9MUESWGJAO05taxxFopuM8zBPPSebgJ7wPnKNoGsQs-ZtTrL2de9eWvzKzatLIH991uA/s1600/Flood10.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIuwzuIZnZ9jSHkGn87PjB-vgl5tokesEqMm_UaX92Vmt-IZIyaf1SIiWL_WVYYI2A3fNUn2x9MUESWGJAO05taxxFopuM8zBPPSebgJ7wPnKNoGsQs-ZtTrL2de9eWvzKzatLIH991uA/s320/Flood10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451504176680594" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhin7iUf5gsVBEPKU41blYDUZjsMPuB34oWl7h-wRey966Bo1_9Fcw8R37Mg_n1AXy0AJUQcGepz0eUWJSeVwnL3NzFQEPUi7ecY-1tGOcpGR644FdZrjIRDEM5Y4FtUZGyRV5qrY9LXXLF/s1600/Flood1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhin7iUf5gsVBEPKU41blYDUZjsMPuB34oWl7h-wRey966Bo1_9Fcw8R37Mg_n1AXy0AJUQcGepz0eUWJSeVwnL3NzFQEPUi7ecY-1tGOcpGR644FdZrjIRDEM5Y4FtUZGyRV5qrY9LXXLF/s320/Flood1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451506131619170" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfMsUrXpgR2owD-kTEXjEyIwHzLhhcRGv0FkXa3BW7vh1NfwlkpGfY8yvDdhrayes2UvrFwIeJetjfZIXtTH4cYT59QgLjo_yduZGLVp57LQgcYmGFZbmP2GqzoCO6sf8X_-wKhwPmDgr/s1600/Flood2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfMsUrXpgR2owD-kTEXjEyIwHzLhhcRGv0FkXa3BW7vh1NfwlkpGfY8yvDdhrayes2UvrFwIeJetjfZIXtTH4cYT59QgLjo_yduZGLVp57LQgcYmGFZbmP2GqzoCO6sf8X_-wKhwPmDgr/s320/Flood2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473451515452582866" border="0" /></a><br />So, we're rebuilding, and moving on, and pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps. We're helping our neighbors, we're donating our time, we're opening up our homes, and we're giving what we can. And when I say we, I mean, Nashville. Because that's just what we do here. I don't know what has been more incredible to witness, The Rain That Changed Our City or The People Of This City Who Cannot Be Changed By The Rain. I'm proud to be a part of it all. Proud to be a member of this community.<br /><br />It is going to take time, work, money and lots more sweat and tears to get back to where we were. But we will do it. And we'll be the better for it.<br /><br />My family and I have been blessed beyond belief. We still have our home. We still have our family and our friends and a job to go to every day. Some do not. And as saddened as I am by that reality, when I lay down next to my kids every night, and breathe in the sweet smell of their shampoo, I find my safe place, all is right with the world.<br /><br />May you all find your safe place to land,<br />L<br /><br /><br />Opportunities to help:<br /><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.hon.org/HomePage/index.php/home.html">Hands on Nashville</a><br /><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.nashvilleredcross.org/index.asp?IDCapitulo=78T3Z2WSK0">Middle TN Red Cross</a><br /><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://blog.collidecreative.com/archives/337">Nashville Flood Relief</a><br /><br /><br />**Disclaimer** Many of the images above were not photographed by me. There was an incredible group on Facebook than banned together to share information and images with each other, and this is where I pulled those images. If you would like to see all of the photos, go <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.facebook.com/#%21/pages/I-survived-the-Great-Nashville-Monsoon-of-May-1st/103465826364244?v=photos">here</a>.LouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-43494878037681109842010-04-30T10:40:00.004-05:002010-04-30T11:20:35.172-05:00IED Indeed<span style="font-style: italic;">Disclaimer: Do not read this post if...<br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />a) you are my dad</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />b) you are uncomfortable with the fact that I have sex </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> c) you are eating something </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">d) you are easily frightened</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> e) you are my dad</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">If you are any of those above mentioned categories and you read this anyway, don't say I didn't warn you.</span><br /><br />Alright then. I may not have mentioned it, but I had a baby about 4 months back. She's awesome, snuggly, and so sweet I could eat her with a spoon. Her being all these wonderful things made me realize something though, and it hit me like a ton of bricks when she was only a couple months old. I want another one!<br /><br />I know some of you out there are yelling at your computer, "GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, WOMAN!" and believe me, you're absolutely justified in that, and my husband shares in your sentiments. We don't need another baby right now. We're doing just fine with the 2 young'ins we have thankyouverymuch, but man, aren't they sweet and squishy and yummy and look at how freakin' cute they are while they sleep! So because I'm having all these irrational thoughts about babies, I decided that some iron clad birth control was in order. None of that silly condom business that can break and surprise you 6 weeks from now. And no birth control pills because <span style="font-style: italic;">a) I'm too forgetful for all that and b) Blech, they make me want to puke my guts up, and c) I forgot what C is supposed to be, so please refer to A again.</span> So, my midwife had given me some info on these fancy little contraptions called IUDs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfddYEJLKeCs9ZRJ7QqsoPsL1PFISQCT_Kqwctzw1Clf9rGzYcZ3-I0C-yz_A0MImAhUDSOy-Xu2p29gM_y1p0HVO7vZHax3N2JnH4OaLjH9r4KwZh7ZVMw-tSCJ93agcvyjOqDhzrjCp/s1600/mirena-iud-contraceptive.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfddYEJLKeCs9ZRJ7QqsoPsL1PFISQCT_Kqwctzw1Clf9rGzYcZ3-I0C-yz_A0MImAhUDSOy-Xu2p29gM_y1p0HVO7vZHax3N2JnH4OaLjH9r4KwZh7ZVMw-tSCJ93agcvyjOqDhzrjCp/s320/mirena-iud-contraceptive.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465958190852015458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />It looks harmless enough, right? It's affordable, it's effective for 5 years, and once inserted you don't have to worry about remembering a pill or "preparing" before sex. Sign me up. This thing is what I need. This is going to be awesome. I excitedly made an appointment and went in for my insertion.<br /><br />In a perfect world, getting an IUD goes like this....<br />You go to the office, lay on the table and chat with your midwife while they gently insert the IUD into your uterus. You laugh with her, and talk about how awesome it's going to be not to have to worry about birth control for the next 5 years, feel a tiny little pinch and voila, it's in. You're good. High fives all around. You skip out to the car feeling all proud and protected, and give yourself a pat on the back for taking control of your fertility. You go home, have sex with your husband, and laugh in the face of a positive pregnancy test. Life is beautiful.<br /><br />In the real world, getting an IUD goes like this...<br />Before you leave for your appointment, you start Googling "Mirena insertion" and immediately proceed to kick yourself in the tail for doing so. There are pages of horror stories about the pain, and you show up at the midwife's office a nervous wreck. Waiting in the paper gown, you notice this foot long box sitting on the table nearby labeled "Mirena" and you start to make a run for it and just have 10 more babies, but your husband stops you and says, "GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, WOMAN!" The midwife comes in and assures you that everything is going to be okay. It is a little painful for women who haven't had children, she explains, but since you have and your cervix is a little open from childbirth, they should just be able to jam that sucker in there with no problem. They're just going to take this tool which looks like a skinny yardstick to measure your uterus. Okay, ouch. That hurts a little. Ow, ow, ow, ow! You reach over for your husband's hand and squeeze it a little. The midwife then proceeds to tell you that despite the fact that you've just pushed a baby out, your cervix is still in the way, so she's going to need to use this instrument that can only be described as a medieval torture device to....are you ready for this???...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">GRAB.YOUR.CERVIX.AND. PULL.IT.DOWN.OUT.OF.THE.WAY. </span><br /><br />Let's have a moment of silence on that note.<br /><br />You turn white and glare at your husband who gives you a knowing smile and a little "You can do it" cheer. You brace yourself, she inserts the "instrument" and as she<br />GRABS.YOUR.CERVIX.AND. PULLS.IT.DOWN.OUT.OF.THE.WAY<br />(just wanted you to remember that part), you decide this is what hell must be like. The pain makes you see spots and start sweating and get dizzy and wish that you could be pushing a baby out of your vagina without meds instead of this. It hurts <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> bad. When the insertion is finally over (what seems to be about 2 days later), you apologize to your husband for drawing blood on his hand, gather your things, and hobble out to the car with the instructions not to have sex for 2 weeks. 10-4 on that one. Sex is the furthest thing from your mind right now. When those 2 weeks are up, you finally give the ol' IUD a test drive and it stabs your husband's penis like tiny little needles. Sex is painful for you as well. You feel like a virgin again, and are so sore that you walk around like a horse has booted you in the crotch.<br /><br />So, yeah. Not such a happy ending with the IUD yet. I read <a href="http://www.girlsgonechild.net/">Rebecca Woolf's</a> accounts of <a href="http://babble.com/CS/blogs/straightfromthebottle/archive/2010/02/09/part-three-in-the-triudlogy-womb-squad-successfully-detonates-ied-in-hurt-locker.aspx">her troubles with her Mirena</a> and I should have listened. My hair isn't falling out, I still have my sex drive, and I haven't been struck with yeast infections yet, but so far Mirena is not my friend. IED, indeed, Rebecca. IED, indeed.<br /><br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-90698290724796572772010-04-15T15:57:00.009-05:002010-06-11T13:04:18.325-05:00A Tale of Two BirthsThere has been much chatter and debate in the blogosphere over the past week when <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/04/05/breastfeeding.costs/index.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;">this</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> article</span></a> came out about a study that was published in regards to breastfeeding. It's research indicates that breastfeeding saves thousands of lives and billions of dollars, yet shows that only 14% of women are still exclusively breastfeeding their babies at 6 months old . Many mothers who stopped breastfeeding and switched to formula (for a variety of different reasons) came out in full force claiming this was just another thing designed to make mothers feel guilty. I have read so many different opinions on the issue, and finally decided I should throw mine out there as well. After all, I am very passionate about breastfeeding and the impact it has on babies and their mothers.<br /><br />First of all, I don't feel as though The World Health Organization, The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Academy of Family Physicians and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention all got together and said, "Let's put our heads together and see how we can make new moms who formula feed their babies feel guilty. I know, we'll publish reports that show that breastfeeding is the optimal form of nutrition for infants. That should guilt them into nursing." I believe that the research is what it is, scientific evidence, and the article was written as a matter of fact, and was not coming from a place of opinions or bias toward either side. I know how trying breastfeeding can be. I know the trials and tribulations that a new mother can go through. I know how hard it is to hear your baby scream into your boob because he's hungry and you can't figure out proper latching. I know what it feels like to pump your cracked nipples for half an hour in a tiny bathroom at work only to produce two ounces. Believe me, I KNOW. So, when I read <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/melissa-bartick/ipeaceful-revolutioni-mot_b_536659.html?ref=fb&src=sp"><span style="font-weight: bold;">this follow up piece</span></a> this morning, I wanted to stand from my seat and cheer. Because we shouldn't feel guilty if we "failed" at breastfeeding, we should feel slighted. To me, the bottom line is that we need more support, encouragement and resources available to us when it comes to breastfeeding.<br /><br />Here are my two very different birth experiences which impacted my nursing relationships. They so closely resembled what Melissa is talking about in her piece that I couldn't deny it. Read <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/melissa-bartick/ipeaceful-revolutioni-mot_b_536659.html?ref=fb&src=sp"><span style="font-weight: bold;">her follow up article</span></a> first, then read my stories and tell me, are all of the similarities just coincidence? I think not.<br /><br />My 1st birth and breastfeeding experience with my son, Will<br />I visited a traditional OB throughout my pregnancy, and was told in my 37th week that I was going to have a big baby. I began having some very mild contractions when I was 38 weeks and 1 day pregnant, and rushed to the hospital, because I was a first time mother who was completely naive and thought that's what you do when you feel the first contraction. That's what they do on TV, right? I arrived at the hospital, was told that I was only dilated to 2 centimeters and my contractions were 8 minutes apart. The nurses on staff called my OB and he told them to keep me since it looked as though I was going to have a big baby anyway, and they would "help to get things moving along." They immediately started me on Pitocin, broke my water, and about 3 hours later, I requested an epidural because I had heard that was the thing to do when the pain was too intense. The Pitocin sent my baby's heart into distress, the epidural bottomed my BP out. I was a mess. After several hours and only dilating to 5, the OB came in to give me the bad news, I would need a c-section to get the baby out. He was worried about the decels in his heart rate and we needed to do this for the safety of the baby. I cried as they wheeled me down to the OR. I vomited when they administered more meds in my IV to help me relax. When my son was delivered, I heard him cry and they rushed him to the warmer, rubbed him off and bundled him up in a tight swaddle. Despite being told the previous week that I was going to have a big baby, Will weighed 7 pounds and 4 ounces at birth.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This was the first time I saw him<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOaVg8yqiVGKrxccxK_UKrdqc9FJuLIVGanqRoV8i4InInboeVHUs-ym18YPul1xjQgWVn4hlhdG1xOtO-oqvr1ao_gkfromc1dedSG_HE0sPKCWOi4Q4JXrXUuRwXf2OMSfEDO15veEbC/s1600/WillsBirth.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOaVg8yqiVGKrxccxK_UKrdqc9FJuLIVGanqRoV8i4InInboeVHUs-ym18YPul1xjQgWVn4hlhdG1xOtO-oqvr1ao_gkfromc1dedSG_HE0sPKCWOi4Q4JXrXUuRwXf2OMSfEDO15veEbC/s320/WillsBirth.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460472006094311586" border="0" /></a><br />They let me have one free hand to touch him (the other was still strapped to the table) and then they rushed him off to the NICU because he had some fluid left in his lungs since he didn't pass through the birth canal. I told my husband to go with our son to make sure he was okay, and I was taken to my postpartum room alone. I sat there, reflecting back on everything that had just happened. I was sad. I was disappointed. I wanted to see my baby. Even though I was numb from the epidural, my body ached for my child. That, I could feel. Minutes turned into an hour, and I still hadn't held my baby. I started to get anxious and emotional. I kept asking the nurses to see him, but they said the NICU was getting him cleaned up and clearing out his lungs and that he would be in my room as soon as they finished with him. I asked if I could go down to see him, but since I had a c-section and epidural, they wouldn't let me stand up for a while. Time kept passing and by the time that one hour had turned into two and I still didn't have my baby, I was bawling my eyes out begging for him. The nurses reminded me again that they were still working on him and offered to give me a sedative since I was so upset. I refused.<br /><br />Finally, after about 3 hours since his birth, my son was brought to me. He had been bathed, was sleeping and swaddled in a blanket. I tried to nurse him, but he wouldn't wake up. He was exhausted from all that he had been through and slept for a while. When he did wake up, he was really hungry, but we had latching issues. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get him to latch on. He was crying, I was crying, and my husband was watching on not knowing what to do for either of us. The nurses said they would call lactation to come and help me, but by the time they got there, he was so frustrated, we didn't make any headway. They said we would try later, but in the meantime they gave him some formula from a special needs bottle, because that, he would take.<br /><br />By the time we left the hospital 3 days later, he still hadn't nursed and was drinking formula. He was also quite attached to a pacifier. He was a little bit jaundice as well, and we were sent home with instructions to keep trying to get him to latch on and nurse and put him in sunlight to help with his color. After a few days at home with him drinking formula, and my continuous attempts to nurse him, he finally got the hang of it and latched on to my breast. I was so relieved! I nursed him exclusively from that moment forward until I went back to work at 10 weeks, and then I pumped upon returning to work and he got my milk from a bottle. We never even considered co-sleeping and weren't aware of the benefits of it, so Will slept in his crib from the night we brought him home from the hospital. Especially after returning to work, I found myself exhausted from getting up to go nurse in the middle of the night. Also, soon after I started back to work, I saw my milk production go down. I called lactation consultants for advice and was given some great tips to boost my supply. When Will started sleeping through the night and not waking to nurse, I was still getting up every 2 hours to pump so that I could increase my supply. By the time he was 8 months old, he weaned and that was the end of our breastfeeding relationship. I was sad for it to end.<br /><br />My 2nd birth and breastfeeding experience with my daughter, Avery<br />After educating myself as much as I could, I was dead set on attempting an unmedicated, VBAC. I fired my OB and went with a midwife practice and a doula for my next pregnancy and delivery. The pregnancy was uncomplicated, just as my previous one had been. I took a home study course on Hypnobirthing and practiced daily with affirmations and scripts to prepare myself. Two days before my expected due date, I was lying in bed when my water broke. We took our time and went to the hospital and I finally got the VBAC that I had been dreaming of. Since I just recently posted her birth story, I won't repeat it all again now, but you can find it <a href="http://loueffie.blogspot.com/2010/01/averys-birth-day.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;">here</span></a>.<br /><br />My experience was so much different than my first. The moment I pushed Avery out, they placed her on my chest skin to skin. She cried loudly, then snuggled in and nuzzled me, moving her tiny body up with a push of her little legs and feet. We waited for the cord to stop pulsating and Rob cut it free. Within moments, she was latched onto my breast and was nursing calmly. She stayed there for a good 45 minutes suckling as the midwife and nurses quietly cleaned up and allowed my husband and I time with our baby. They told us to let them know when we were ready and they would weigh her and do her Apgar tests. They never attempted to take her from me, nor did they wipe my smell from her body. She and I just lay there together, chest to chest. She stared at me. I stared at her. Rob watched us together and hugged and kissed us.<br /><br />Finally I had to get up to go to the restroom, so we allowed them to take her to weigh her and do her Apgar screening. They did it all in the room right there with Rob, my mom and I watching on, and when they were finished, they handed her back to me and she fell asleep in my arms. I held her as they wheeled me down to my postpartum room and she stayed with me there for the majority of the hospital visit. She was never bathed at the hospital as we didn't feel it was necessary, and the nurses never pushed or even suggested it. She continued to nurse just as well as she had during the first moments of her life, though she was really sleepy those first few days and I would have a little trouble waking her up sometimes.<br /><br />We have been co-sleeping since we brought her home from the hospital and she and I both sleep very well at night. I never got the quality of rest I do now when I was getting out of my bed each night to go nurse Will. I actually get a full night's sleep and wake up feeling rested, which is something that a lot of new moms only hope for. Avery is still nursing like a champ, and since I started back to work 3 weeks ago, I have an oversupply of milk when I pump. Each day, I pump enough milk at work to supply her for the next day and store several bags in the freezer. After only being back for 3 weeks, I have almost a 3 weeks supply stored should she go through a growth spurt or I have a dip in production. I look forward to continuing our breastfeeding relationship. It is one of the most precious things that I shared with Will when he was a baby, and I am again loving the connection I find while nursing Avery.<br /><br />Both of my experiences, though total opposites of each other, have been beautiful in their own ways. Will was my first child. I had no idea what I was in store for. I was uneducated and naive, but I fought hard to nurse him and overcome the obstacles that were handed to us. I'm so glad I did, and am proud of how he and I worked together to form that relationship. With Avery, things have been easy when it comes to nursing, and she is really attached to me as a result, just as she has been from the moment she left my body. I hope that more women out there will take my stories, educate themselves, stand up and demand more support as nursing mothers. After caring and nurturing our babies for 9 to 10 months inside our wombs, we need the support and encouragement that will make it easier for us to care for and nurture them outside the womb. We deserve that. Our babies deserve it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Will moments after his birth, getting wiped down under the heat lamps<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25xxpXEwf68dQEtTq4QnOeNtaQ3L1JqfsQ_-kpME1r6n-4uLvsFEDv3Cxex767abkGr1pnSJDIt499O5YAFB1YS5cr_J02j4Nzlp_Rv9QeNiX5CiIk1MjpZxkxew7L83jDdF0u6QNvRX_/s1600/WillsBirth1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25xxpXEwf68dQEtTq4QnOeNtaQ3L1JqfsQ_-kpME1r6n-4uLvsFEDv3Cxex767abkGr1pnSJDIt499O5YAFB1YS5cr_J02j4Nzlp_Rv9QeNiX5CiIk1MjpZxkxew7L83jDdF0u6QNvRX_/s320/WillsBirth1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460471999279024386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Avery moments after her birth, meeting us face to face and warming herself on mommy's body<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI55rbBuL24B3vmstepERY3l5qZJPsY4UU2YbAP8d2IA1hUllRaoYlnz8oI51kHWguwy6kUbLTZrHOYUjSvNA86Xfbfi_8uInBREO40wJO9TATsAxBng7GdCcj-EesGCO1px05UoHNndhN/s1600/Edit1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI55rbBuL24B3vmstepERY3l5qZJPsY4UU2YbAP8d2IA1hUllRaoYlnz8oI51kHWguwy6kUbLTZrHOYUjSvNA86Xfbfi_8uInBREO40wJO9TATsAxBng7GdCcj-EesGCO1px05UoHNndhN/s320/Edit1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460473231781355938" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8Z6Zalq_MSmFIqSlJpiVE-zznDA-XLDZvryvtGiyhGR6MXiEmrY-ax4_a1SiIvV2gRZlLBorEk29J5r48RIc56DAx1K2HNF8O2oHQMAhDJLtkJaTnLBzkXxD1ybLizLeiHi6G5a2jJfj/s1600/Edit3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8Z6Zalq_MSmFIqSlJpiVE-zznDA-XLDZvryvtGiyhGR6MXiEmrY-ax4_a1SiIvV2gRZlLBorEk29J5r48RIc56DAx1K2HNF8O2oHQMAhDJLtkJaTnLBzkXxD1ybLizLeiHi6G5a2jJfj/s320/Edit3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460473243650743842" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhF8H5j76oBSLAccFQ2AnUtHP3MO7JQfAYPj4Y1lOtKCnCgGIdm_xWU1XnWNbxAoomHmOpNymHVIrgduH2dhUWMCp2yVD7meTUhkwf5K6YalbE22MqYszJImJzR4hZ6BPaXVgmRBcfZTj8/s1600/Edit4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhF8H5j76oBSLAccFQ2AnUtHP3MO7JQfAYPj4Y1lOtKCnCgGIdm_xWU1XnWNbxAoomHmOpNymHVIrgduH2dhUWMCp2yVD7meTUhkwf5K6YalbE22MqYszJImJzR4hZ6BPaXVgmRBcfZTj8/s320/Edit4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460473247348196210" border="0" /></a>I could say so much more...<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-14091222448655236492010-04-06T17:31:00.005-05:002010-06-11T13:05:22.671-05:00OppositesI fell off the face of the Earth for a while. Also known as, I had a baby and my whole life turned upside down. I've said it before, but Will was a very simple, laid back, and easy child. He slept, he nursed every 3 hours or so, he smiled, and he rarely cried. He and his baby sis are the complete opposite in every sense of the word. She loves to be held, and gets rather upset if you dare to put her down. She also loves to nurse. If she had it her way, she would stay attached to my boob for about 20 out of every 24 hours. She had a penchant for crying as well. She cried A LOT the first 6 weeks of her life. The Dr. said colic was to blame, and it felt nice to have a label or a reason to place upon the 2 hours of screaming that would take place in our house every night, but it didn't give us a solution for it. "Just wait it out, that's all you can do." So, we did. We walked, and bounced, and shushed, and rocked, and swaddled, and burped, and swung, and sang to her. There were nights when I looked at her and begged, "Please, just tell me what I can do." "Please, go to sleep." "Please, stop crying." Of course, my pleas were not answered, so we just kept doing what we knew to do until one day, she stopped crying, started smiling, and started sleeping. She sleeps next to me, always has, nuzzled in the crook of my arm each night. She loves it there. She loves my smell. She loves to sleep nurse ever so quietly. She loves me. She needs me. And I'm there for her. Nothing is more fulfilling than that.<br /><br />Avery is a high need baby and I love her for that more than anything. I don't fault her for "quirks", I embrace her because of them. I love that she's emotional and passionate. I love that she's serious and clingy. I love her because she is so different from Will, not in spite of it. And I love him more now for the child that he is, because of the child that she is. I never suspected that motherhood would give me this gift. It's been the biggest surprise of this journey so far. Two children who are so opposite from each other, yet still a part of me. Still a part of Rob. Two children who I love more than life itself, for all their many differences.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4N8t1yYvzDljXaFb3JHhYka_-KeQd6vJCIT8wECaT7IJd4etYQJIfyVUynbfkvdPb4SFztB_-YllR4LebYRr8_oeLEXdTzf-Ur4J29HNDYnIdEGo7XiBCArVIkhB6zTYnO3Yu05TFLZP/s1600/Will3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4N8t1yYvzDljXaFb3JHhYka_-KeQd6vJCIT8wECaT7IJd4etYQJIfyVUynbfkvdPb4SFztB_-YllR4LebYRr8_oeLEXdTzf-Ur4J29HNDYnIdEGo7XiBCArVIkhB6zTYnO3Yu05TFLZP/s320/Will3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457161636168540370" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvruJP0w5wxLRnVqxXp9in7vm2KllzQgigDyICh6eCV5xeE8JPwuuF5kDix7UHklSvms6W66mHh2sssxVApASUcWaYAsozL2gS4321UylUdUyTFy-4f5yVQo6RnVRraJNWmmEb03vniNm/s1600/Easter1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvruJP0w5wxLRnVqxXp9in7vm2KllzQgigDyICh6eCV5xeE8JPwuuF5kDix7UHklSvms6W66mHh2sssxVApASUcWaYAsozL2gS4321UylUdUyTFy-4f5yVQo6RnVRraJNWmmEb03vniNm/s320/Easter1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457161631960612674" border="0" /></a><br />I'm back,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357615127572853768.post-3714785227559145352010-01-27T09:13:00.004-06:002010-06-11T13:05:54.226-05:00Avery's Birth DayYes, I am a slacker. I had Avery 11 days ago, and I am just now getting around to updating my blog. But hey, in my defense, I had a baby 11 days ago, so life has been a bit busier than usual. Here is the story of her birth along with some pics.<br /><br />I started having some contractions around 9pm on Friday the 15th. Nothing too intense, so I thought they were just more Braxton Hicks. I was tired and decided to lay in bed and watch TV at around 10. Contractions were still coming, but they weren't that bad. At about 10:40, I felt a pop. I knew it was different than anything I had felt before. I laid there for a couple more minutes and stood up. Water just poured out. I called for Rob and he was able to come in and get a towel underneath me before I had the chance to ruin our carpet. He started to get a little frantic as I stood there laughing at him, pouring water out. We called my parents because they were coming to stay with Will since he was sleeping. The midwife had told me on Thursday that as long as I was at the hospital within a couple of hours, it should be fine. (I had tested positive for Strep B and would need antibiotics administered during the course of my labor.) My parents left right away and live an hour from our place.<br /><br />As soon as my water broke, I started having pretty strong contractions. I bounced around on my birthing ball, put my relaxation scripts on my IPod and got into hypnosis. I felt really good then. Lots of pressure, but no pain at all.<br /><br />When my parents arrived at our house, we left and headed to the hospital. We did have to turn the car around and come back to the house after we got about a mile down the road, because we realized that after all that packing we had done, we actually forgot to put the suitcase <span style="font-style: italic;">in</span> the car. Nice. At this point, my contractions were every 3 to 4 minutes apart and getting stronger. While in the car, I continued listening to my scripts and turning myself to the"off" position (a Hypnobabies practice). We arrived at the hospital and got checked in. All the rooms were full and they were cleaning the room that I would be in, so they asked us to wait in the waiting room for a while. The nurse didn't think I was very far along anyway because I was so calm going through the contractions. She estimated me to be about 2 centimeters just from watching me go through a contraction. When we got into the room at 1am (about 5 minutes later), the midwife checked me and was pretty surprised to find out that I was at 6 and most likely in transition. My contractions were now every 2 minutes apart, but I was still able to stay in the groove of my hypnosis, which helped me so much. Rob and our doula were wonderful too, and I couldn't have done it without them. They were talking me through each contraction, encouraging me and using cue words from Hypnobabies to trigger me to relax. I labored mostly on my knees, on the bed with my arms draped over the top because that position felt best. I also had the doula putting a lot of counter pressure on my back. I didn't realize how hard I was having her do it, but after Avery was born, she said, "Man, I bet your back is going to be sore tomorrow. You kept telling me to press harder and harder." I guess she was right because I actually had some bruising on my lower back the next day from it.<br /><br />Because I was able to stay so calm, the labor progressed quickly. I was breathing deeply through each contraction, making low tone sounds and keeping my jaw loose to help open me up. I asked if they would check me again at almost 3am and I was at 9 centimeters.<br /><br />At 3:40, I felt my body starting to push by itself which was a crazy feeling, because I wasn't initiating the pushing, my body was just doing it on it's own. The midwife checked me and said I was complete and could push when I wanted with my next contraction. The pushing felt SO good. It was like a huge release. I was on all fours pushing and got her worked down pretty far. Then I went into a squatting position and pushed some more. My legs were pretty shaky, so I had to move from that position pretty quickly. When she started to crown, I got on my back, pulled my legs out and pushed her the rest of the way out in that position. I was still using my hypnosis and cues, so I never felt the "ring of fire," though I did have a small tear that required 2 stitches.<br /><br />Avery Wynn was born at 4:26am after being in my hospital room for less than 3 & 1/2 hours. She immediately latched on to my breast and nursed for about 45 minutes. About an hour after she was born, they weighed and measured her while I went to the bathroom for the first time. OUCH! She weighed 7 pounds 12 ounces and is 20 inches long. She has a head full of dark hair and has stolen our hearts already. Here we are 11 days later and I still can't stop staring at her. She's so alert and calm (most of the time). She's amazing.<br /><br />After the delivery, the nurse kept going on and on about how she has never been a part of one like that before. It was fairly quiet, really calm and relaxing. No yelling, screaming or cussing. haha She couldn't believe how well my hypnosis worked and said she was bragging to all the other nurses about it. It just so happened to be her birthday too, which was pretty cool.<br /><br />I had the "natural childbirth high" that I kept hearing about after my delivery and I never expected it to be that intense. The nurse told me that the adrenaline was coming, but WOW. I had so much energy and adrenaline pulsing through my body that my teeth were literally chattering and my whole body was just shaking like a leaf. I was sitting on the toilet and my knees were knocking together. Crazy stuff! I only slept 2 hours in about a 40 hour time span and I didn't feel tired at all. I was so happy and awake. Our bodies are really amazing.<br /><br />We brought our girl home on Monday, and have since been adjusting to life as a family of four. She eats well, sleeps a lot (until the middle of the night rolls around) and has captured all of our hearts. Before I had her, I couldn't imagine how our lives would be once she arrived. Now, I can't imagine life without her. It's like she has always been here as part of our family. Will loves her and is such an awesome big brother already. He has adjusted to her beautifully, and though I didn't think it was possible, I love him more now that I have her. I love her. I love my family. I'm tired. I'm a little sore still. I'm not as clean and put together as I would like to be, but I couldn't be happier.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoeIRCvRAujzt_FT6pH3r8Yp74dNVVcOd6N2HdjAZlsrcI6mHtsRHSkDLUIPYnit1pBycBAM0lmgVEnMHhyHpNwqhSsjaGe9-B29P2lpZk0JhSICJfW53M0gGwrgGpiicYKA81-QOfMaW/s1600-h/Avery.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoeIRCvRAujzt_FT6pH3r8Yp74dNVVcOd6N2HdjAZlsrcI6mHtsRHSkDLUIPYnit1pBycBAM0lmgVEnMHhyHpNwqhSsjaGe9-B29P2lpZk0JhSICJfW53M0gGwrgGpiicYKA81-QOfMaW/s320/Avery.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431582837744510722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aqsaxJQ3MqxmBfJwP8l321Zp-f4b2fujFAhyphenhypheniPLzHD0cCE35VUkEXQdRoIXeJimuKx2daed5p9cdbBRgZOKCUEfYF2b7nDTUqjpw_YtmIbRxzMz19Icq5FfGggi-pDsm8j3qaht-Am43/s1600-h/Avery1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aqsaxJQ3MqxmBfJwP8l321Zp-f4b2fujFAhyphenhypheniPLzHD0cCE35VUkEXQdRoIXeJimuKx2daed5p9cdbBRgZOKCUEfYF2b7nDTUqjpw_YtmIbRxzMz19Icq5FfGggi-pDsm8j3qaht-Am43/s320/Avery1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431582843506504034" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa5S8VDoFyu539d7DCrNjaDnyGSkpRetDMBmSOnZjsOqJeUcdCkW2yjYFs2ijznAPWjyhy_J3v51_q-xyGBsRZRiOY7CTVhysx76flfcjPzQ6ZNr7_FR4rmqV68CajxNQqAX3CBThcR9_/s1600-h/017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa5S8VDoFyu539d7DCrNjaDnyGSkpRetDMBmSOnZjsOqJeUcdCkW2yjYFs2ijznAPWjyhy_J3v51_q-xyGBsRZRiOY7CTVhysx76flfcjPzQ6ZNr7_FR4rmqV68CajxNQqAX3CBThcR9_/s320/017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431582250111023938" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh961xJJe9Z0M5stzdlU_-s90-sLp8u0Y-COQ0wp3uSYf9j1MuZgEzrNjAJ_Rzlbq6B1gxJU-8gRah-2pzhau3c34YEpggUVEjHzKWS0Xp8tbnW_f59OgH1D7ulTmI6WGx6NMAnJ65cXzZB/s1600-h/026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh961xJJe9Z0M5stzdlU_-s90-sLp8u0Y-COQ0wp3uSYf9j1MuZgEzrNjAJ_Rzlbq6B1gxJU-8gRah-2pzhau3c34YEpggUVEjHzKWS0Xp8tbnW_f59OgH1D7ulTmI6WGx6NMAnJ65cXzZB/s320/026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431582254824842594" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbOfpsV5LCQPY-un-gM5P6QoDKDFxa6vLPaUlyE4kcdoyJhXtl3ogjoI25yeUVdwTikKisq6JEIwidHsexiKM9r9OzZRzaRjEjPN1YNXNklySvT9VWPCf9Odjzqt7qxDBHqoMpfqbGiVZ/s1600-h/036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbOfpsV5LCQPY-un-gM5P6QoDKDFxa6vLPaUlyE4kcdoyJhXtl3ogjoI25yeUVdwTikKisq6JEIwidHsexiKM9r9OzZRzaRjEjPN1YNXNklySvT9VWPCf9Odjzqt7qxDBHqoMpfqbGiVZ/s320/036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431582262242831410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPY_g29EOVgODmiVb_RETXlUQMyfD6ZGXf_9Ic4_8NscCCYv0PWtrrgDVMeVMI-0KwKa92gJaJMqSP_Bw5crvceBQgrtK53NCP3Q1dXfQ_vkAfOvHwbs6j4HFXWV2sopq3mDQGBGNNzts/s1600-h/042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPY_g29EOVgODmiVb_RETXlUQMyfD6ZGXf_9Ic4_8NscCCYv0PWtrrgDVMeVMI-0KwKa92gJaJMqSP_Bw5crvceBQgrtK53NCP3Q1dXfQ_vkAfOvHwbs6j4HFXWV2sopq3mDQGBGNNzts/s320/042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431582273653076034" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXRTavI4fBvDUqemhUzx-7ba4GMZ3H10QEBUAd92nzVj9iOdlyuPATvQ-QTvrhSNmQv0uwOS3DH-vGBhKFnDYSCd44gHE363wo7YWEKguydrsS0JU2rqViLosI9v3KiwdNDbeHXyq1AwQ/s1600-h/045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXRTavI4fBvDUqemhUzx-7ba4GMZ3H10QEBUAd92nzVj9iOdlyuPATvQ-QTvrhSNmQv0uwOS3DH-vGBhKFnDYSCd44gHE363wo7YWEKguydrsS0JU2rqViLosI9v3KiwdNDbeHXyq1AwQ/s320/045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431582274782469506" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6Ni5_4UMHUQgYoggslWvG11wuaikRARejGZsTgsHQbFVBiY9XF9H8lo1g-C-KmwKTjLTSg6LcP9ZVUWQk6iKLDJWIxCHZ6BmDqW8Xox9vFzg1eFrnS2xhfQ399zshl5WyMmYDOtMdROh/s1600-h/041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6Ni5_4UMHUQgYoggslWvG11wuaikRARejGZsTgsHQbFVBiY9XF9H8lo1g-C-KmwKTjLTSg6LcP9ZVUWQk6iKLDJWIxCHZ6BmDqW8Xox9vFzg1eFrnS2xhfQ399zshl5WyMmYDOtMdROh/s320/041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431583984128000034" border="0" /></a><br />Till next time,<br />LLouEffiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16595006742449867988noreply@blogger.com1