tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-222596342024-03-07T07:00:01.206-07:00Writers Write, Right?A place to write.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-11754580699930516332014-08-10T10:11:00.000-07:002014-08-10T10:11:15.878-07:00Break Out the Flux Capacitor<b>An Introduction</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
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As a creative person, my life is
inevitably full of unfinished projects. Thankfully for my family, my
unfinished projects typically exist in stacks of papers or saved on
hard drives, and not in an incomplete bathroom remodel or a broken
down car in the driveway. I came across this particular file a few
days ago, titled “Pregnancy Book”, and began reading it over. It
started on the day I confirmed my 4<sup>th</sup> pregnancy and my
intention was to write one little blurb, basically like a blog post,
for every day of my pregnancy. I would document and comment on the
little daily happenings and, after the baby was born, I hoped to also
give birth to an insightful and amusing little book. The average
pregnancy lasts around 280 days. I apparently had made it to day 19.</div>
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I don't know what I was thinking,
trying to write a book while pregnant and caring for my 3 children
under 5. Well, I do know what I was thinking. It's the same
illogical, overly-optimistic ambition that convinces me that I can
unload the dryer, clip the baby's fingernails, and reorganize the
garage ten minutes before we have to leave for church. But, woefully
incomplete as it is, I enjoyed reading through the 19 entries. Even
though it never made it to a book, if nothing else it serves as a
wonderful little scrap of family history.</div>
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I figure if I wrote it, I may as well
share it, albeit 4 years down the road. I have a blog, and a blog
should have, you know, posts or something. Since I've written one
post is the last 3 years, I'm thinking a post this gigantic should
about catch me up. Will anyone read 19 posts mushed into one?
Probably not. But to chop it all up and post it one day at a time,
well, that would require more diligence then I have right now, not to
mention the highly probable confusion it would cause. “Wait, are
the Braseltons pregnant <i>again</i>?” No, we're not. But you can
read about what it was like when the Braseltons<i> were</i> pregnant.
At least for the first 19 days.</div>
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</div>
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(For an abridged version, check out my faves: Days 1, 5, 11, and 15)</div>
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<b>Day One</b></div>
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I buy my pregnancy tests at the dollar
store. It seems to be a well-kept secret, though it should be shouted
from the rooftops, that a woman need not pay twelve dollars for
something at Walgreen's which can be had for a dollar six after tax
at the 99 Cent Mart. Sure, there is that potentially hazardous extra
step of peeing into the little cup rather then peeing directly on the
stick, but to me the inconvenience is worth the ten dollars and
ninety-four cents. I figure by now I must have saved at least sixty
bucks.</div>
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</div>
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Matthew wanted to be the one to look
this time. I know I looked the first two times, then I think we
looked together on number 3, but this time he wanted to do it. So I
left it in the bathroom and we made casual conversation for 5
minutes. I remember making it so much more ceremonial the first time,
waiting for morning pee, sitting on the edge of the bed watching the
clock tick away exactly 5 minutes, taking deep breaths as I walked in
and feeling my world turn a flip along with my stomach at the sight
of the double pink lines. I guess this time I already knew, which is
why taking the test on a whim, knowing I'd had it for couple years
now and it was 7 months expired, didn't bother me. I always knew
those dates were a crock anyway. They just want me to go out and
spend another dollar six.</div>
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</div>
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Matthew pokes his head out of the
bathroom with raised eyebrows and a big smile.</div>
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</div>
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“Oh, boy...” he says.</div>
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“Or girl.” I add.</div>
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“Or girl.” He agrees, no longer
looking at me but staring off somewhere, surely envisioning another
pair of tiny feet and hearing the little baby sounds, rocking it to
sleep and feeling its soft skin on his cheek. He looks back at me
moments later, and I raise my eyebrows in anticipation of his
thoughts shared.</div>
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</div>
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“You're going to get fat again.” he
states matter-of-factly.
</div>
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</div>
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“Yup...” I sigh. “Look out.”</div>
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<b>Day 2</b></div>
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I spend the day today processing the
confirmation of what was much more then a sneaking suspicion. But
it's complicated because we had been looking forward to adopting
children for years, and after a long and somewhat tedious process,
were finally waiting for a placement any day. I call our caseworker
and, after congratulations, she tells me that we will need to wait at
least a year after the baby is born before taking a placement. I feel
simultaneously crushed and freed as I listen to her explain the
policy. We have been wrestling with what to do regarding adoption in
light of the pregnancy, but now the decision had been made for us.
This means pushing back our adoption plans two years, possibly more,
and I feel the gears that have been pushing so hard for so long come
grinding to a halt and my heart lurches forward as I come to grips
with our new timetable.</div>
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</div>
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In times like these, the sovereignty of
God is a wonderful, freeing thing to know. This pregnancy was not an
accident on our part, and it certainly wasn't on His. He obviously
laid the desire for another baby on Matthew's heart, brought me
around to the idea, and continued bestowing on us the blessing of
rabbit-caliber fertility. Apparently God thought it best for our
family to wait for our adoptive children to come along. The time was
not to be now. Perhaps we are not ready. Perhaps our children are not
ready. This understanding relieves me of the weight of questions like
“what if” and “should we have” and “will we ever”. I go
through the day beating back these questions with the knowledge of
God's infinite wisdom and love for us, wielding it like a wet blanket
against the fledgling flames of fearfulness that, if left unchecked,
can readily consume a woman's heart.</div>
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<b>Day 3</b></div>
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Today I have scheduled breakfast with
my best friend, who is pregnant with her first, about 14 weeks along.
We were due to have a meal together soon anyway, but now it has been
upgraded from a typical breakfast with Jenn to one of those
bomb-dropper meetings when the butterflies invade your stomach on the
drive over just thinking about how you will say it and when. I
question why I still feel the butterflies and feel a bit silly. After
all, I've sat across the table from Jenn 3 times before this with the
same news. I suppose having a baby never gets old.</div>
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</div>
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We talked about her pregnancy until the
waitress sets the food down on the table- two plates of chicken fried
steak and eggs. Surely not what the doctor ordered, but the babies
did. There are only a handful of windows during a meal when it feels
natural to bring up something of weight and significance. One option
is to begin immediately after being seated, but then you are sure to
be quickly interrupted by server introductions and drink orders. The
next window comes after the orders have been taken and there is a
brief but distinguishable abeyance in conversation. This is the
moment I favor most because the next chance to speak is also the
first chance to eat and, being quite taken with food, I prefer not to
make momentous conversation while chewing. The final opportunity
comes after the bill has been paid and plates cleared. This is less
then ideal, however, because it requires not only that you endure
your butterflies for the entire meal, but that you sit at an empty
table under the disdainful eye of your server while you have an
inevitably long conversation. I pass on the first window, and miss
the second. When the waitress sets our food on the table, I decide to
go with the 3<sup>rd</sup>.</div>
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“So,” I say slightly leaning across
the table. “Our caseworker called yesterday and asked if we would
want to expand out family by three instead of two.” Jenn's eyes got
a little big as I continued. “She had two twin two-year-old boys
and a newborn baby girl.” Jenn's face softens and her head falls to
the side ever so slightly in the customary response elicited from a
woman when she hears the phrase “newborn baby girl”.</div>
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“Wow....” she coos, before
practicality sets in on her brow. “That would be crazy!”</div>
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</div>
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“Yeah,” I say, nodding in
agreement. “We actually might have said yes, but we had to say no.”</div>
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</div>
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Jenn lifts a forkful of potatoes to her
mouth.</div>
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“How come?” She asks
sympathetically. I look Jenn in the eyes, determined to take in every
detail of her response so I can later reenact it for Matthew with as
much accuracy as possible.</div>
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</div>
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“Because we're pregnant.”</div>
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</div>
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Jenn drops her fork on her plate and
subsequently throws her arms up in the air, which makes me glad for
the sequence in which she chooses to perform her gestures. Then, as
is required of Jenn when making surprising or scandalous discoveries,
her hands hasten to her mouth to cover it as if some sort of creature
would fly out of it if she did not. I grin from ear to ear enjoying
the show, and briefly she is speechless before managing a gleeful,
“You <i>are</i>?!”</div>
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</div>
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After a few explanations and statistics
like original intentions and ovulation cycles, we settle back into
our chicken fried breakfast, and the butterflies have subsided.
</div>
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</div>
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I drop Jenn off with the strict charge
not to tell anyone but her husband to which she nobly agrees,
commending Matthew and me on our self control in spreading the news.
But honestly, not much self control is needed this time around, as I
am pretty certain that I have already received the most elated
response I will get from our announcement.</div>
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</div>
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<b>Day 4</b></div>
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Today we are invited to dinner on a
farm. We have very recently moved to Queen Creek, Arizona where there
are wide-open spaces, fields of crops, and lots and lots of cows.
This farm does not have any cows at the moment, but it has just about
everything else not to mention a trampoline in the yard, and for our
family you might as well have just plopped us down in Shangri-la.</div>
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</div>
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Benjamin runs to the back fence in
delight, pointing and screaming “Chickens!” at the top of his
little lungs until I acknowledge his monumental discovery with
sufficient enthusiasm. Bethany is on the trampoline in an instant,
Harper collects the eggs right out of the hens' nests, and everyone
gets to feed the horse and no one loses any fingers. It was a
delightful evening, leaving both Matthew and me with that lingering
feeling of rightness. There's just something about experiencing a
farm. These are real people with real land and this is real food. The
chicken we had for dinner had roamed the yard not long before it sat
on the table. But as enchanting as it all seemed, neither Matthew or
I even allude to the thought of our family living on a farm. Maybe
it's our soft heart for animals, or maybe it's because killing any
bug larger then an earwig is traumatic mayhem in our house, but we
both know without saying it that we are simply not cut out for
farming.</div>
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</div>
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We come home with dirty, exhausted
children. I am pretty exhausted myself and wonder as we unload the
kids if I have eaten anything unpasteurized tonight. I can't remember
what that can do to your pregnancy, but I'm sure it's something
awful. We come inside to discover that ants have taken over the
downstairs due to neither the front or the back door sealing shut
correctly, and for the next 10 or 15 minutes it is ant genocide. We
go upstairs leaving behind a wake of arthropod carcasses, the malodor
of Country Bouquet scented Raid, and a sticky note to call the
exterminator and the door-fixing people first thing in the morning.</div>
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<b>Day 5</b></div>
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Today I realize that this baby has been
growing inside my stomach for several weeks now totally deprived of
prenatal vitamins. Some women start taking their vitamins when they
are simply trying to conceive. I'm sure they are the ones who's
children grow up to play the violin, or even more impressive the
viola, because no one knows exactly what that is but it sounds so
very cultured. I picture my little embryo languishing in my uterus,
silently imploring me to send down some vitamins, or at least to eat
a few vegetables for goodness sake. But I don't get along well with
many vegetables and I have no vitamins at home other than the kids'
gummy ones formed into shapes of Disney princesses. I consider
popping a couple of Cinderellas but decide if my embryo has waited
this long, one more day or two won't cost it a chair in the junior
high orchestra.</div>
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</div>
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I do find that I have DHA supplements
in the cupboard, which as we all know is the very building block of
the brain, and I eagerly swallow one of the gel caps to give this kid
a fighting chance. The pill people put in a strawberry flavoring to
combat an aftertaste of what is inside the capsule, which is listed
as Pharmaceutical Grade Fish Oil. No one wants that revisiting them
in the afternoon. The flavoring fulfills its purpose in that I never
taste the fish, but instead I am plagued with a very potent
artificial strawberry-flavor throughout the day. The slight wave of
nausea that accompanies it reminds me that the prenatal vitamins had
also made me feel a bit sick in the last go-around. I decide that all
vitamins and supplements shall henceforth be taken directly before
bed, and that whenever this kid stands up to receive an award it had
better thank its mother.</div>
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<b>Day 6</b></div>
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I can't quite get my face to stop
scowling. I don't know why people say they are so angry they could
spit, because I am about as angry as I get and spitting is the last
of inappropriate actions I would like to take right now.</div>
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This is how it all goes down. I have
the kids ready for bed so I send them down to say goodnight to Daddy.
Daddy tells them he wants to read them a Bible story so can they stay
up a little longer while he finishes up his work and of course they
oblige. I, however, am done parenting for the day hence having the
kids ready for early bedtime. So I tell the kids that Daddy's in
charge and I shut the door and go to bed. I neglect to tell Daddy
that he is in charge, which may or may not have prevented what
follows.</div>
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I lay there for a while trying to block
out the sound of feet running up and down the halls and the laughing
and screaming, until I hear Benjamin say something about lotion.
Benjamin with any lotion product is a combination I have experienced
before and never want to experience again, so I grudgingly climb out
of bed to make sure nothing slippery is going on. Turns out I am a
little too late. Just how long does it take for a two-year-old and a
four-year-old to smear an entire tub of Vaseline over the walls,
doors, banisters, and carpet? I'm not exactly sure, but it isn't very
long. At this point I make a mayday call down the stairs for back-up,
mostly so that I don't throw anyone through a window, and Matthew and
I empty the entire linen closet full of towels trying to wipe,
scrape, and rub down every glob of goo while the perpetrators sit in
the bathtub, covered from head to toe, laughing. I think the laughter
was the worst. By the end of it, they didn't think it was so funny
after all.
</div>
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</div>
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I start to fill the tub before
realizing the futility of trying to remove Vaseline with water, and
settle for wiping them down as best we can. Benjamin's hair is
standing four inches off the top of his head, and as difficult as it
is to stay mad at him looking like this, I think I have managed.</div>
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</div>
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I know this sort of thing usually
becomes funny after some time passes, but I'm still at the point
where I cannot imagine this ever being funny. I guess an hour and 38
minutes is not enough time. Maybe a few days. Maybe a year. Maybe
when they come home from their first semester in college. That is, if
the little hoodlums don't get arrested first.</div>
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<b>Day 7</b></div>
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As is natural and expected, we continue
to get questions from friends and family about our adoption plans and
have we heard anything and when do you think you'll get some kids. We
are vague at this point, careful to be truthful but we have decided
not to tell the world about this baby for a while.</div>
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</div>
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We kept our little secret for 12 weeks
with all of the babies, 12 weeks being the threshold when rate of
miscarriage drops dramatically. Consequently, with a second baby or
beyond it also becomes quite difficult to hide after that point. I am
thankful that it is winter, and hoodies will be my best friends. It's
not only the possibility of miscarriage and having to deal with the
onslaught of well-intentioned sympathizers that makes us wait, but a
sort of cherishing the knowing between the two of us for a time.
Soon it will be public knowledge and there will be the joy in that,
but for now it's just between Matthew and me; a little treasure to
hide, a knowing smile across the table at a family gathering.</div>
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</div>
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I must admit it was harder to keep
secret the first two then with the Boy and this baby. Matthew and I
both have one sister and I think that without anyone realizing it,
our families might have subconsciously assumed that we would stop at
two children. In fact, during those secret 12 weeks with Benjamin one
of our family members actually called specifically to tell us we
ought to slow down, as our girls were intentionally born close
together and this already raised some concern. So when we announced
we were pregnant for the third time, while there was certainly a
joyful response there was also a subtle sense of remonstrance, almost
like the rumbling of thunder that you cannot so much hear as feel
through your feet and in the air. No one was disdainful or
mean-spirited. Everyone was still elated at the announcement of a boy
and at his birth. But still there it was.</div>
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</div>
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Both of our families had only two
children. Neither of our sisters has had children yet. And here we
are procreating like mad out here in farm ville Queen Creek. We don't
necessarily expect them to totally understand us, but with this
pregnancy on top of our highly controversial adoption plans, I'm
afraid after this announcement a pair of antenna will simultaneously
grow from each of our heads.</div>
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<b>Day 8</b></div>
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I keep realizing that I still have not
gone onto one of those pregnancy websites and figured out how many
weeks I am or anything. I'm pretty sure I'm like 6 or 7 weeks along,
but I keep forgetting to do that, much less make a doctor's
appointment. Jenn, on the other hand, has more than perused the
pregnancy websites and is signed up for the weekly emails that tell
you about what your baby is like now and things you might be feeling
at this point and all kinds of logistical baby things you should be
planning for way too far in advance.</div>
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</div>
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“Last week it was the size of an
avocado,” she tells me. “Now it's as big as a naval orange!”</div>
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</div>
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I tell her that's pretty specific,
stating even the species of orange to compare it to, and she admits
that when she was in the produce section the other day she could only
locate Mandarin oranges and thus felt like she did not have a truly
accurate feel for the size of her fetus.</div>
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</div>
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I used to have that book, “What to
Expect When You're Expecting”. I can't remember who I loaned it to,
but I haven't seen it for quite some time now, not that I was
planning on needing it again. I thought for a long time that Benjamin
would be our last biological baby, but ideas and desires do change,
which is why we held off on doing anything permanent. I did sell all
my maternity clothes on eBay, which gave me a pretty big sense of
finality, but obviously not enough to seal the deal. “Sorry Babe,
we just can't have another baby. I've already sold my maternity
clothes.”</div>
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</div>
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I guess I'll be going shopping pretty
soon here. They've already come out with way cuter stuff then they
had even 3 years ago. My maternity clothes were great- no complaints-
especially after hearing these horror stories from mothers who
carried in the era of parachute panel pants and moo-moos. Maybe I'll
go on eBay and see if some size one woman that shares my taste in
clothing thinks she's done having kids too. I don't want to buy too
much... just a few things to get me through the 2<sup>nd</sup> and
3<sup>rd</sup> trimester, since this will certainly be my last
biological baby.</div>
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</div>
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Right?</div>
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<b>Day 9</b></div>
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Starting to feel slightly more
symptomatic.</div>
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Symptom 1:</div>
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I need to eat breakfast. And then I
need to eat breakfast again an hour later. Then once more before
lunch, and so on and so forth. Otherwise my tummy is not so happy
with me. Not super-sick, just an icky kind of feeling. Enough for an
excuse to eat constantly throughout the day.</div>
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Symptom 2:
</div>
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Very, very tired. So tired that if I am
even remotely horizontal I feel I will fall asleep within 4 minutes.
I fear narcolepsy, though I have yet to drop off into a plate of food
or in the middle of a conversation. We had a Japanese foreign
exchange student with us for one weekend, and I swear she was
narcoleptic. She fell asleep in church, which I didn't find too
peculiar considering our pastor preaches for over an hour, in
English. But when we'd be talking and I'd go to the kitchen for a
moment, still talking, and I'd come back in and she'd be asleep, this
I found curious. This happened a number of times, until finally I
hopped on Google while she snoozed on the couch and typed in
“Japanese Narcolepsy”. Sure enough, there were links. There were
a couple of studies and a blog post or two. I found a message board
post from a bewildered CEO wondering why when he flew in his Japanese
business partners, they would fall asleep in his meetings. Apparently
it's not so much jet lag, but more of a cultural thing. Tokyo is like
New York in that it never sleeps. Its citizens average just a few
hours a night, so it's very common and socially acceptable to just
drop off for a few minutes on the train or in a waiting room. There's
talk now of a genetic link, but who knows.</div>
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Symptom 3: I want ice cream. All the
time. But I don't know if I can count it as a symptom, because I want
ice cream all of the time even when I'm not pregnant. Perhaps its
just a bit more acute now, and I have an excuse to eat more of it.
Fortunately for the mere 25-30 pounds of weight gain that I'm
supposed to stay within, “ice cream” in my book is actually
frozen yogurt. Even our here in cow-town, we have a Yogurt Jungle
just minutes away. Last night Matthew was out at band practice and he
promised to bring something back for me. I told him that if he came
home without ice cream I wouldn't let him in. He came through so he
got to come inside, and we watched Jay Cutler throw five picks and
the Bears got clobbered but I had my vanilla with Oreos so it was all
good. In the 4<sup>th</sup> quarter I curled up on the couch,
horizontally, and promptly fell asleep.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 10</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When <span style="font-style: normal;">I
look out the window this morning it is mild and overcast and it is
Matthew's day off; perfect conditions for the zoo. We're members,
thanks to my mom's annual anniversary present, so we get in
admission-free every time. The best thing about that is then you
don't feel like you have to stay all day long and drag the kids
around until you've stood in front of every animal to get your
money's worth. We typically show up mid-morning and stay until we get
too hungry to continue resisting the smell of the 4 dollar hot dogs
and then go out to lunch, which is how today goes down. It's been
several months since we've been here, and every visit is more fun as
the kids grow older and get more into the animals. This visit is a
breakthrough for Benjamin who on previous visits was clearly more
interested in the railings than what was behind them.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today is one of the
first days that the new Komodo dragons are out in their brand-new
exhibit that cost more than our last 3 houses combined, and it
doesn't even have a roof. They look an awful lot like really big
lizards, and they don't breath fire or have wings. But they do eat
people so I suppose that was enough for the zoologists to bump them
up to dragon status. The title “dragon” is also probably very
beneficial for a zoo in the middle of the desert that doesn't get a
lot of the really cool animals like polar bears or penguins. Maybe
next year they'll bring in a couple of unicorns.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tonight is also
date night, so put this one down as a super fun day. Mom comes over
to hang with the kiddos and we go to a movie about the end of the
world where stuff is blowing up left and right and John Cusack jumps
a Winnebago across a 50-foot chasm. When we come home and mom leaves
and we head upstairs I realize mom went into the master bathroom to
put something back in there and my prenatal vitamins are sitting on
the counter. I have the label facing the wall but if I were my mom
and I saw a pill bottle by my sink I would so look at what it was. So
now I'm wondering if she knows because there's no way she would say
anything if she did.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm not super
concerned that she know or not know. It's not so much a secret as it
is a surprise. And I think surprise is exactly what we'll get when we
tell everyone at Christmas dinner. We decided to do it on Christmas
because it will be the end of my first trimester and our whole family
on both sides will be there and it's always fun to tell good news in
that kind of a setting. We know from experience, actually, because 3
Christmases ago we had Bethany tell everyone that a new baby was
coming in the summer. It's also a great method to keep from getting
grilled on the spot because most people wouldn't do that at the
dinner table. Except for Matthew's grandma, that is. Her filter
deteriorated years ago so she pretty much says whatever she wants to,
whenever she wants to. Even if she does say something totally
inappropriate, nothing could be worse then that time she interrogated
an eastern Indian about his turban in the middle of a crowded
restaurant.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
38 days til
Christmas.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 11</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tonight is the big charity softball
tournament between several different churches to raise money for a
school and somehow I got roped into it. I love to play pretty much
any sport, but I haven't played catch in a long time, much less hit a
ball, and I doubt I will contribute much. But they seem hard up for
players and it sounds fun so we said yes and now we have to dust off
our gear and remember what it's like to hit a moving target with a
bat. Bethany has promised both of us one of her precious sparkly
stickers if we win, so the stakes are high.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We get there early and toss it around
with Luke and Molly, our good friends. Luke is the lead pastor at
Second Mile Church where Matthew is the associate pastor and music
guy. Luke played college ball and had a shot at the majors but took a
left turn into ministry. The rest of the team is made up of various
friends and acquaintances, all much better at softball than us. There
are two firefighters, 3 sisters who all played in high school, and a
guy that we've never met before but that has a bag full of really
fancy looking bats. My goal is not to screw anything up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I ask Luke what position the worst
player on the team should play, and he suggests catcher, which in
slow pitch softball basically means catching the ball after it
bounces on the ground. I decide I can handle that. I stand behind the
batter with the umpire and make friendly conversation, figuring he
would be a good person to have on our side. Matthew and I both strike
out swinging on our first at-bat, but we're already up 4 to zero so I
don't feel too bad about it. The most exciting moment for me is when
there is a very large man running for home plate and someone throws
me the ball as he slides in and I tag him right on the chest. When
the dust clears the umpire calls him out and there is arguing but the
call stands and inside I know it is because the ump and I have
bonded. We end up skunking the first team 14 to 4 and then face-off
with the winner of the other game to determine who walks away the
overall victor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first team we played seemed like
pretty average guys, helping out for a church fund raiser on a
Saturday night. But these next guys are serious. They have gear and
they have special shoes and they have a coach that yells. But we are
determined to win it all. I go back to my spot behind the plate and
meet the umpire for this game, my new best friend. Things start off a
little rocky, and we fall behind early 0-2 in the 1<sup>st</sup>. It
gets to 0-6 before we finally put a couple on the board. We manage to
creep back over the next few innings, and it's 10-13 with an inning
to go. There have been a few heated moments- arguments over where
players can and cannot stand and a couple of close calls on the
bases, and it is clear that by this point both teams are out for
blood (in the most Christian way possible).</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The inning begins and we get one across
and then two on before Matthew steps up to the plate with 2 outs. He
has been getting on base pretty much every at-bat, but now the
pressure is on and I am in the dugout just hoping he doesn't strike
out or hit an easy grounder or something else that I will need to
console him about later. I almost can't believe it when he takes a
big swing and launches it over the fence. I wait for my hero at the
plate as he comes around as the go-ahead run, feeling a little guilty
about how surprised I am, and the rest of the team is going nuts.
After the hubbub dies down, I go about my business making the 3<sup>rd</sup>
out once again and the inning ends, leaving us to defend our tenuous
lead. The other team ends up with the tying run on 3<sup>rd</sup> but
after a great catch in center field we are crowned the champions of
the 1<sup>st</sup> annual Calvary Christian Schools Bless-a-thon
Softball Tournament.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We come home and tell Bethany that she
owes us a sticker and the smile that spreads across her face is worth
all the dirt that is in my socks. We proudly wear our stickers
upstairs to our room, basking in the afterglow of our dramatic
come-back win. It's like Luke says. Everybody has their World Series.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><b>Day
12</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I haven't been mountain biking since we
moved into the new house, which has been several weeks now, and since
that is my sole form of exercise, I have realized that I am quite out
of shape. We have been moving progressively east, and we now live a
good 45 minutes away from the mountain where I used to ride. I'm
going to need to find another option for physical activity, or by the
end of this pregnancy I might be ready for one of these dairy farms.
I know that when I finally get around to making a doctor's
appointment, he will give me his little sheet of recommendations
during pregnancy, one of which is exercise. He will say to walk 30
minutes a day, but to me exercise should involve sweating and perhaps
even a little huffing and puffing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I tried tennis for while and really
enjoyed it, though most of my energy was exerted running to the net
and picking up the ball. The trouble with tennis is that you are
dependent on another person and if they sleep in or if you don't plan
ahead then you're out of luck. There is always good old fashioned
running, but after a couple of miles on the pavement it feels like
there is a steak knife in my right knee and that is really hard to
push through. Not to mention all of the horror stories you hear about
things that happen to women out running alone. Thank goodness for
those chain emails, without which I would be completely ignorant of
boatloads of life-saving tips like never to sniff a peddler's
perfumes or open my front door if I hear a crying baby, and to always
look underneath my car as I approach it and how to use my key to
gouge out the eye of an attacker. All extremely useful for personal
safety, and great excuses not to go running.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There's still ice cream in the freezer,
right?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 13</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today we leave for a couple of days in
Sedona to celebrate our anniversary. The kids are staying over at my
mom's house for two nights, which will be a first for everyone
involved. I'm more worried about Mom than the kids, but she seems
sufficiently prepared and we head north for the red rocks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I got a great deal on our hotel room,
though Trip Advisor advised me that this was because we would be
invited to a timeshare pitch upon arrival. I am very confident in my
ability to withstand any sales pitch, so I am not worried about
saying no thank you and getting on with our trip. When we get there,
however, she offers us a free 2 night stay at one of their hotels and
a $75 Visa gift card. We ask how long it will take and she promises
90 minutes and our room is not ready yet and we could do it right
after lunch. We tell her we will not be buying anything, and she says
there is no obligation and what if she made it $100? I am someone who
finds it very hard to pass up free stuff, so much to Matthew's
surprise I'm in and so we sign up for an appointment.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After lunch we are a few minutes early
so we sit in the car and practice saying “no”.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The financial benefit of a timeshare
is undeniable.” I tell Matthew in an energetic voice. “You are
absolutely throwing your money away without one!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No.” He says definitively, staring
straight ahead out the windshield.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't you love your family?” I
demand to know. “You don't love your family if you don't buy a
timeshare!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes I love my family, but I don't
want a timeshare.” He shoots back with steely eyes and his jaw set.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You are ruining your life and the
lives of your children if you pass up this deal.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Not interested.” He says with
finality.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We are now sufficiently prepared, and
we sit across from Robert the vacation specialist not for 90 minutes,
but for two and a half hours. He has us fill out checklists of all
the places in the world we'd like to see and gets us fantasizing
about dream vacations. He crunches their prefigured numbers and sets
us up to look like fools if we don't buy in. He asks us obvious
questions that the answer is “yes” to so he can get us used to
saying “yes”, like “Wouldn't it be nice to spend less money and
get more of it?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We politely explain that it seems like
a very nice program but that we just don't have the wiggle room in
our budget for something like this. When he sees we're not cracking,
he brings his supervisor over to have a go. His supervisor is
definitely more confrontational, and gets more so as the end draws
near. In a last ditch effort, he leans over the table, looks Matthew
in the eye, and says, “Let me just say that I can tell you, man to
man, that you can afford this. <i>You can afford this</i>.” We
laugh out loud at that and shake hands cordially before they leave
and yet another person sits down under pretext of a satisfaction
survey and tries to sell us again. But we are hardened professionals
by now, so we sign our name on the “we passed up this once in a
lifetime opportunity and we are idiots and we acknowledge that”
form and we finally get our $100 and free hotel stay.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We go back to the lobby to check in,
and suddenly the reservations lady now realizes that the newly
refurbished and updated room that she had signed us up for when we
first arrived is a handicapped-equipped room, so she puts us in
building 12 which looks like it was refurbished and updated too, just
not in this decade.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It takes a little while to get rid of
the icky feeling left on us by the sales pitch, but we feel good
about taking our stand and holding our ground together. We may not
travel across Europe staying in 5-star accommodations, but we're
going to have a great time with our hundred bucks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: transparent;"><b>Day
14</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Eight years ago this morning I was
driving to a city park with my dad at 4:00am, the car filled with
tulle and fake ivy vines to decorate the Tempe Sister City Gardens
for my wedding day. I was 19, and my 21-year-old fiancée was asleep
at his dad's house, his tux hanging in the closet.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Upon this, our 8<sup>th</sup>
anniversary, we start out with a bike ride at Bell Rock, where we
rode once before when I was pregnant with Bethany. I think that I
have made it very clear to Matthew that I am expecting a nice,
leisurely ride with nothing too strenuous or technical. I have even
opted to wear blue jeans instead of the “I mean business” spandex
riding shorts, which Matthew is always quick to correct that they are
Lycra, not spandex, because no one finds terrible images flooding
their mind when they hear the word “Lycra”.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I should know that nothing will keep
Matthew from pushing the limit when he gets out on the trails, not
even the blue jeans. He yearns to explore every side trail we pass,
and wants to ride over every impossible-looking obstacle in sight.
It's much like walking a Labrador, really. Eventually I have
compassion on the poor thing tugging at his leash and follow him down
some trails that I end up walking great portions of, but it is always
impressive to watch him challenge physics and win. There are stunning
views and perfect weather, and after deciding that he could come back
here on his own tomorrow, we head back to the car.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today is a nearly perfect day, and we
now remember why we go on these trips. Thank goodness for grandmas.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 15</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've noticed something since we've
moved to Queen Creek. There are not enough grocery stores to support
its population. The most troubling consequence of this fact is not
having to drive a little further to get there, but the sheer volume
of shoppers at any given day and time. The parking lot is always
full, and it is a miracle if we end up with a race car cart. The race
car carts are one of the most merciful inventions ever given to
parents of young children. It's basically a regular shopping cart but
with a big plastic race car complete with seat belts and steering
wheels attached to the front. This has several benefits for the
adult. 1. It immobilizes the children. 2. It puts most of the
products out of their arms' reach. 3. They end up about 3 feet in
front of you and practicality on the floor so you can hardly hear the
bickering and whining. And you still have the good old fashioned
in-the-cart kid seat, so when I show up with 3 kids I have a seat
and, more importantly, a restraint for each one.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The lure of the plastic race cars,
however, does not only apply to kids with siblings. Every little
rugrat wants to ride in one of those carts, regardless of whether
they will benefit from the extra space. And I can't judge the moms
with one kid who take the race car carts, though I have vowed to
myself that I will never use one unless I am in dire need of it. Such
is the case today, and as usual, there are no race car carts to be
found. So I shift into plan B, which should really be plan F if we
were basing it on effectiveness, where Harper sits in the child seat,
Benjamin sits in the cart itself, and Bethany hangs on the side like
a suction cup Garfield. Harper does just fine but Bethany hops off to
explore every time the cart stops and Benjamin always ends up
stepping on the tomatoes or sitting on the bread.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Shopping takes a lot longer in the
overpopulated aisles because we spend a lot of time trying to squeeze
our cart between another cart and the Stove Top Stuffing display, or
vying for position at the meat cooler, all the while making sure
Bethany doesn't lose an arm in the process. And forget about reading
labels or comparing prices. Once you get into an aisle, you really
have no choice but to keep moving with the flow of carts. If you
can't immediately locate your target item and you end up passing it,
turning around is out of the question. If you miss on the first pass,
you just have to circle back around and try again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today the cart is extra full, and
Benjamin is surrounded by food. We've been in this mad house for
about 30 minutes and we're still only half way through our list. I'm
trying to score a package of stew meat when I hear Benjamin call out
“Uh-oh Mommy!” I turn around to see him trying to keep his feet
out of a glob of spinach and artichoke dip that he must have opened
somehow. The glob is the residue of a greater glob, which had already
made its way through the holes in the bottom of the cart to the
floor, but not before sliding across multiple items I had stashed on
the bottom rack. I look around helplessly, but the world is oblivious
to my plight. I decide I need paper towels. A lot of paper towels. I
remember that there's that little bell at the seafood counter, and I
ring it for the first time ever. The seafood guy comes out ready to
dish me up some shrimp cocktail but ends up helping me mop up the
mess and salvage my groceries instead. He is very nice and I am very
appreciative, and I make sure to mention several times that the goop
is spinach dip so that he doesn't think he is cleaning up vomit or
something.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Benjamin has to walk due to the cart
contamination, so now I have both Bethany and Benjamin to keep away
from the wine-laden end caps or getting run over by other shoppers.
We miraculously reach the the end of our list and step into a
checkout line behind a lady with one snotty little boy in his race
car cart when Harper declares with urgency that she has to go potty.
I don't know what it is about kids. They never have to go potty a
little bit. They either don't have to go at all, or they are on the
verge of explosion. Harper is definitely in the latter boat, but
being the caring Mommy that I am, I tell her she can't go potty until
we pay for the groceries, like it's some kind of store policy or
something. So she dances around while I pay and pray that I won't
need to call the seafood guy again. The little trooper holds it in
and we dash back through the store to the bathroom just in time,
though now the clock is ticking on the ice cream sandwiches we just
bought. While the kids seem to care nothing about their mother's
sanity, they are quite motivated to save the ice cream sandwiches and
we make great time getting into the car and both the sandwiches and
the family make it home in tact.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 16</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today I suck it up and go for a run. I
can't go on without exercise, so I strap on my shoes and head out the
door. “I'll be back soon,” I tell Matthew on my way out. “Really
soon.” I go for about 15 minutes before my legs start giving me the
better-stop-soon-or-you'll-regret-it-tomorrow warning. My knees hold
up, so that's a plus. I feel good for doing something, even if it's
just 15 minutes. We'll see if this was an isolated incident or
something that might happen again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 17</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I am en route. And I have mac
salad.” I text Jenn at the stoplight as I drive toward her house.
It's about 8:30 pm, way too late for someone my age to be leaving the
house, but I have yet to see an Ultimate Fighting bout and Jenn and
Adam have ordered it up on pay-per-view, along with pizza and wings.
I truly am interested in seeing the UFC fight, but it was the pizza
and wings that sealed the deal for me. I have the three kids in bed
and an enormous bowl of macaroni salad to contribute. “Fabulous!”
Jenn texts back.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I get to her house Adam greets me
at the door and congratulates me. “Congratulations” still throws
me off at this point and I quickly initiate a rapid mental scan of
several possibilities of what he could be referring to. Had I
recently won an award that has slipped my mind? Was he simply
offering congratulations for coming to my first UFC fight? Has the
legend of our epic battle on the softball field traveled even here?
It takes a moment to realize he is talking about the baby and I say
thank you but remind him that it's still on the down low. He in turn
thanks me, because he had forgotten that part which doesn't surprise
me because men aren't usually very good about stuff like that. I'm
impressed he even remembered to say anything, considering what an
unreliable source of information Matthew is. As a pastor he hears all
the good news right away but neglects to tell me for several weeks. I
hear about pregnancies 20 weeks into it and with engagements I'm
lucky to find out before the shower invitation arrives in the mail.
Of course, now that I'm on facebook I have control of my own destiny.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The first few fights are kind of
opening acts to the main event, a fight between two pretty big guys
with gigantic ears. I learn that this is called “cauliflower ear”
and it comes from getting hit on the ears repeatedly over time. I
start to take note of each fighter's ears and try to estimate brain
damage. The first fights are pretty interesting and I ask a lot of
questions that are eagerly answered as everyone there knows all the
rules and who everybody is and all that. It is just as fun watching
them as it is watching the fighters.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I get through the whole thing without
throwing up or leaving the room. There was one time when there was
blood pouring out of a guy's eye and they were showing a close up of
his head getting smushed into the mat that I had to turn away and
watch it in the reflection on the arcadia door. Jenn and Adam have a
huge TV, so it was a pretty big bloody head.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I leave as a more enlightened
individual around eleven o'clock with what is left of the macaroni
salad. Even though I am freezing cold I still swing by Wendy's for a
Frosty, because nothing hits the spot after pizza and wings like ice
cream.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 18</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today I mailed a rock. The music
publisher that I write for in Nashville is a big fan of Sedona and
the red rocks, so when I told him we were going last week he told me
to bring him back a rock. I'm pretty sure he was joking, but I
thought it was a great idea. I got him a nice big one, like a
paperweight size, so that it would look “intentional” as I
explained to Matthew, when he puts it on his desk. I wrote “Randy's
Red Rock Sedona, AZ” on it with a Sharpie and wrapped it up with a
note that said “Don't say I never got you anything” and put it in
a box.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The post office closes at 5:00, but I
am waiting for Harper to wake up from her nap. At 4:50, I put the
girls in the van and we make a mad dash for it. We get there with
like a minute to spare but that's according to the clock on the
dashboard and I bet the post office has a nuclear clock synced up
with the White House or something so I unstrap the kids and tell them
to run inside. I figure if my kids are in there they have to let me
in too. We get in line and as they lock the doors and pull out the
iron curtain security thingy, I immediately see on Harper's face the
realization that we have been locked inside the post office
indefinitely. I reassure her that they will let us out, and that we
could always mail ourselves home anyway. Bethany looks at me like I'm
an idiot and informs me that you can't mail people.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's our turn and the lady at the
counter puts the box on the scale and asks if the contents are
anything liquid, perishable, fragile, or otherwise hazardous.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nope,” I reply. “It's a rock.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her eyebrows raise. “A rock?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I nod.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Okay...” she says, and continues
processing the package. A few moments later she looks up again. “Is
it from your backyard or something....?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's from Sedona.” I explain.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh!” She says, visibly relieved
not to be dealing with someone mentally unstable. “Well that makes
more sense. That's really cool, actually.” She punches in a few
more things and then looks up as if she was going to ask another
question but stops and laughs, “I guess you probably don't want to
insure it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Even without insurance, I spent nine
dollars to mail a rock. It's a good thing that they let us out when
we're finished. It would've cost a small fortune to mail us home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Day 19</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love to cook, but the last few years
when Thanksgiving rolls around, I end up doing hardly any cooking at
all. We've been having Thanksgiving at Matthew's mom's house for a
while now. She makes the turkey and stuffing and everyone else brings
the side dishes. Matthew's sister is in charge of the mashed potatoes
and gravy, my mom does the green bean casserole, Matthew's dad brings
pies from Marie Callanders, and I get left with bringing something
totally lame like frozen corn. This year I was assigned to rolls. I
said I would make some more stuffing, partly to make sure we didn't
run out and partly because I knew we'd want to be able to take it
home with us for leftovers afterwards. I also said I would bring
frozen corn since the kids like it so much. So basically I have
microwavable vegetables, store-bought bread, and renegade stuffing.
The cook in me is quite disappointed and gets the courageous idea to
make homemade dinner rolls.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This might not seem very courageous for
someone who loves to cook, but when I say “cook” I do not mean
“bake”. In my opinion, cooking and baking are two completely
different ballgames, especially for someone like me who doesn't like
to use recipes. When I cook, I go by look and smell and taste and
intuition, throwing in a little of this and a bit more of that until
I think it's right. It didn't take me long to realize that junk
doesn't fly in baking. You've got to have a recipe, and you've got to
stick with it, even if it doesn't look right along the way. You have
to measure everything in those little cups and little tsp spoons and
I never know if I'm supposed to pack it in or just lightly scoop it
or level it off or what. If you miss a step, you're screwed. If you
add ingredients out of order, you're screwed. If your baking soda is
too old, you're screwed. For me, baking anything that doesn't come
out of a box is just setting myself up for failure.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I don't know why I think I should
attempt homemade dinner rolls on Thanksgiving Day. Maybe it was the
last two batches of cookies I baked from scratch that were actually
pretty good that has me thinking all hope is not lost. Maybe it's
that my cooking muscles are just twitching on Thanksgiving and I have
some kind of need to create something in the kitchen. Whatever it is,
I look up a recipe online and give it a go.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I buy yeast for the first time in my
life, and judging from the package it sounds a little like Sea
Monkeys. Matthew reads the recipe and looks doubtful. I tell him I
just think it will be fun to try, and homemade dinner rolls sound
pretty darn good. I envision light, airy, marshmallow-soft rolls with
a hint of butter and honey- like the ones they serve at Texas
Roadhouse. What I show up with at Bonnie's are a lot more like
biscuits. Or maybe hockey pucks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have no idea what I did wrong. I
thought I followed the recipe as best I could, though in my defense
it did leave some room for interpretation. My mom of course said they
were great and Dad nodded enthusiastically in agreement, but I
remember the stuff they used to tell me was fantastic when I was a
kid so they don't really count. Bonnie's husband's daughter.... I'll
give you a minute to trace that little familial line.... ate like 4
of them so she is now one of my favorite people. The stuffing turned
out fine and I successfully brought the corn from frozen to hot. The
rest of the meal was very good and I am quite full. I probably look
pretty pregnant now, but so does everybody else.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On the way home Bethany announces that
she is tired of sitting in the way back seat all alone and asks when
we are going to switch seats around. I tell her next summer we'll
switch things around and she won't be alone anymore. She seems
satisfied with that, and Matthew shoots me a sideways glance and a smile.
Next summer seems like such a long way off, but then again, 6 months
ago so did Christmas, and now Karen Carpenter is singing “Merry
Christmas, Darling” on the radio.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Merry Christmas, indeed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Epilogue- August, 2014</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Judah Justice Braselton was born on
June 23<sup>rd</sup>, 2010. When we told our families that we were
pregnant that Christmas morning, they were thrilled. A few weeks
later, when the ultrasound revealed that he was another boy, we were
ecstatic. Two girls and two boys. How much more perfect could it be?
He would bring balance to The Force. And yet, we didn't feel like it
was time to make a permanent decision about our family. Even though
we were still pursuing adoption, there was still this... something.
We wanted to leave the door open. Turns out we were leaving it open
for our beautiful little Shiloh Hope to come bursting through and
steal all of our hearts in May of 2012.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After our baby girl, we knew she would
be our last, and with peace we turned the page on our baby making
days. While adoption is not out of the question completely, the
likelihood of it being a part of our family has, frankly, greatly
diminished. Our life is wonderfully rich and full, but it feels like
it requires every bit of ourselves to cultivate it. And so I have
slowly been letting go of what I always thought would be, but knowing
that God will have His way with our family regardless of what
decisions we make or lines we draw in the sand. No matter how
hesitantly we push it closed or definitively we slam it shut, with
the great God of the universe writing our stories, every door in all
of our lives is forever beautifully open.</div>
Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-15898141731031751832014-06-15T15:55:00.000-07:002014-06-15T15:55:01.513-07:00The Bunny That Made Me Blog<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So... it's been a while. Like, 3 years. But I started a facebook post this morning and it turned into a blog, so I decided to post it in its appropriate venue. Who knows, maybe it will join my husband in urging me to start blogging again. In any event, here is the little story I wanted to share.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yesterday morning I opened the blinds in the kitchen to see our cat with a small rabbit hanging out of his mouth, still alive. The kids, of course, were horrified. We managed to get it away from the cat and into a shoe box, but the cat had obviously done a number on it. It had several puncture wounds and a tear in one ear. Not wanting them to witness its slow demise, I suggested we take it to a field and put it somewhere safe, but the girls insisted it was not well enough to be alone and that they needed to help it. I relented. Bethany asked me two questions: What percent chance do you think it has of living? Two, I answered. And what percent chance do we have of keeping it? Zero. Undeterred, they took the shoe box out to the front yard and commenced their attempts to nurse it back to health.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I watched this poor little thing go from bad to worse. It started on its feet but fell to its side. Its body stiffened and its breathing shallowed. The girls wouldn't leave its side all morning, and I periodically checked in, preparing them for what was coming. The kids had an activity to be at, so I went out to tell them it was time to go. The bunny's eyes were closed and it was barely breathing, so I told the girls we could see how it was doing when they returned, relieved that they wouldn't be here when it died. As they were deciding whether to leave the lid on the shoe box or keep it off, the rabbit's eyes suddenly snapped open and it began to kick its feet. I thought perhaps in was seizing in the last moments before death. But then, to my utter disbelief, it rolled onto its feet and hopped right out of the shoe box. I watched, incredulous, as the girls gleefully recaptured it, going over in my mind how this possibly could have happened. I thought through nature's defense mechanisms and all the scientific reasons for this kind of recovery, but ruled each of them out. I've seen enough episodes of 24 to know what a dose of Epinephrine can do, but I was pretty sure the girls hadn't secured any of that. Then, as they held the bunny out to me in delight, they bubbled "We prayed! We prayed outside a few minutes ago that God would save the bunny!"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then it all made sense. It was a gift. This furry little bloodstained creature was sent to plant seeds of faith in my kids, not to mention my jaded self. We loaded up into the car, the bunny in a box on Harper's lap, and stopped at a field. Quite ceremoniously, the girls said their goodbyes, set the bunny in the shade, and placed a carrot on the ground next to it. It didn't run away, presumably from the fear and shock of being handled and photographed and fawned over, so we left it there and drove away. After I had dropped the kids off, I couldn't help going back to look. Part of me didn't want to, so the story could just end there, but I pulled off anyway and walked a little ways to the spot where we left it. There was the carrot, but no bunny. It was gone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I drove home smiling as I thought about a God who cares for little girls and bunnies, about faith, and about how hopping around somewhere in Queen Creek is a little bunny with bandaids on.<br />
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Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-77144507080324509482011-04-13T10:59:00.002-07:002011-04-13T12:29:13.489-07:00Peachy Mornings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpYp-GNBtZ4G6bvWqxsckk3XWx7Oz9cD37o_6vw-BW7c2-UVPop4rOuzSoR4AcYxcSU594cGSUsUB62aGxwgvdRnmwRtYQc048QJJquXso2rVwf71zOU1nL-NicAKwk9twfbU/s1600/Car_ride_2_tnb.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpYp-GNBtZ4G6bvWqxsckk3XWx7Oz9cD37o_6vw-BW7c2-UVPop4rOuzSoR4AcYxcSU594cGSUsUB62aGxwgvdRnmwRtYQc048QJJquXso2rVwf71zOU1nL-NicAKwk9twfbU/s400/Car_ride_2_tnb.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595152443334249474" /></a><br />I used to be on time for things. I left early, I was rarely in a hurry, and I was never late. I couldn't understand why some people had such a hard time with punctuality. Seemed pretty simple to me. And then I had children.<br /><br />I can't remember the last time that I've heard Matthew strike the first chord of the opening song at a Sunday morning church service. It's not that I don't care. I <span style="font-style:italic;">want</span> to be there. I want to be there on time. But inevitably and invariably, the events that unfold around getting 4 small children who wake up at 7:00am out the door by 7:55am foil my best efforts. And yet, with the optimism (or stupidity) of a bird flying into a plate-glass window, I try again every week.<br /><br />Last Sunday had promise. My son bounded up the stairs at 7:00 sharp, like he always does, a pajama-clad ray of sunshine. Harper shuffled up behind him, half asleep and blanket in tow. A few minutes later Bethany came into the kitchen fully dressed, though with hair that could have resulted from climbing an electric fence. Judah would be waking up soon, and there seemed to be more than enough time for everything to get accomplished. So I'm not sure how it happened, but at 7:58 one child hadn't brushed her hair, another couldn't find her shoes, one had fingernails from the crypt, and the baby was still in the highchair stuffing cheerios into his mouth. Despite my constant prodding, I'd seen icebergs move faster.<br /><br />At this point tensions were elevated and I morphed into drill sergeant Mommy, barking orders and angrily herding the ranks into the minivan. By the time we were on the road we were clearly going to be late and I was no longer in the mood to go to church at all. I was angry at the kids and angry at myself for being angry at the kids. I considered just turning around and going home. What was the point? I knew I wouldn't be able to smile at people with sincerity. I knew I wouldn't be able to focus and truly sing to Jesus. Why bother going to church after the morning we'd had, and with all that anger inside. And yet I didn't want to let it go. I didn’t want to make it right. I just wanted to be mad.<br /><br />So I prayed. I prayed and I preached to myself all the way there, and though it wasn't until we were just a few blocks away, my stony heart was finally melted. Before we got out of the van, I turned around and told the kids I needed to ask for their forgiveness because I had made being on time an idol and as a result, had gotten angry at them. As always they were quick to forgive and I got a humbling hug from each one as they piled out into the parking lot. On the walk to Children's Ministries we had a good discussion about idolatry and how it is the root of all our problems and sin. And by the time I got to church, well after it had started, I was able to sincerely smile and sincerely sing.<br /><br />When it was time to take communion God explained to me what I was supposed to learn that morning. It was OK to come to church a total mess. It was good. It was better, even. What better way to approach the Repairer of all things then in brokenness? What better place to come as a broken person, then into the courts of the Restorer? God's abundant grace was extraordinarily real to me that morning because I walked in knowing that I needed it. Would I have experienced it as richly if I had been on time? If everything had been peachy that morning and there had been no pressure that would squeeze the ugliness inside of me out where it could be seen?<br /><br />I'm all for peachy mornings. I wouldn't mind more of them. But every now and then it's good to have a rotten one, so you can taste the sweetness of grace.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector</span><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">9 To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: 10 “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’<br /> 13 “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’<br /> 14 “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Luke 18:9-14</span>Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-60100072303353570602010-10-17T00:06:00.003-07:002010-10-17T08:49:46.761-07:00Arrival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjti3XPSvCHnq8wyJidCxIndcw2nmNjn7n4Q1XcU2v0Gpntg2k2edbxfOswjAnQKSKreo7_E-NZkginV5M9LkaUdrX6KOsj7U-Dz8RzDx9Gsrz1ST9zF92gUf1s43cSbBwYU-Rb/s1600/plane.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjti3XPSvCHnq8wyJidCxIndcw2nmNjn7n4Q1XcU2v0Gpntg2k2edbxfOswjAnQKSKreo7_E-NZkginV5M9LkaUdrX6KOsj7U-Dz8RzDx9Gsrz1ST9zF92gUf1s43cSbBwYU-Rb/s400/plane.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529042717636476434" /></a><br />*This is a transmission from Songwriter Nerd Camp, intended for fellow songwriter nerds. If you are not one of us, kindly ignore this post and carry on.*<br /><br />We often refer to Write About Jesus as a family and that is truly what it is. And in the family of WAJ, we all enter at different stages of songwriting life. Many hear of WAJ very early on in their writing careers and are just babies when they first don the orange lanyard, others are seasoned veterans who have cut their teeth elsewhere and show up at WAJ as fully developed, functional family members. I, however, along with many of my favorite people at WAJ, came in somewhere around the 7th grade with braces and pimples, awkward and insecure. That was six years ago, and for some reason this year I looked around and realized that we truly have grown up at WAJ, like the title of the panel that I missed. Like a senior class in cap and gown, I look at the people I have walked alongside in this journey and I see the growth and maturity that only time can bring, yet still knowing that we have so much more to learn.<br /><br />On the way to the airport for departure, Sean and I talked about what it means to “arrive” in songwriting. I am so glad we had that conversation, because one of the biggest things I took home this year was the understanding that, unless I redefine for myself the concept of arrival, it will always remain just out of reach. So perhaps there are multiple arrivals along the way. Perhaps I have arrived in many ways even this year. Maybe I have “arrived” when....<br /><br />….I can relate to people for who they are and not what they can do for me.<br /><br />When I can write not to impress a particular person but to excel in my craft for my joy and God's glory.<br /><br />When I can sit in a 2 hour writing session and not get beyond a first verse, but leave neither irritated nor discouraged because I have built a relationship with another like-minded brother or sister in Christ.<br /><br />When I am on the spot and I am able to stop my heart from pounding out of my chest in that moment by saying to myself “my worth is in Christ..... my worth is in Christ...” because I truly believe it.<br /><br />When I can step back and look at my life and realize that I am in fact living my dream. The moments of discontent come because, for some sick reason, I continually push my dream out of reach rather than enjoy where I am and thank the Lord for His blessing. I'm all for challenging myself and pressing onward, but I have found that if my motivation for pushing harder is void of joy, or has any root in bitterness or jealously or an arrogant sense of entitlement, then songwriting has become an idol that I must hasten to pull down.<br /><br />It's funny as I look at that list and see that none of them have anything to do with the craft itself. And isn't that what they've been trying to tell us all along? It's about relationships. I guess they know that they're talking about. They who have guided us so patiently through our fumbling adolescent years of slow discovery. They are more than mentors, because WAJ is more than a conference. It is like a family, and they are like parents, giving generously at their own expense, reaching down to pull us up, and hopefully experiencing the joy and fulfillment that comes from seeing the fruit of their sacrifice. To them, I want to say thank you for your rich investment in us. Because very few people arrive anywhere without someone first showing them the way.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-14104772524455659252010-03-03T06:59:00.005-07:002010-03-03T07:48:19.231-07:00The Braselton Family Update Quiz<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4gxuVYeLERfMIG4CdC_SwrgwWZGsmB3cJSkUN80K8PAQdKR4sVf25ItNgtEffJqelnTUBtbAH4gpXQiJa_5x4bUk0sqRpQ5SMiKkNZMEWm8T8NgXrZIYAE94s5mpoThwWbfK/s1600-h/quiz.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4gxuVYeLERfMIG4CdC_SwrgwWZGsmB3cJSkUN80K8PAQdKR4sVf25ItNgtEffJqelnTUBtbAH4gpXQiJa_5x4bUk0sqRpQ5SMiKkNZMEWm8T8NgXrZIYAE94s5mpoThwWbfK/s400/quiz.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444419484255164706" /></a><br />This is a post that I've had on my list to write for months now, but just haven't gotten around to it. When we starting telling people that we were pregnant, Matthew said I'd better update the blog and fill folks in on what our adoption plans are and all that good stuff. I agreed, but thought it would make for a pretty dry post both to write and to read, so I have been putting it off until now. But in the 30 seconds or so of typing this opening paragraph, I have decided not to resign this post to such a fate. Instead of a “press release” I'm going to make this a short quiz that anyone who is interested can participate in. You'll still get the low-down, but I won't drop off to sleep while editing my own post. I'll also mail a free “Wondrous Things” CD to the first person (other than Luke Simmons) to get 100% correct. Good luck!<br /><br />The Braselton Family Update Quiz<br /><br />1. Matthew and Kristie's latest addition to the family is due on:<br /><br />a) St. Patrick's Day<br />b) Memorial Day<br />c) Independence Day<br />d) Labor Day<br /><br />2. The decision to have another biological child came about when:<br /><br />a) Matthew and Kristie found out they were pregnant<br />b) Kristie got the baby bug and wore Matthew down<br />c) Matthew got the baby bug and wore Kristie down<br />d) Bethany and Harper begged for a baby<br /><br />3. When Matthew and Kristie told their caseworker that they were pregnant, she informed them that:<br /><br />a) She was very excited for us<br />b) Agency policy states that a pregnant couple cannot adopt until one year after their baby is born.<br />c) She will put our home study on hold and all of the paperwork that we've done will still be good to go with a few updates<br />d) All of the above<br /><br />4. When Matthew and Kristie heard what she had to say, they:<br /><br />a) Flew into a fit of rage<br />b) Were disappointed, but knew that God was in control of their family.<br />c) Decided to switch agencies and pursue international adoption<br />d) Booked a Caribbean cruise with the money in their adoption savings account<br /><br />5. The plan for the Braselton family's adoption is now:<br /><br />a) Have the new baby and see where our family is at a year from then<br />b) Switch tracks to international adoption where there are no waiting policies<br />c) Put the new baby up for adoption so we can adopt sooner<br />d) Adopt a highway instead<br /><br />6. The Braseltons were planning on adopting a sibling group of 2 or 3, but now:<br /><br />a) They want to adopt a sibling group of no less than 4 in hopes of replacing Jon and Kate on cable television.<br />b) They plan to adopt only one child<br />c) Their plans have not changed<br />d) They are in a "wait and see" stage for the next few yearsKristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-14325542832634274532010-01-13T14:25:00.002-07:002010-01-13T14:34:07.867-07:00Eight CentsLast night we told the kids about the earthquake and prayed for Haiti before we went to bed. Bethany had a special connection with Haiti because she had collected a jar of spare change for them last year after learning they were the poorest country in the world. Today at lunch we prayed for them again, and I told the girls that Mommy and Daddy were going to give some money to help Haiti and that they were welcome to give some of their money too if that was something they felt like they wanted to do.<br /><br />Both girls said right away that they did want to help, and made a dash for their piggy banks. They both came down with hands full of change. Harper handed me a handful of coins she had fished out from her impressive stash (she's quite the saver), and Bethany came down with several coins, all the money she had left (she's quite the spender). Harper gave me her contribution and Bethany pulled out 4 quarters and put them in my hand. “I want to give them a dollar,” she explained, and nodding to the nickel and three pennies that remained in her hand, “I'm going to keep this much.”<br /><br />“Thank you,” I told her. “It's very generous of you.” Then she asked if we could take a trip to Haiti so we could see what was happening over there. I told her we couldn't, but that I could show her pictures on the computer. She wanted very much to see them, so we sat down on the couch and watched a news clip from NBC. The girls stared silently at the images of collapsed buildings, women crying, and streets full of injured people. “That's so sad...” Harper commented when it was over. “We need to give them the money NOW!”<br /><br />“We can!” I said, signing onto the Food for the Hungry website. When I got to the space to type in the dollar amount, I started to add up the girls' donations and the grown-up donation.<br /><br />“Wait.” Bethany said. Then she opened her hand and carefully set the other eight cents onto the laptop. “I want to give the rest.”<br /><br />I smiled silently, drew her in for a hug and kissed her on the head, then adjusted the total to reflect the additional eight cents. Together, the girls pressed the “checkout now” button and the coins still warm from their hot little hands crossed the ocean and landed in the streets of Haiti. And my heart welled up with the hope that my little girls might learn from me the joy of giving sacrificially, and that I might learn the same from them.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-68476019060866708662009-09-24T06:43:00.005-07:002009-09-24T07:15:27.080-07:00More Thoughts on Mommyhood<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rqma8CS9NPoiPfCr-rgSbB8E-PwmHw9QpncfThLlfmt4UeRzwQZgRidP0W-9x2dR_5eTjbjvL2FXlvd3K49kN8DbiagdzA8vqmBQ_Dpjlr62eQvLyzOXD6hSdpUnu-kwa2O3/s1600-h/sahm-comic-mom-s-salary-being-a-stay-at-home-mom-44783_600_399.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rqma8CS9NPoiPfCr-rgSbB8E-PwmHw9QpncfThLlfmt4UeRzwQZgRidP0W-9x2dR_5eTjbjvL2FXlvd3K49kN8DbiagdzA8vqmBQ_Dpjlr62eQvLyzOXD6hSdpUnu-kwa2O3/s400/sahm-comic-mom-s-salary-being-a-stay-at-home-mom-44783_600_399.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385036909929660130" /></a><br /><br />Studying 1 Corinthians 13 this morning, applying it to mommyhood. Here's a few paragraphs off my page that I want to keep in mind today.<br /><br />(this is excerpted from the KBNIV)<br /><br />If I have obedient, well-behaved children and everyone tells us what good parents we are, but we have not love, it is emptiness and means nothing.<br /><br />If I get everywhere on time and no children bother me while I'm checking my email, and if I have a clean house and serve great meals and get lots and lots done in a day, but I do not love my kids, then none of it matters, and I am nothing.<br /><br />If I have a vast ministry that impacts many and I accomplish great things in my lifetime, but I did not love my children, then I missed my first importance and I gain nothing.<br /><br />Love is patient, love is kind. It does not wish its kids were like someone else's when they are embarrassing or take credit for how wonderful they are when they are charming and sweet. It is not condescending and it is courteous, even to small children who won't call you out on it. It does not hold the schedule or the to do list above the people they were meant to serve. It does not walk around like a grumpy martyr for all the things it has to give up for these people. It does not discipline in anger or feel a sense of retribution for itself, but rejoices when the truth is expounded to its children and God is honored and revered. Love holds up under the constant pestering, it gives its children the benefit of the doubt, it hopes great things for them and works to that end, and it withstands every offense. In every moment choose to love, and it will never let you down.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-66681998683421484322009-08-31T14:08:00.002-07:002009-08-31T14:21:15.968-07:00Quick Update<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr748IPB7kiPEXqnNYe4EADJqpuTdwtF3eXTcbjkrnSY-U99V0Mir5b51c_vxkc6uFGAiYVRDjdpTvTRnnp_ER0KRPVHO2Kqm89uTAUA8DnXUvvSkfG39DZRIt_dFwe71CWHWw/s1600-h/First+Day+od+School!+023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr748IPB7kiPEXqnNYe4EADJqpuTdwtF3eXTcbjkrnSY-U99V0Mir5b51c_vxkc6uFGAiYVRDjdpTvTRnnp_ER0KRPVHO2Kqm89uTAUA8DnXUvvSkfG39DZRIt_dFwe71CWHWw/s400/First+Day+od+School!+023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376241049946583666" /></a><br />Well, we finished our PS MAPPS classes! We are officially deemed worthy to raise children by the state of Arizona. Now, we just wait for a call!<br /><br />We are currently camping out in the basement of a wonderful couple from our church until our house in completed, so probably a month or two.<br /><br />The kids are loving preschool and pre-K so far and just keep growing up so fast! Bethany turns 5 on Saturday, so we are preparing for the Big Barbie Birthday Bash. Working on this year's piñata... it's turning out really neat! I'll have to post pictures of it before Saturday. Sigh... born for destruction.<br /><br />No time for much creative writing here on the ol' blog. I'm trying to channel any time and energy that I have for that sort if thing into songwriting. Besides, does anyone even read blogs anymore? Seems to me like they're on their way out. But I just saw "Julie and Julia" which was really fun and reminded me that "Oh, right! I have a blog!"<br /><br />Have you ever been playing hide and seek with your kids and you're hiding and they're just not finding you? And you stay there, hardly breathing, legs cramping up, thinking what a great hiding place you've found only to eventually discover that they've long since moved on to another activity and forgotten all about you?<br /><br />Fun times.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-20971145630576245712009-07-20T21:08:00.002-07:002009-07-20T21:33:26.953-07:00Stayin' AliveAlright, I admit it. I'm just posting to keep a pulse, however faint, in this blog. Not a whole lot going on in the adoption realm, just working our way through the last classes we need to be totally certified. We're still very excited but it seems like the more we learn, the scarier the outlook. It's good though- kind of tests your calling.<br /><br />I was reading in Philippians one this morning and came away with a cool new perspective on my family. Paul is talking to the church and he says(paraphrase) "I thank my God for you because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now... for you are all partakers with me in grace." I asked several questions as I studied the passage, one of which was "How can I apply this passage to my family?"<br /><br />The Spirit totally applied it to remind me that I am not only raising my children, I am raising my future partners in the gospel. What a huge and awesome responsibility! How I raise them, treat them, talk to them, and train them should reflect that. It's so easy to settle for raising happy, healthy, safe, smart, polite children. But we've been given so much a greater a task than that. What kind of people would I want my future partners in ministry to be? What would I want them to know? What kind of example would I have wanted for them to have? <br /><br />Also, everyone in my home is a fellow partaker of grace. We are all needy, weak, and messed up people who live each moment on the grace of God. I need to live with them in light of that, as one who is given copious amounts of grace each day.<br /><br />The thunder is rolling outside. I love that sound when I'm snug indoors. The kids and I are off to Flagstaff tomorrow with some friends to escape the triple digits. And that's all she wrote.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-75688853277046333642009-06-21T06:31:00.005-07:002009-06-21T07:06:21.111-07:00Starting Our Classes and Benjamin Turning 45<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63Dj06KfVkQg5dRCrNzCzZzg2XS-FbVMSvlmQ1Eyi8sczZ3eV8Bxz2kpuNPFGc8qIKbs2A57Gkp6gspuYcbXsb8VIU_4VhQ6Posj_GLeyohmG6JCiOv7uypHNq2lLbhVfRR7q/s1600-h/Benji's+B-Day+072.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63Dj06KfVkQg5dRCrNzCzZzg2XS-FbVMSvlmQ1Eyi8sczZ3eV8Bxz2kpuNPFGc8qIKbs2A57Gkp6gspuYcbXsb8VIU_4VhQ6Posj_GLeyohmG6JCiOv7uypHNq2lLbhVfRR7q/s400/Benji's+B-Day+072.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349781951453888450" /></a><br />We started our PSMAPPS foster care and adoption certification classes a couple of weeks ago! It feels good to finally be doing something toward the goal again. So every Thursday night a beloved friend comes over at 5:45pm and watches the kids until we return sometime around 10:00. I think the classes will be really good, and I'm looking forward to learning more about how to deal with some of the issues that our kids will be dealing with. It's funny- the point of the class is to equip you for what you will face, but from what I've heard, by the end of it you feel much less confident in your ability to handle what it coming your way. I suppose that's a good thing, though, to realize that on your own you are unable. Makes you run to Jesus all the more.<br /><br />One of the things that I have found most helpful in the first couple of classes is talking about different children and different cases. The names are changed, but the situations and issues are real. It's been good to kind of put some flesh on who these kids are, what they've been through, and what they will need when they come into our home. It's crazy- kids who were physically abused, sexually abused and neglected, kids who start fires or run away, kids who were encouraged to use drugs by their parents, kids who were abandoned by their parents at supermarkets, girls who come in with children of their own- and to think: There's 10,000 of them. In Arizona alone. The need is so overwhelming. But it is encouraging to know that God fights for and loves the orphan, and there are way more then 10,000 families in his Church.<br /><br />Days like yesterday, celebrating Benjamin's 2nd birthday, make us want to do this all the more. To provide a loving, functional, gospel-centered family to kids who may have never seen one. Matthew took Benjamin shopping for "boy toys" yesterday morning(since we still have an overwhelmingly pink-and-princess play room at this point) and as he was walking out of Wal-Mart with his little boy he was struck with emotion over how blessed he is and how blessed Benji is to be able to experience little things like that.<br /><br />In the afternoon we had a great little birthday party for Benjamin at Peter Piper Pizza where he got everything he needs to literally become his hero- Bob the Builder. And for some reason, every time you ask him how old he is, he says "45". We have no idea why, but we think it's hilarious. I posted a video of his day <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-j1NLKHKJLM&feature=channel_page">here</a>.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-71101244270541957742009-05-30T16:30:00.005-07:002009-05-30T16:42:19.318-07:00The Secrets of Songwriting Revealed! (not really)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC4svvcuKxmyQ7inNpwoiaSeHpC1_ONwAc4S2T11VryiC-dB65JDJPJjD2ifmVwd7TeRpkxztU5p6UNMHkZqPCmZSUH4sEZnunN1GG6iK6Mbqr7lPz0WI2ZZ9PEoK-wUKzmY8j/s1600-h/retreat2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC4svvcuKxmyQ7inNpwoiaSeHpC1_ONwAc4S2T11VryiC-dB65JDJPJjD2ifmVwd7TeRpkxztU5p6UNMHkZqPCmZSUH4sEZnunN1GG6iK6Mbqr7lPz0WI2ZZ9PEoK-wUKzmY8j/s400/retreat2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341764526171445522" /></a><br />It's been over a week since I returned from my trip to a Songwriting Retreat in Indiana, but I am just now getting around to blogging about it. It was my 3rd year there and I would say my best year. It was non-stop writing as usual, but this year I had just an extra measure of energy to make it through some late nights, some unexpected co-writes, and literally running up and down the halls to meet up with people on time. Counting songs that I finished up from last year, I came home with 6 new ones, and was apparently dubbed “The Little Writing Giant”. I wonder if I'll get my own infommerical. Anyway, it was such a good time and I wrote some really good songs and hung out with some really good people. The food was great as usual, and this year's t-shirts were great: “More ballads in a weekend then a whole season of Idol”. Yes, t-shirts. As my friend Allie puts it, it's basically songwriter nerd camp.<br /><br />Nerdy as it is, a lot of people ask me about this mysterious process of writing a song. The most common question I get is “Do you write the melody first or the lyric?” I tell people it happens all different ways, but when you throw another writer or two into the mix, things get even more interesting.<br /><br />The basic process, at least as I have experienced it, is you sit down in the writer's room with the other person or people and spend some time just shooting the breeze or getting to know each other if you don't already. Then you start throwing out ideas of what to write about. Both writers are ideally prepared with a few good ideas, some even partially developed, and after a little while both people can generally settle on one idea that strikes them each with enough passion and vision for the song to go ahead and “chase it”, as we say.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhfpC-mlJgImtrRVwQkpNt_cSt-1vDZAai6u5XDvVamddZkqXZKMNYFij6-ppE05FrsINWFVk25SykmRU93SzFZP9pDQQGQR15RuGQX1RF6GlxstR2FQqJ3e3iOFBsehedg-R8/s1600-h/retreat1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhfpC-mlJgImtrRVwQkpNt_cSt-1vDZAai6u5XDvVamddZkqXZKMNYFij6-ppE05FrsINWFVk25SykmRU93SzFZP9pDQQGQR15RuGQX1RF6GlxstR2FQqJ3e3iOFBsehedg-R8/s400/retreat1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341764525232391442" /></a><br />Every song is built around what is called the hook. The hook is usually that one line, often times the title, that just gets you when you hear it or sticks with you when the song is over. Ideally you would start with the hook and build a chorus around it, then come up with a couple of verses to explain and set up the chorus. If the song needs a bridge it's typically added after the rest has been written, and inevitably there will be some tweaking along the way. Depending on who you're writing with, the melody could be written right along with the lyric or you could end up with a completed lyric to hand over to a melody writer. Regardless of how it happens, the goal of that 3 hours or so is to birth a new song into the world.<br /><br />Mysterious is a good way to describe it. It is never cut and dry. What I described was a sort of normal, standard, baseline for the process. But really, anything can happen. Sometimes it's miserable. Sometimes you laugh until your sides ache. Sometimes the Spirit is so present in the room you feel you could reach out and touch Him. I write solo most of the time, so I'm still relatively new to co-writing. But I'm so thankful that once a year for four days, I get to indulge in that mysterious melding of minds and muse.<br /><br />PS- A note on those pictures... Each night we performed the songs that we'd written that day for the rest of the group, and that's what those pictures are from. So just to clarify, we do not write with microphones.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-84074032186719517412009-05-15T15:40:00.009-07:002009-05-15T16:50:06.460-07:00Scrapbooking and Pseudo DeathIt's hard to blog after you've begun to get sparser and sparser with posts. You feel like you need to have something significant to say before you're eligible to write again. Kind of like when you haven't prayed in a while and you feel like you'd better have something good to say to God before coming before Him. But both notions are quite silly so I will post with or without significant thought.<br /><br />We made the announcement last Sunday that we are going to join Luke at Second Mile Church, a plant of East Valley. Matthew will be coming on as the Associate Pastor and will also lead the music there. We are so excited! A part of our hearts have been there since the church began, so it feels really good to finally get to be a real part of it. I will continue with my single mom's group and with Women's Ministries at East Valley, but other then that I plan to fight my propensity to jump into much else with adoption on the horizon. I am guessing I will need everything I have here at home, at least for a while. Or perhaps for the next 18 years.<br /><br />I just finished up a little scrapbook for our adoption. It tells the story of our family to help the state make a good match. I had so much fun doing it. I also committed not to spend much money on it, and I was able to use a lot of my leftover stuff from my previous 2 books. I love what little scrapbooking I've done, but was so difficult to try to capture our family (and our extended family) in ten 6" by 6" pages and to decide which pictures to use. I'm very happy with how it turned out, though. I hope I get it back!<br /><br />So it has been an odd, at times surreal couple of months with the switch to Second Mile. We have been joking since Sunday's announcement that you'd think Matthew had died or something. Everyone has been coming up to him and saying all of the nice things that people think but don't usually say until your funeral. He's been extra careful to keep the valve on his head open lest it fill and get too big. It has been cool, though, to hear some of the fruit of your work and ministry in the lives of the people you shepherd and care about. In case I don't, I should take pictures of it. Maybe I will post them!<br /><br />Tonight we are off to see "Star Trek", which Matthew consistently calls "Star Wars" which drives me crazy. Right now he's sleeping off a morning at the zoo, but in an hour and a half I will get him all to myself for the rest of the day. :)<br /><br />Here's the book:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTJjsmFjJoKfeHofyc-o-m1KCXJdeiGFVxXhyphenhyphen7gHrlNaCn26Ecskg_pcANecAonOMRmE1DrdCmh1GN6mGV_iyv_fSS1umYNPHRwNzEnIbZUDIM9vxL6in-IlentvBGOWeBobc/s1600-h/055.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTJjsmFjJoKfeHofyc-o-m1KCXJdeiGFVxXhyphenhyphen7gHrlNaCn26Ecskg_pcANecAonOMRmE1DrdCmh1GN6mGV_iyv_fSS1umYNPHRwNzEnIbZUDIM9vxL6in-IlentvBGOWeBobc/s400/055.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336202000549783842" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mn0bep4qFOaRS5lAI685Qt6OASvO82K9g3u_m7P6MZWXufetUfXeZeP-WCz6ZJ-oNlCnRbIvpc29ZH5sp-e_KCoaKp9E2u1Y09vrDTbK6Shi4zcXLAm_XPcz2zusY87fLKUd/s1600-h/book21.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mn0bep4qFOaRS5lAI685Qt6OASvO82K9g3u_m7P6MZWXufetUfXeZeP-WCz6ZJ-oNlCnRbIvpc29ZH5sp-e_KCoaKp9E2u1Y09vrDTbK6Shi4zcXLAm_XPcz2zusY87fLKUd/s400/book21.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336201991621604690" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzY5oCDAXWsMOmSwmacE8mShhB1O79zK7FfIZPgJEHywYAbJGpmlTbJFO9J6boZ1IWjvRaUUPojVvlLoFZO4v02AB8xxfTms0WKcjiB2Fs7LlttQid1g_lqohai5XrNQrV6R5/s1600-h/book3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzY5oCDAXWsMOmSwmacE8mShhB1O79zK7FfIZPgJEHywYAbJGpmlTbJFO9J6boZ1IWjvRaUUPojVvlLoFZO4v02AB8xxfTms0WKcjiB2Fs7LlttQid1g_lqohai5XrNQrV6R5/s400/book3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200905345060642" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5J9rpA0Y-c21YVIa8EefohXtdJnQ6mhdtxMjJ2gnn-BrANiNAFPpeqr8C3Bzl0oNBiVezFnXepbzEptVEr5bTdnEZZ_4BkGNDaLw3XYahCuAoT-Al0C3OzJ54G1ERyWW96lfS/s1600-h/book4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5J9rpA0Y-c21YVIa8EefohXtdJnQ6mhdtxMjJ2gnn-BrANiNAFPpeqr8C3Bzl0oNBiVezFnXepbzEptVEr5bTdnEZZ_4BkGNDaLw3XYahCuAoT-Al0C3OzJ54G1ERyWW96lfS/s400/book4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200902921549266" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmhvjrY-XDP6rAPSjOmjDA6n_Aud1JqEBcpt0n8lxrC5h8hS2ckLTsf0q62PPGhNEWx5XaPfuCEw1_dMnRCkKGhRi3r08T5r64kg8scHaYaCkqwUs0J8in16TUmE3S0Uc1cY9/s1600-h/book5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmhvjrY-XDP6rAPSjOmjDA6n_Aud1JqEBcpt0n8lxrC5h8hS2ckLTsf0q62PPGhNEWx5XaPfuCEw1_dMnRCkKGhRi3r08T5r64kg8scHaYaCkqwUs0J8in16TUmE3S0Uc1cY9/s400/book5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200897266074866" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1QS6zMU6x-g4-BMNF9bEAxcmEECQozEpE6IAgvm3H56rprn0Z7V4dVOjMHX6VdOA7jVl2utEP7avL7jlh6BVwszmTdYRRCV2zPdqGCe6O7WAcXrLbhG5YGTogPl1lzQC9L3N/s1600-h/book6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1QS6zMU6x-g4-BMNF9bEAxcmEECQozEpE6IAgvm3H56rprn0Z7V4dVOjMHX6VdOA7jVl2utEP7avL7jlh6BVwszmTdYRRCV2zPdqGCe6O7WAcXrLbhG5YGTogPl1lzQC9L3N/s400/book6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200896215762882" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_R_hjdcl2xz6zXnlHO1IZdIUcehD47EyMPnUi67jbKxUAN1wq4iEmXHbbmJyE6V8jdJ4S_AhAmlxo4_VkoVX6AkN8WyUimfA5wnZ1lXvjDra2QLv8IfAKWx7jFRHZ-toz7sGC/s1600-h/book7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_R_hjdcl2xz6zXnlHO1IZdIUcehD47EyMPnUi67jbKxUAN1wq4iEmXHbbmJyE6V8jdJ4S_AhAmlxo4_VkoVX6AkN8WyUimfA5wnZ1lXvjDra2QLv8IfAKWx7jFRHZ-toz7sGC/s400/book7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200893110762162" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxyI-SUZ2L9b09zcfovGl5ipF2l3z8rYanUvSJpDcJzOSfN_X9-he7jpM0pR2xPdtwgyPQSM8p17_CoHwnVOnPCPNN3fU7TbDDY6LDmmyqWpW0M1z44IBEljs4nhlZf2ePC1S/s1600-h/book8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxyI-SUZ2L9b09zcfovGl5ipF2l3z8rYanUvSJpDcJzOSfN_X9-he7jpM0pR2xPdtwgyPQSM8p17_CoHwnVOnPCPNN3fU7TbDDY6LDmmyqWpW0M1z44IBEljs4nhlZf2ePC1S/s400/book8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200667250531938" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzsMW2F6es5vX6NN6sjACn4k3ScXUWOTKUfWpSQvWh-c8mqLrDJLscXdtwWN3rh-UyAuXNX9GNc_4i9DYUew_FsUsdlj62lnI9zJ2gYG89p-5dOBlrwmm0x8QroTUrWNp8CYz/s1600-h/book9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzsMW2F6es5vX6NN6sjACn4k3ScXUWOTKUfWpSQvWh-c8mqLrDJLscXdtwWN3rh-UyAuXNX9GNc_4i9DYUew_FsUsdlj62lnI9zJ2gYG89p-5dOBlrwmm0x8QroTUrWNp8CYz/s400/book9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200663790133858" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-693gNrZybfStfRDaHl0fc7_pRqFsNU-IGxn4BfHeVhZEFKCNaIemAFoDh3Z3ACJMLUsbgTGUV3ipZRuO6GvVBMkrJKQhIbezXOBo6fH3egouF9_TkH7UNCRWjlNbDvDeLDg/s1600-h/book10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-693gNrZybfStfRDaHl0fc7_pRqFsNU-IGxn4BfHeVhZEFKCNaIemAFoDh3Z3ACJMLUsbgTGUV3ipZRuO6GvVBMkrJKQhIbezXOBo6fH3egouF9_TkH7UNCRWjlNbDvDeLDg/s400/book10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200666675485410" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPwWS3drJoAlSKSfUBk8bHqH03i7XJhLvKPFQ5KJgMJ_z6EJhFJ7Q0JcUPp5S5NudjGziu3v1b31PAsvtIjHoPNybxjRSFZlg3hrG4fnAee-HTHWMCUjN1TyKTA9jTxOzkD94/s1600-h/book11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPwWS3drJoAlSKSfUBk8bHqH03i7XJhLvKPFQ5KJgMJ_z6EJhFJ7Q0JcUPp5S5NudjGziu3v1b31PAsvtIjHoPNybxjRSFZlg3hrG4fnAee-HTHWMCUjN1TyKTA9jTxOzkD94/s400/book11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200658938062322" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYEAAaal9fwl_X8L_B8msbiDIN1f_tAwwrEKMfdwmWq__F63BxWzqvj_tUvLNVxLsGReDCd5t7EEgHPvZjBQK3bUmpXiabkR9M1IagGqLgCTtQVg3LgKa5kL7ovljVc24kR7v/s1600-h/book12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYEAAaal9fwl_X8L_B8msbiDIN1f_tAwwrEKMfdwmWq__F63BxWzqvj_tUvLNVxLsGReDCd5t7EEgHPvZjBQK3bUmpXiabkR9M1IagGqLgCTtQVg3LgKa5kL7ovljVc24kR7v/s400/book12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336200660972512018" /></a>Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-9270100471837337952009-04-20T16:33:00.012-07:002009-04-21T15:22:35.953-07:00Nashville in a Nutshell. (A Really Long Nutshell)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9uUYQZzEPnj4_JqBXt22EwaCbX7FHn_G2Fujlj5HIFH_qax4_NEJ_uM-Y18qVL3ut0LNlicJyqlupOWdpBVUuWlnIbPf2NC8blJuz0_yJkfUSg82ZD72ihzwFt0N5HjzUJ5RH/s1600-h/Nashville+013.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9uUYQZzEPnj4_JqBXt22EwaCbX7FHn_G2Fujlj5HIFH_qax4_NEJ_uM-Y18qVL3ut0LNlicJyqlupOWdpBVUuWlnIbPf2NC8blJuz0_yJkfUSg82ZD72ihzwFt0N5HjzUJ5RH/s320/Nashville+013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327269775221316338" /></a><br />Okay, so Matthew says I have to post about my trip to Nashville even though I think it will be Dullsville to everyone except songwriters. So, as my writer-friend Allie says on her blog: Warning- Songwriter nerd talk ahead! Anyone not interested feel free to check out now.<br /><br />I flew into Nashville Thursday afternoon. It was only my second trip, so I still got a kick out of the stages set up with live music throughout the airport. Nothing like a little Willie Nelson cover tune while you wait for your baggage. The Avis people informed me that the coupon I had booked the reservation with required that I also rent a GPS unit. This is exactly the kind of thing that I would end up throwing out the window on the freeway but I took it anyway so that I could use my coupon. The woman said I could choose between a 4 door sedan or a PT Cruiser. Obvious choice for someone who normally drives a minivan.<br /><br />I called my first co-writer Kevin and told him I was on my way. I punched in the address on the GPS and followed the prompts. Once I was sure I was in the wrong place I called Kevin back. "You're where?!?" he asked incredulously. Strike one on the GPS. He talked me through as I backtracked 20 minutes of freeway miles and finally arrived at my publisher Randy's studio. Kevin, Randy and I worked on a song that we had already started, so work was quick and successful. We finished up a Christmas invitational song to fill the slot at the end of a musical. It turned out very nice and I'm looking forward to hearing the finished product.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQUpzhVIMswKYFtbEFcu6WpTweCi0x2zGgsQNbyOHFLI_NmyNiwFZwjzHjqqUvlFMtpEW-cgW4Ayg24QL4CcVvUsB3mxPEeo1NORHgqaftUhjLVi1JN-xjZPx59qNypJ3wvNhg/s1600-h/Nashville+002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQUpzhVIMswKYFtbEFcu6WpTweCi0x2zGgsQNbyOHFLI_NmyNiwFZwjzHjqqUvlFMtpEW-cgW4Ayg24QL4CcVvUsB3mxPEeo1NORHgqaftUhjLVi1JN-xjZPx59qNypJ3wvNhg/s320/Nashville+002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327269760618758866" /></a><br />I grabbed some good southern grub and headed to my friend Ericka's house where I was staying. Her neighborhood was so beautiful- rolling green hills, brick and stone houses, and dogwoods blooming everywhere. I found her house just fine without the GPS, using my preprinted mapqwest directions. I met her family and her 7 year old daughter that I had displaced from her room for 3 nights, who showed me no animosity in spite of it. We hung out in the living room and watched Nanny 911 until we felt really good about ourselves as parents and I retired to my room.<br /><br />Friday morning I headed to a co-write that had been set up by a friend with Caleb, a writer I'd never met. He was a very talented piano player and melody writer and we wrote well together while his cat, called Mouse, sat indifferently on the window sill. Two and a half hours later we had a song that we both really liked about trusting the sovereignty of God and not always needing to understand what He is doing in times of trial in our lives. Yet another song about suffering from someone who has yet to know it firsthand. But it is coming, I'm sure.<br /><br />Straight from there I went to my friend Dennis' studio and gave him a country lyric that he put a melody to. We had a good time and came away with a completed work tape which is always a wonderful thing. Then it was off to Randy's studio again for a Writer's Night which is basically where we eat dinner together and then go around and each play a song. I love those things. I had some great food and heard some great songs and came away feeling creatively energized. Stayed up way too late that night forgetting that I was two hours later then Arizona, but once I did go to bed I slept great.<br /><br />This is getting sooooo long, but I don't want to have two posts on this so I'll just push on through for whoever is still awake. Saturday was a writers workshop at Randy's studio where we had breakfast and several very talented and insightful men imparted creative wisdom to us. Then we ate lunch, then some more wisdom, then on to one more co-write before the end of the day. I met up with my friend Phil and we chased a Mary song forever but really didn't end up getting anywhere. But I had a great time talking with him and it was good to stretch the creative muscles for a while. I tried the GPS again to find my way home. I was on Commerce between 7th ave and 9th ave. It told me to turn on 8th ave. So I turned on 9th. "Re-cal-cu-la-ting...." I cruise past Church Street waiting for my next instructions and it pipes up. "Turn left on Church street". Needless to say, the unit spent the remainder of the trip in the glove box.<br /><br />Sunday morning I woke up to rain tapping on the window pane and tried chasing Mary again. This time I think I caught her. At 11:00am I met my publisher and his wife at their church which is the oldest church in Franklin. It is a super old-school Episcopal church that was used during the civil war as a hospital and a horse stable. You could see the marks on the walls where the horse troughs were hammered in. It was a beautiful church and, as I expected, the service was quite different from what I'm accustomed to at home. All the clergy wore robes and people carried stuff on golden poles down the aisle and we sang from a hymnal and read from a liturgy and there was a secret code that I never figured out when at random times everyone but me would cross themselves simultaneously. I felt rather out of place, but it was cool to see a church that worships differently, especially seeing all that they do to reach out to their surrounding world.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-F72cxct6t1-aYVTA6PNLAfHoalDFiWMXRnllOBcB8341T7uGa0ENCYvcsHCk-Q6RCf-47Ca5uJA_jO8RiFSqIbUppOsHHt-CZrtGQErE0la5nlPH6pTndxRLYcwtPmaBHe5f/s1600-h/Nashville+009.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-F72cxct6t1-aYVTA6PNLAfHoalDFiWMXRnllOBcB8341T7uGa0ENCYvcsHCk-Q6RCf-47Ca5uJA_jO8RiFSqIbUppOsHHt-CZrtGQErE0la5nlPH6pTndxRLYcwtPmaBHe5f/s320/Nashville+009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327269764153486674" /></a><br />After church they took me out as promised for my authentic southern fried chicken. It was great. Even the corn was battered and fried. We finished up with plenty of time for me to get to the airport. I said goodbye to them and went back to Ericka's house to send a few more emails and stuff everything into my backpack. At the airport I grabbed a sandwich for the flight (no onions out of consideration for my fellow passengers) and a stuffed screaming monkey wearing a Nashville t-shirt for the kids. I spent the majority of the flight working on a song based off of a series a pastor friend of mine is preaching and made quite a bit of progress. We landed 10 minutes early and my dad drove me back to home sweet home.<br /><br />Trip Totals<br />Days in Nashville: 3 1/2<br />Co-writes: 4<br />Songs Completed: 4 1/2<br />Pounds Gained: Yet to be DeterminedKristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-69910127350654745112009-04-08T14:58:00.003-07:002009-04-08T16:11:23.796-07:00Inside OutThis morning I went to get the diaper bag ready to go when I realized that it smelled funny, so I emptied out the contents and threw it in the washing machine before heading to church. When I got home I began to transfer the wet load into the dryer and I checked out the bag. I was disappointed to find that it still smelled, and now it had some kind of mush flecked on the outside. I followed the trail to a forgotten compartment deep inside the bag and found what I have pretty confidently identified as the remains of a Nutrgrain bar.<br /><br />Before I re-washed the entire load, I knew I had to get the stuff out of the diaper bag. At first I tried to just dump it out into the trash can without actually having to look at or touch the substance, but I found wet Nutragrain bar to be quite tenacious. Next I got a paper towel, reached inside with crinkled nose, and gingerly tried to extract it, much like I remove chicken giblets. This method was successful in getting much of the mush, but there were still colonies of it clinging to crevices and hiding in folds of fabric. Finally I sucked it up and did what I should have done in the beginning. I opened up the bag and turned it inside out, totally exposing the liquefied cereal bar and enabling me to see and reach it every disgusting particle.<br /><br />The last week has been crazy around here. It has been a whirlwind of self-examination and evaluation for Matthew and me and in the midst of it we have definitely found some mush. The thing is, no matter how disgusting it is and how unpleasant to look at, you can't deal with sin by just peering in and poking at it with a paper towel. You have to take your heart, often with the help of others, and turn it completely inside out so that nothing is hidden and nothing is justified. I don't like coming face to face with sin. I don't think anyone really does. But thankfully we will never find anything in the deep recesses of our hearts that isn't covered by the blood of Christ.<br /><br />So here's to the freedom that comes from the Gospel, the practice of self-examination, and a thorough check of all compartments before washing a diaper bag.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-78065291688938976102009-03-24T14:41:00.005-07:002009-03-25T14:17:41.428-07:00Get This Potty Started<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvokcysX3VMCCGlw1ilTf8Zg9G3nldDruFXy5agZfa0TcSaY2aAELStgOaSUsGtMpRdnG1wwm6Sk7wrD6ayahiXMmOHon75XWJluiG6WhoTY6JKedCljACK_LtzaBYfL4TLAj/s1600-h/potty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 116px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvokcysX3VMCCGlw1ilTf8Zg9G3nldDruFXy5agZfa0TcSaY2aAELStgOaSUsGtMpRdnG1wwm6Sk7wrD6ayahiXMmOHon75XWJluiG6WhoTY6JKedCljACK_LtzaBYfL4TLAj/s320/potty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316884099653205394" /></a><br />Every now and then I catch a hint of a little joke that husbands have about what their wives do all day. The little comment here or there that alludes to us spending our days watching soap operas or going out to chatty lunches with our girlfriends. Matthew never jokes about this because he, unlike many fathers, has been on Daddy Duty for days at a time and is thus one of the enlightened. My friend Danielle's husband does not joke about it either, because he works from home. Recently he has relocated to working out of the RV in their backyard. He too is enlightened.<br /><br />-----<br /><br />Yesterday, Danielle and I decide to pack a lunch and meet at the library for Story Time, then go to the park. I grab stuff for lunch, have the girls go potty before we leave, and load everyone in the minivan. We sit down for storytime at the library at 11:00am. We are listening to stories about ducks. Danielle arrives around 11:10 with her two daughters, Camryn and baby Kate, and her neighbor's son, Tyler, in tow. Before Danielle can even sit down, Tyler needs to go to the bathroom. She leaves her girls with me and hurries Tyler to the restroom. When she returns, we are singing “The Wheels on the Bus”. Camryn tells Danielle that now she needs to go potty. Danielle takes both girls and Tyler back to the restrooms. In the middle of another duck story, they return. Storytime ends with a rousing chorus of “If You're Happy and You Know It”, and we all walk over to the park and sit down to eat our picnic lunch. As we're setting out our food, Harper needs to go to the bathroom. I leave my other two with Danielle and carry her down the sidewalk to the park restrooms and take her to go potty. She says the park potty smells funny. When we return, we are ready to eat. Five minutes into lunch, Bethany announces she needs to go potty too. Why didn't you tell me when I took Harper 5 minutes ago? Because I didn't know I had to go then. Danielle says she can take Bethany because she has to go herself anyway. As they get ready to go Bethany says never mind, she doesn't have to go after all. Are you sure? Yes, it just came for a second but now it's gone. So Danielle walks down to the restrooms and Camryn goes along too. As soon as they get back, Bethany realizes that yes, she indeed does need to go to the bathroom. Sigh. I take her by the hand and begin walking to the bathrooms. Benjamin is finished eating and decides he would like to come too, so he is running after us. We let him catch up and the three of us go down to the bathrooms. Bethany uses the potty while I hold Benjamin up so he can drink out of the drinking fountain. When we get back to our picnic, we are all finished with lunch and we play for a little while. The kids climb up and down large concrete structures and miraculously no one gets hurt. As we are starting to pack up, after innumerable trips to the bathroom, Camryn pees her pants. We make the necessary adjustments, make our way to our minivans, and return to our houses just in time to kick back with some Bon-Bons and catch Days of Our Lives.<br /><br /><br />After reading this, you probably have to pee now too.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-31358272312036170212009-03-17T16:57:00.009-07:002009-03-17T17:49:23.822-07:00Dear Mr. President<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdPo53_F2BfFsPzEESpnIwlhb8iDXFu6rrLhlcO2XTFaxdaNPIa1N0UjmhgfV7g5mYV0_p3qEWFpYrpJ2Ck5D-GhJhCTo1LvEdzWmSlKHjrEeBRy1e25h9BEAhI5gKYVfGyGl/s1600-h/straw_sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdPo53_F2BfFsPzEESpnIwlhb8iDXFu6rrLhlcO2XTFaxdaNPIa1N0UjmhgfV7g5mYV0_p3qEWFpYrpJ2Ck5D-GhJhCTo1LvEdzWmSlKHjrEeBRy1e25h9BEAhI5gKYVfGyGl/s320/straw_sm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314321078442630530" /></a><br />I love frozen yogurt. I looooooove frozen yogurt. And whenever I go to pick some up, it's apparent to me that pretty much everybody loves frozen yogurt. If you want to see cultural diversity, just go get some fro yo. If you roll up to the local Golden Spoon there will be a group of black-clad Gothic high school kids pounding down some German Chocolate with hot fudge topping. Climbing out of their Buick will be an elderly couple ready to sink their dentures into a dish of vanilla with fresh berries. Inside the place will be full of soccer moms, business men, hippies, and divas, all gathered together over one common bond: The joy of a frozen, frosty, fat-free treat.<br /><br /><br />Dear Mr. President,<br /><br />I realize that as you work to fulfill the office to which you have been elected, your views and strategies on foreign policy have been at times both praised and criticized. Admittedly, I don't know very much about the ins and outs of international warfare, and while I'm sure you are not currently looking for more advice on the subject, I thought I would submit my idea to you anyway.<br /><br />My proposed strategy for achieving peace in the Middle East is to tap into the diplomatic power of frozen yogurt. What better way to bring cultures together than with a bowlful of just that: live and active cultures? I will leave it up to you as to exactly how you would implement this strategy, but my suggestion would be to begin by building Golden Spoon Frozen Yogurt stores all along the Gaza strip, and to follow up by pitching franchising opportunities to Al Quaeda and other terrorist cell groups. A redemptive micro-enterprising program could then be put into place through which weapons of mass destruction could be traded in for soft-serve machines, sneeze guards, and various tasty toppings.<br /><br />It is my sincere opinion that this is a bullet proof strategy (no pun intended) for the United States to create peaceful relationships between nations while simultaniously improving our global image. Should you wish to explore the idea further I would be happy to come to the White House and discuss details with you over a bowl of white chocolate mousse with Oreo topping.<br /><br />Thank you for your time and consideration, and may God Bless America.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Kristie BraseltonKristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-30168514929936866602009-03-10T10:25:00.008-07:002009-03-10T11:10:36.789-07:00Scenic Route<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvebgoV8WEf4bI_T_4HsssP7fv4Q8ckZLZLsuIMinIQl8edVhAhD3MeYbQ7NqNg6EKV2DvITgieogsRb0sB1iyOvLkOpxHZrtnJpJxmYXt7qpgrUhyphenhyphenuvAJ1n1lUYGlmSuyUDt/s1600-h/ms5scenic-blacklin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfvebgoV8WEf4bI_T_4HsssP7fv4Q8ckZLZLsuIMinIQl8edVhAhD3MeYbQ7NqNg6EKV2DvITgieogsRb0sB1iyOvLkOpxHZrtnJpJxmYXt7qpgrUhyphenhyphenuvAJ1n1lUYGlmSuyUDt/s320/ms5scenic-blacklin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311622119516938050" /></a><br /><br />About this time last year Matthew and I attended a Foster Care/Adoption orientation meeting and left with the certainty that we were ready to pursue adoption. We had been deeply moved by what we learned in that two hour session and we began the process to adopt through the state. I've already shared the whole story of how and why we leap-frogged from state to infant to international in earlier posts, so I won't go into it again. I'll just say that we finally have landed. Right back where we started a year ago.<br /><br />We've halted the process toward Uganda and have taken a hard right toward adopting through the State of Arizona, which just announced that there are now over 10,000 children in our foster care system, the highest it has ever been. Budget cuts are anticipated to put an even greater strain on the system, and I'm going to a meeting tonight to learn about exactly what those cuts are and how they will effect the kids and families involved. We're signed up for the 10 week certification class this summer, and after a few minor hoops to jump through, we should be good to go!<br /><br />It can be either frustrating or breathtaking to end up on the scenic route. I guess if just depends on if you're in a hurry, running on your own schedule and pushing your own agenda, or if your agenda is simply to be carried along and follow the winding path where it goes, content to know that you are headed in the right direction.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-28708819865026908462009-03-01T16:52:00.003-07:002009-03-01T17:01:42.909-07:00Blessed Yet AgainOur friends the O'Briens handed us an envelope at church this morning. Inside were the proceeds from a garage sale they held on Saturday to raise funding for our adoption! We are continually amazed at God's provision and the generosity of the people through which He provides. Thank you, O'Briens, and everyone who donated items for the sale!<br /><br />The O'Briens are a wonderful family of 11 (plus whoever else happens to be living with them at the time) that we have gotten to know through the adoption organization Project 6:8. It is not an adoption agency, but more of a network of people with a heart for adoption and foster care started by a couple of gals from our church. <a href="http://www.p68.org/">Check them out on the web </a>or this Thursday night for the monthly meeting at the Commons at East Valley Bible Church.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-72216549083781093392009-02-24T15:42:00.006-07:002009-02-24T16:23:49.666-07:00Patience, Wisdom, & Courage<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSuOb08yj0oCa_xxDfFM2wZ3meZJ6STuB7sJGvoSJNso0kYSiILaM4xTlvWcFXqFL00Gl5fHBIb_Z5xPs571M-Mlc49IXqeugaJecLt1WLwl7mEMr2nmYPWNjm4b1q5rJ9sZr/s1600-h/dog-wisdom.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSuOb08yj0oCa_xxDfFM2wZ3meZJ6STuB7sJGvoSJNso0kYSiILaM4xTlvWcFXqFL00Gl5fHBIb_Z5xPs571M-Mlc49IXqeugaJecLt1WLwl7mEMr2nmYPWNjm4b1q5rJ9sZr/s320/dog-wisdom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306508553488440578" /></a><br />Apparently there is a proverbial pendulum in state adoption, swinging between birth parent's interests and children's interests. At one point the state will be very determined to keep children with their parents, thus giving birth parents fourth and fifth and seventeenth chances to get their lives in order before severing their parental rights. Then after a few years of fallout from unstable home situations, the pendulum will swing over to the other side, which has strict requirements for birth parents to meet (ie- get off substances, get a job, etc) and if they are not met in a timely manner, the children are made available for adoption so they don't end up floating around foster care during the formative first few years of their life.<br /><br />We started this process on the domestic infant adoption route, mainly because there weren't really any children in the state foster care program who were younger than 4 years old (we decided at the beginning that Bethany should remain the oldest child in the family) because by the time the state was done giving the parents chances to turn over a new leaf, the children were school-aged. The few young children in the system were most often adopted by family members or their foster family. So the next logical path was to take in an infant who might be more difficult to find a home for because of its race or substance exposure. Then we heard about the pilot program in Uganda and thought that perhaps there was a greater need there for families to adopt little ones. And that's where we've been heading for the past 6 months, though we have yet to financially commit to one path which leaves the door open to any opportunity.<br /><br />All that said, we have heard that the pendulum is swinging back toward the child's best interests, which translates to more young children from the state needing a family. Our caseworker has also mentioned not to rule out an infant coming along that would match our family. While we've been filling out paperwork for a Ugandan adoption, we've been keeping an eye on the pilot program and have come upon a few concerns so far. Nothing that would cause us to just drop the idea entirely, but enough to make us very cautious as we move forward.<br /><br />What a boring, vague, and hapless post this has been. I suppose its purpose has simply been to communicate that we have no idea what God has in store for us or where our children will come from. All we know is we are here and ready and available to kids who need a home. And that's a pretty cool place to be. So pray for us, if you will, for patience, wisdom and courage.<br /><br />And for reading this boring blog, I reward you with a link to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vz00ND-ikJs&feature=channel_page">a very un-boring video </a>of Harper from our snow day last weekend.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-34319005322204053362009-02-15T16:33:00.003-07:002009-02-15T16:44:50.351-07:00Nothing Else But HimBenjamin was just miserable yesterday. I took him in and turns out he has a double ear infection on top of the cough and cold. He's been pretty needy all week, but yesterday in particular he wouldn't let me put him down. And in a way, it was kind of nice. Don't get me wrong, it's pretty awful when the kids get sick, but whenever they are it is almost inevitable that I will have some sweet, quiet moment with them that I would not have had otherwise.<br /><br />When Bethany was in the worst of it last week, she came into our room around 1:00am unable to sleep and insisting through whimpers that a bath would make her sore throat feel better. Half asleep, I tried my best to talk her out of it, but, as often comes of attempts to reason with a 4-year-old, I gave up. We ended up sitting together in the bathtub in the middle of the night, whispering and laughing while everyone else was asleep, until she felt well enough to crawl back up into her bed. It was one of those moments when you can feel your mind taking a picture and filing it away, to be pulled out on the day you hand over the car keys or watch her walk down the aisle. I'm not sure if she will remember that night, but I will never forget.<br /><br />Yesterday Benjamin wasn't interested in his books or his toys or even movies. He didn't want to play and he didn't want to eat. The only thing he wanted was me. He would say “upease” and I would pick him up, and then he would say “wock”. So we would go over to the rocking chair and I would lay him against my chest as he wrapped his little arms around me as far as they could go. And there I would sit with him, feeling his chest rise and fall, stroking his hair and his face, both of us perfectly content to stay just as we were forever and ever.<br /><br />In the midst of their suffering, I cherish those sweet times. And in the midst of their suffering, they are learning. They are learning that I am there, and that I will care for them. They are learning to come to me when they are hurting or when they are scared. And, through these beautiful little moments that spring up like flowers from the cracks in my stoneish heart, I am learning a little something too. A little something more about my Father and His unshakable love for me, and why, perhaps, He allows for difficulty in our lives. That we would come to Him with outstretched arms, that we would rest our head upon His chest, and that we would find ourselves wanting nothing else but Him.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-48252751776245237712009-02-13T17:04:00.004-07:002009-02-13T17:12:31.986-07:00Braselton Rx<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWn7kE1F8jQwuTSwvc16l9ZHxYNzUaVtztL5QkZzdSSLkRtHl9ZtJ-73PYSl6Ez-npDBjiavKy3LBBO0ZYhVe4sNEYM2mjr4EgRNG_DHMQJ6V-CUy_tbz1pD5vAojhNBVEoUCJ/s1600-h/rx+002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWn7kE1F8jQwuTSwvc16l9ZHxYNzUaVtztL5QkZzdSSLkRtHl9ZtJ-73PYSl6Ez-npDBjiavKy3LBBO0ZYhVe4sNEYM2mjr4EgRNG_DHMQJ6V-CUy_tbz1pD5vAojhNBVEoUCJ/s320/rx+002.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302438295333734162" /></a><br />There are currently seven bottles of medicine on my kitchen counter. I'm not intentionally displaying them, I guess they just kind of accumulated there with three sick kids and one sick parent. This is one of those times when everybody is sick. People at church are sick. People at school are sick. Everyone is sick. Except Matthew. Except Matthew and his superfood-antioxidant-laden-green-sludge juices. I finally broke down and drank some the other day, in hopes of sharing in his super powers. I decided I would rather be sick then finish the glass.<br /><br />The worst part about being sick is the sleep deprivation. Last night I was going on two nights back-to-back of sub-four hours of sleep. All I wanted more than anything was a good night's rest. After I put the kids down, I made a Walgreens run to find something to help me sleep. I found the cold medicine aisle and there I stood, sick and afflicted and sleep-deprived, staring at row after row of little colorful boxes, for a good 15 minutes. I read the drug facts, the touted benefits, the dosages and warnings. I found one that stated expressly right on the package not to use it to sedate children. Seeing nothing restricting me from using it to sedate an adult, I thought I'd give it a try.<br /><br />I brought it home, choked it down, and tried to go to sleep. But to no avail. The coughing would not allow it, nor was it deterred by the medication. So, at 11:30, I had nothing else to do but go back to Walgreens and try again. This time I selected Robitussin DM, which is the one advertised in the commercial with little animated globs of mucous wearing suspenders. I hate those commercials, but I figured it was worth a shot. I took it to the register and the cashier scanned the box.<br /><br />“Oh, Robitussin DM,” he observed. “You've got those little green guys going on, huh?”<br /><br />I looked at him bleary-eyed, wondering if he was really asking me this question and if he regularly strikes up conversations with customers regarding their purchases. I paid and left, thankful that I hadn't come in for something like tampons or Preparation H.<br /><br />Once at home I realized that the dosage chart on the first medication required me to wait one more hour before taking a dose of the new stuff. I contemplated staying up until 12:30 in order to follow the directions but exhaustion won over and I tossed back two teaspoons of the new stuff, wondering what might become of me. Perhaps I would start twitching or hallucinating, or maybe my heart would just stop beating altogether. I thought about writing a note for Matthew. Something like, “Good morning Babe. If you find me dead on the couch, this is what I took and when” just to simplify the autopsy process. Yes, things get a little foggy in the middle of a sleepless night. But after a bowl of Raman noodles and a little Conan O'Brien, I finally drifted off to sleep.<br /><br />I'm hopeful for tonight. Feeling a little better, and I certainly have enough medications to choose from. If you're one of the everyone who is sick, skip Walgreens and come on over to my house. I'm sure I've got what you need.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-61287015563831249002009-02-08T15:32:00.003-07:002009-02-08T15:36:47.114-07:00Could It Be the Stairs?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcderwx4VpJxdfmYV6oZSBk7Oxx3jUVoHVmc5EcmH4T79Hb0YoKYwRK3doySUMbxSUakPLO3fyNMRk7z-L2Ou07Ck3jwfhyfDDUiWtaGTuwC5hkocA70FbzDW3wG4lBIBlPoJ_/s1600-h/old-town-stairs-big.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcderwx4VpJxdfmYV6oZSBk7Oxx3jUVoHVmc5EcmH4T79Hb0YoKYwRK3doySUMbxSUakPLO3fyNMRk7z-L2Ou07Ck3jwfhyfDDUiWtaGTuwC5hkocA70FbzDW3wG4lBIBlPoJ_/s320/old-town-stairs-big.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300559165492366866" /></a><br />Friday I went out on the mountain after being sick all week and ended up riding a personal best time.<br /><br />Then last night I got carded for a ticket to "Slumdog Millionaire".<br /><br />So I've got to wonder.<br /><br />In any event, it's been a good weekend.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-81877504627414606412009-02-03T21:32:00.008-07:002009-02-04T11:29:30.234-07:00And the Winner Is....Christina and Brent! You guys must have made a similar discovery in your own pantry at some point in time. Yes, the object in our mystery photo in yesterday's post is none other than a petrified, sprouted potato. I have no idea how long that had been in there, but it was prety close to fossilization. Nice job on all the guesses! So Christina, next time I see you I will give you your oh-so-coveted prize. :)<br /><br />Here are some pictures of the kids and the move as promised.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpedaa8Oa4iiEUsbGzKDabcuSjvBTFw_d_ffyiASxdeXizyqAyKc-jgZHZrJcRNGLXAkDZTgy8ng6oRryCzHzJJufmrgwgRxJGE-N-KkeTLuLCt1_gjoFnenVxICwQaNaVBTP/s1600-h/February+012.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpedaa8Oa4iiEUsbGzKDabcuSjvBTFw_d_ffyiASxdeXizyqAyKc-jgZHZrJcRNGLXAkDZTgy8ng6oRryCzHzJJufmrgwgRxJGE-N-KkeTLuLCt1_gjoFnenVxICwQaNaVBTP/s320/February+012.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299008200832706882" /></a>Little Helpers<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIoZkkdJX4aUvpQ3dkm87lKfGc9wCwLG4EGkaUdPI4QSSB97INcvjdhHjenoY-3gct_sUiWnKyxSOB-0q4WgC0NZ5TY2zYZDgn7SuvmTWEXs36fAcx8Z88YlBqk_VccjVzQ9I/s1600-h/February+018.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIoZkkdJX4aUvpQ3dkm87lKfGc9wCwLG4EGkaUdPI4QSSB97INcvjdhHjenoY-3gct_sUiWnKyxSOB-0q4WgC0NZ5TY2zYZDgn7SuvmTWEXs36fAcx8Z88YlBqk_VccjVzQ9I/s320/February+018.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299008208421265570" /></a><br />Fun with Styrofoam. Mmmmm... styrofoam.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKybcnYrdyRgrhzJONqd7LuzgyrAB29tBA18Rua4D90meljnYlRPq1_GYZDeYgbzhAAllbl-MyjhTd-seuiAlBnAOU3S-Hkm5H4-qEFUk4NclWLIDLIJwq1cVEUvAtnz0Purp/s1600-h/February+019.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKybcnYrdyRgrhzJONqd7LuzgyrAB29tBA18Rua4D90meljnYlRPq1_GYZDeYgbzhAAllbl-MyjhTd-seuiAlBnAOU3S-Hkm5H4-qEFUk4NclWLIDLIJwq1cVEUvAtnz0Purp/s320/February+019.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299008212674379410" /></a><br />Yuck... styrofoam<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBqdHpVYB6OVj9O9tbkik_V5UiCphbt0hK0qjGE8-1DJlg0g0Q80VnQPaidQ_KyuoajGwOuK8ZuJHCsDfsSlH0AVu9B_N6RYrHS0J1KoNAZNxJqqDBjidE3vFQotYxR6W2jmJ/s1600-h/February+023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBqdHpVYB6OVj9O9tbkik_V5UiCphbt0hK0qjGE8-1DJlg0g0Q80VnQPaidQ_KyuoajGwOuK8ZuJHCsDfsSlH0AVu9B_N6RYrHS0J1KoNAZNxJqqDBjidE3vFQotYxR6W2jmJ/s320/February+023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299008214628745426" /></a><br />Post-Move ExhaustionKristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-76349884079924542682009-02-03T08:00:00.006-07:002009-02-03T08:24:53.591-07:00Take a Guess<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDY42zAhYNIQG7M1RNoUSS5mv34PzS5STAv44An4Okcc8jWEKFx5H2R0BAa2gyRMaf_pqLuISnQSjf6KAT56W_7Y0gdaQizLr8Nn0DmqVrIO24utvJ3mlc6odDT9nwiC-WTKqp/s1600-h/February+011.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDY42zAhYNIQG7M1RNoUSS5mv34PzS5STAv44An4Okcc8jWEKFx5H2R0BAa2gyRMaf_pqLuISnQSjf6KAT56W_7Y0gdaQizLr8Nn0DmqVrIO24utvJ3mlc6odDT9nwiC-WTKqp/s320/February+011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298591018226152674" /></a><br />Day four in the new house. Internet connection finally reinstated. The great majority of the boxes have been unpacked and hauled off and the house is slowly becoming home.<br /><br />The move went marvelously, so thank you to all who schlepped boxes or couches or lent us trucks and trailers! I will post some more photos of the kids and the move another day.<br /><br />Our little contest for today is to identify the object found in the packing process shown in the picture above. I'm giving away a free cd to the first commenter who correctly identifies what it is. Good Luck!Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22259634.post-89862265644975123882009-01-22T06:19:00.008-07:002009-01-22T07:34:47.326-07:00Packing Up and Moving Out<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGRMvMF_l8IhSUFruN1vkZzxfJabZaMGgwYIS0OB4bJuLLV4htxaAQfxHUn9n7-WlZAOxUyec8v4-6Tbrh_Lc9GgdP1XzD3TBH5VhFlieo5TDQM02cZFyrzetKTeMl_iVCdkG/s1600-h/January+006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGRMvMF_l8IhSUFruN1vkZzxfJabZaMGgwYIS0OB4bJuLLV4htxaAQfxHUn9n7-WlZAOxUyec8v4-6Tbrh_Lc9GgdP1XzD3TBH5VhFlieo5TDQM02cZFyrzetKTeMl_iVCdkG/s320/January+006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294125189982453074" /></a><br />Three boxes Mommy packed, and the three boxes Bethany packed.<br /><br /><br />We found the house! It is uh-mazing. Given our price range, we'd been looking at foreclosures for weeks. We'd seen houses with cracks in the walls and foundations, a couple with randomly inserted walls, several with no flooring whatsoever, and even one with a full-blown beehive in the garage. (I was the one who made that discovery. Pretty exciting stuff). We'd calculated costs of repairs, considered sweat equity, and tried to discern cosmetic issues from structural. Then two weeks ago <a href="http://www.mlonghomes.com">our realtors</a> sent us this house that just popped up.<br /><br />Brand new model home. $80,000 in upgrades. Never been lived in. Beautiful little cluster community centered around a park. Two miles away. Just knocked $100,000 off the price.<br /><br />We went and saw it first thing the next day and put in an offer and got it. We're still pinching ourselves on this one, and so is Bethany who got her stairs <em>and</em> her community pool. God's provision through it all has been incredible. Each step He has given us more than what we were even hoping for. We're praying that God would fill this house with grace and love and ministry and kids and that it would be used as a great tool for the gospel. So we're packing and cleaning and moving next weekend! Praise God! Oh, and seeing as we're moving it's a great time to do another garage sale, so if anyone has any more stuff to unload let me know!<br /><br />Priority number one in the new house: Get the TV working by Sunday at 4:oo pm.Kristie Braseltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08205564704989446087noreply@blogger.com3