tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30067484810151460762024-03-21T18:03:16.303-04:00It's Always SomethingSome stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity. (Gilda Radner)nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comBlogger960125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-47362814021603068412017-07-18T09:47:00.003-04:002017-07-18T09:47:52.849-04:00I have movedYou can now find me at <a href="http://www.nikinikinine.com/">www.nikinikinine.com</a>, where it occurs to me to write things down once in a while.<br />
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You can also find me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NikiZwerinRussell?ref=bookmarks" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/nikinikinine/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> where I manage to post about the shenanigans that are my life with much more regularity.<br />
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Thanks for your friendship and support over the years. I hope we continue to stay in touch!nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-79649120783289792322015-09-12T13:04:00.000-04:002015-10-03T09:16:04.186-04:00What the hell is going on, Niki? I have received several messages over the last few weeks with people wanting to know, literally, what the hell is going on? What is this stuff I am posting on social. Have I gone to the dark side? Have I lost it completely? Am I going to become one of those people?<br />
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I have a lot of posts I've started to write about where we've been and what is going on, but I felt compelled to hit publish on this one before those.<br />
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Since I'm using social media to market this new opportunity, I felt like now was a good time to at least share my why. As in, "Why the hell are you doing this?"<br />
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I don't plan to sell or market my new business on my blog, though this is a blog about my life and this business is now a part of it, so I can't say that it will never come up here either. But I would prefer (and I think others would too) for this blog to be my authentic space, and so I think it's best that the two remain mostly separate.<br />
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So, without further ado, why.<br />
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In February 2014, I came home from a long drive. Joe had already put our three older kids to bed, and was watching a DVR’d lacrosse game in his office. I walked through the door, my face stained with tears, sat down next to him and told him I was leaving. I was seven weeks pregnant with our fourth child, and I was scared as hell.
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By May, our <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/search/label/new%20build" target="_blank">Barbie Dream House</a>, the house I thought I’d spend forever in, was on the market. We had just custom built that home 18 months before. I drew <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/2012/04/final-plans.html" target="_blank">the floor plan</a> on a napkin, picked every fixture, painstakingly selected every tile. I dreamed of a day when one of our girls would get married and have a tented reception in that backyard.
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Ryan – my son, my oldest, and one half of my dynamic duo (<a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/search/label/twins" target="_blank">twins</a>) – <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/2013/09/my-son-has-autism.html" target="_blank">had just been diagnosed with Autism</a> in September 2013, and <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/2014/01/ryans-first-day.html" target="_blank">transitioned to a special needs preschool</a> in January 2014. His IEP is managed by our school district and county. I fought so hard for home-based and school-based services, getting him therapies and quantities of sessions not usually afforded to children. There was no way in hell I was going to risk giving up a single service, so I committed to finding a home in our county and our school district, that I could afford, that could fit five people.<br />
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We live in a small rural area, and another much less service-generous county comprises the majority of our school district. Finding a home that met all of these criteria was no small feat. I found our current home – the home I have lovingly referred to as the mint green shitbox, or the pistachio nightmare – on October 14, 2014, exactly one week before giving birth, and 36 days before the Barbie Dream House was set to close. That is 36 days before my three toddlers, my newborn, and I were homeless.
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The mint green shitbox lived up to its full potential, coming in with over $22,000 of inspection failures. Radon, plumbing, electrical, sump pump, subfloors. You name the inspection, this house failed. It was the only house on the market that could preserve Ryan’s IEP and fit my tribe, so I poured every cent and every last ounce of energy I had into making it work.
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The kids and I lived in temporary housing while the floors were fixed, and we moved into old minty on January 31, 2015. We had no kitchen and my refrigerator was plugged into my living room next to a pile of boxes. I washed dishes and bottles in the bathtub after the kids got out of it each night.
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Let me tell you, if you’ve never lived with two four year olds, a two year old, and a 3 month old for four months with no kitchen, then you have not lived.
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I am a communications consultant, and I worked my butt off to grow a successful business that would allow me to attend to my four children, and all of their various needs, while financially providing for them. This has meant that for the last two years I’ve worked nights, weekends, before the kids wake up, after they go to sleep. I have taken calls during nap times, sent emails while trying to get dinner down. I’ve run, I’ve rushed, I’ve pushed, I’ve pulled. But, most of all, I’ve juggled. And I’ve been exhausted.
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In January, just as we were getting ready to move into old minty, Jamie Walker approached me about joining her team. I didn’t know Jamie, but she “knew me” through this blog.<br />
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She presented <a href="https://nikinikinine.myrandf.biz/" target="_blank">Rodan + Fields</a>, and asked me to join her “Dream Team.” I listened to her pitch, heard her story, and said, “Thanks, but no thanks. This isn’t for me. I don’t have the time. I’m way too busy. I can’t possibly take any more money away from my children. This is too risky. I’m not cut out for this. But thanks.”
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Jamie and I stayed in touch, but as friends. I had no desire to sell anything.<br />
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I enjoy our friendship, we share inspirational quotes, and stories about raising twins, and text message each other songs that <i>have</i> to make it onto a playlist. And over the next nine months, I watched her business grow. I wondered whether I could do this, but convinced myself that I couldn’t.
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In that time, two more women I have met through other life experiences and hobbies – infertility and photography – each took the leap. One was a nurse, the other a teacher. Both were moms. I watched them start. I watched them take off. I watched them succeed. I watched their lives change. And I wondered whether I could do this, but convinced myself, again, that I couldn’t.
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After a particularly harrowing day parenting and mothering and exwifing and homeownering, I woke up to find that one of these women I had been watching from afar succeeded to the point of earning a raise, another promotion, and a Lexus. Yes, people, <a href="https://www.rodanandfields.com/Pages/Business/ProgramsIncentives" target="_blank">a goddamned Lexus</a>.
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That morning I messaged my other friend that I’d had my eye on, and I asked her to share her experience with me too. Her business is smaller, but successful. Rodan + Fields has allowed her to take a leave of absence from her teaching job to stay home with her two children, but still earn enough to cover her mortgage payment.
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And with that I decided to stop convincing myself of what I couldn’t do, and try to see what I could do.
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Because even if I did nothing more than earn my business kit for free, I had tried something that could benefit my family without impacting them. If I only earned $500 a month – something that is SO doable with this business – I would be able to afford to buy my kids clothes (do you know how expensive it is to dress four kids across four seasons?!), or pay for my son’s therapies, or my girls’ ballet classes. And maybe if I really succeeded, I could climb out of the mess I created making this house work, and the mess of leaving my old life behind and starting again, or put money away so I can (hopefully) help four kids pay for college, or afford to finish fixing this shitbox (I have a room with no ceiling right now, people.)
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I would do anything to provide for my kids, to be more available for them, to give them a better life. <i>I would try anything.
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As of writing this, I have been in business for two weeks. TWO. I am not a Lexus earner, or a million-dollar achiever, I am not paying off my house this year. (Though I have people on my team that are all of those things.) But, I will earn my business kit for free. And when my commission comes in next month, I will pay off the balance on my Gap card, which I used to for my kids’ school clothes.
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I get that this journey isn’t for everyone. But I believe in the opportunity. Maybe you do too?nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-52457454575084036602015-09-10T09:25:00.002-04:002015-09-10T09:25:28.578-04:00First Day(s) of School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-75508145021315991112015-09-02T14:03:00.002-04:002015-09-02T14:22:31.190-04:00The Truth About MarriageI never dreamed about my wedding. I dreamed about being married. Having a family. Being part of something bigger than me, creating something bigger than me.<br />
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When someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my response was always, "a mom." I accidentally went to college for a Mrs. degree. My mom always told us that we'd never be in a place that would have so many attractive, eligible men on a path to success again. (My mom says a lot of stupid shit.) So when I got to college, I latched onto a boy and, for him, I changed the patterns of my life. When that didn't work out at the ripe old age of 19, I fell apart, and then put myself together by partying, and partying hard.<br />
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I wish someone had given me the tools to be a strong, independent woman. To forge my own path, and then accept a man who walked that path beside me. Not find a man to create my path. But I digress.<br />
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By my senior year, I settled into a nice balance of being a responsible, budding adult, and a complete fuck up. And then I met Joe.<br />
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Over the years he clipped my wings, in the best way possible, in a way I needed them to be clipped. He was the most stable thing in my otherwise unstable life. And for all of our bad qualities as a couple, we loved each other, he made me laugh, we acted like a team, he was my best friend. But I latched onto him for all of the wrong reasons, and I did what we all do, I moved through the steps.<br />
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<i>Moving through the steps never leads to Happily Ever After. </i><br />
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The truth about marriage is that it takes work. Lots of work. And love. Compassion. Respect. Trust. But mostly lots of work.<br />
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You cannot pile moves, job losses, job transitions, house problems, infertility, miscarriage, multiples, autism, disability, more moves, more transitions, more problems onto a foundation with cracks.<br />
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Guess what, people? <i>Foundations can crumble. </i><br />
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And the people who are fighting to hold on start dying. Like their person, <i>their souls</i>, they start to die. Joe and I loved each other enough to stop killing each other.<br />
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When we separated, so many people -- groups even -- reached out to ask me to share my story. Um, no thank you. I do not want to be the poster child for divorce. Cause here's the thing, while I believe it was right for me, I don't believe it is right for everyone.<br />
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This society is fickle, man. If you stay, you're a fool. If you leave, you're selfish. And every opinion in between. Our paths are deeply personal. I can't tell you what is right, I can't support it, encourage it. It's not mine to choose. Don't make me an example.<br />
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The only thing you can do is choose, each day, your path. The one that feels right for you, and hope that at the end of your life, all you end up with is the right regrets (gracias, Arthur Miller.)<br />
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The struggle to get here, to this place where I feel like I can even speak about what I have and am moving through. Lord have mercy. Visceral. So I am letting myself feel all the feels.<br />
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After the balance of the last year, and really the last eighteen months, I will tell you this: I believe in love, and I still believe in marriage.nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-67030170275425182302015-01-01T13:02:00.002-05:002015-01-01T13:24:29.669-05:002015 Theme<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">What is this year's theme? HAWK</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The ability to see your life in perspective, to free you of unnecessary "baggage" and connect you to your ancestral roots...</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Once you know where you have come from and where you are going, your life will be filled with inspiration and enthusiasm, you will sense a new day dawning, and you will be able to make decisions with confidence.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">How do I get there? EAGLE, drawn reversed</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">You may need to guard against the dangers of an overpowering intellect. The eagle, when it knows how to renew itself in the secret lake, is able to balance its masculine fiery qualities with the feminine, water qualities of the lake. But when it cannot find the secret lake, when we deny our minds access to the heart, our lives can become dry and sterile, our intellects harsh and overly analytical. Now may be the time to see whether your mind and your heart are in balance. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Where should I start? CRANE, drawn reversed</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">The crane stands alone for hours on end, simply observing and patiently waiting. But it's also able to join its colleagues to fly in formation or to dance together. You may need to learn the right balance between being alone and working with others. Spending too much time alone can create feelings of isolation and separation. Conversely, having no time to oneself can be an avoidance of self-knowledge and the uncomfortable feelings of loneliness. Spend a while looking at your life to see whether you give yourself enough time to have both these experiences. </span></span></span>nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-30048295668737415802014-11-30T22:02:00.000-05:002014-11-30T22:02:56.835-05:00Eliza's Newborn PicturesThese pictures were taken a week before we closed on Meadowbrook. You wouldn't know it by looking at them, but I was barely holding it together. Four kids, a newborn, packing, I had gone back to work the week before. We took all of the pictures in my bedroom, because it was the only room that wasn't completely or partially packed. Boxes everywhere, exposed nail holes on the walls. A mess. Me, the house, my life. I ordered 5 dresses from ASOS (free expedited shipping and free returns, can I get an hallelujah?!) and wore the only one that fit. And thank goodness one fit!<br />
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I have learned so much about myself over the last year; I imagine this growth is just the beginning. One of the things I have come to appreciate is that I don't let the bad stuff ruin what's good. A new baby. A new sister. The love that comes from that, all good stuff. The rest of it? It's over and I survived.<br />
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I knew even though so many parts of that week were parts I would want to forget, this moment wasn't one of them. It's so easy to talk about (or think about) our problems, but it's so much more enjoyable to talk about (or think about) our joys. These photos are some of my greatest joys.<br />
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<br />nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-71448003442906589932014-11-21T22:19:00.000-05:002014-11-21T22:32:58.207-05:00Eliza's Birth StoryI am not sure how this happened, but my baby is a month old today. It's been a blurry whirlwind. I know all parents say that, but given the events of the last month, mixed with having a newborn, truer words have never been spoken. I thought, since I didn't get to it sooner, that today would be an apropos day to finish her birth story.<br />
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Eliza's due date is still a mystery to me, though I am sticking with my guns that her actual due date was October 18. Her chart at my OB still says October 15. So depending on who you believe she was either 3 or 5 days late. Friends couldn't believe that with all of the stress in my life, I didn't deliver preterm, but I kept saying that she was waiting for it to be safe to come out, waiting for me to secure us a house, waiting for it to be calmer.<br />
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In the weeks leading up to her birth my OB's talked frequently about induction. The first time was because her fluid was looking low, but they waited and checked her again a few days later and my fluid was better. The second time was because I was already 4 cm dilated and full-term, with a history of laboring fast. They warned me there was a good chance I wouldn't make it to the hospital. But I really wanted to have a gradual labor, with time spent at home, I wanted her to come on her terms. I wanted it to be just like the movies, where a woman's water breaks and she smiles and says, "it's time!" and gets driven to the hospital by the frenetic, but lovingly concerned husband.<br />
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The week of her due date I had an appointment to see my therapist and I talked to her about the lady at the pizza place and the night in the bathtub. We had already talked about my reiki sessions and the idea of spirit guides. Sidenote, what I love about my therapist is that she believes in spirituality and the law of attraction, but is also a real LMHC. In a conversation that I believe was no accident, she told me that all of the things I have been practicing and reading about were all based on a book called <i>A Course in Miracles (</i>which I have since downloaded but, sadly, have yet to read). She told me about Gabby Bernstein, who wrote a book called <i>Spirit Junkie</i>, and said that Gabby was fun to follow on Instagram.<br />
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The night I went into labor with Eliza, I climbed into the tub at the end of another long day, and began scrolling through my phone to entertain myself, as I often do in the bath. After surfing Facebook and clearing out emails, I hopped on Instagram. I remember feeling overwhelmed with life and wondering if this baby was ever going to come out. And I thought about my conversation with my therapist and remembered the suggestion about Gabby Bernstein and searched her profile. Her post that day was this:<br />
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I started thinking more about why Eliza had yet to come. As of my 40 week appointment I was 5 cm dilated and 70% effaced. I had been progressing steadily from week 37 on, and each week my OB's scratched their heads at how she was still hanging tough with my body so far along. I thought about this mantra, and wondered if my own fears were holding me back from delivering her. Fears of how I would survive as a single mom of four under four; fears about whether I am enough for these babies; fears about how raw it would feel to labor with her dad, who was no longer my husband, by my side; fears about being wide open and vulnerable and alone; fears about being homeless. So many fears.<br />
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I decided to give it a try. I sat back in the tub, closed my eyes and began to breathe. About a half hour later my phone buzzed with a text message from my brother asking if I was still awake and if I wanted to talk. It was 9:42 p.m. I jokingly told him that I'd call him when I got out of the tub so that it wouldn't be awkward, and we had a bit of stupid sibling banter (that I'm including, because the whole convo cracks me up).<br />
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By 9:50 p.m. I was on my fourth heavy contraction and calling Joe to get him to help me out of the tub. These weren't the little Braxton-Hicks contractions I had been having for months. I knew this was the real deal. I called Joe and he was walking the dog, I calmly said, "I need you to come home, I need help." And then I hung up and called our nanny. </div>
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She was roughly 30 minutes away, and again I calmly said, "okay". But in my head I was thinking I didn't even have 30 minutes. I wondered if she would still want to work for our family if she watched me deliver a baby in my living room. I wondered if I would want to employ someone who saw that much of me. And then I had another contraction and my crazy thoughts disappeared. My contractions were strong and coming fast. I called my OB and left a message that I was in labor with the answering service.</div>
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Joe got home and we finished throwing stuff in my hospital bag, I paced my bedroom, bending over the bed or the dresser with each contraction. At that point they were under 5 minutes apart. Joe called our nanny for a sit rep two or three more times. She got to our house at 10:15 p.m. and I was already walking to the car. The contractions were coming faster and getting stronger. </div>
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We flew down the driveway and got stuck behind the most conservative driver that ever lived. It was around that time that the on-call OB called me back. She asked all the normal questions (how far along I am, how dilated I was at the last appointment, how fast my contractions were coming, what kid was this for me, how far we were from the hospital) I squeaked out my responses in between contractions...over 40 weeks...5-6 cm...1-2 minutes...number four...35 minutes away. She later admitted she didn't think we'd make it to the hospital after speaking to me on the phone. </div>
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We got on the highway and it was raining. I could see the speedometer reading 90-95 mph and I kept telling Joe to slow down, that I was afraid of his speed. He works at the hospital in which I delivered all four kids and he kept telling me to calm down, focus on keeping her in, and let him drive, that he knew the road, and he would get us there safely. We made it almost two exits before we got pulled over. Joe kept trying to get out of the car to tell the officer that I was in labor and I was screaming at him to stay inside so that the cop didn't draw a weapon or something. And then I was screaming in pain. Joe started shouting out the window, "My wife is in labor! My wife is in labor!" The cop took his sweet ass time getting out of his car and then meandered over to our car even more slowly. When he got close enough to be in earshot, he looked at Joe confused and then shone his light in on me. I was mid-contraction and moaning wildly. The officer, who was all of 22, looked panicked and started waving us forward, shouting, "You're all set! Just go! Just go!"</div>
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We passed four more cop cars on the way to the hospital, and didn't get pulled over again. So while this guy didn't give us a police escort (probably didn't want to deliver my baby on the highway), it seems like he did, at least, radio ahead. </div>
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My contractions were 1-2 minutes long coming every 1-2 minutes. They were painful and I was literally holding her in with all of my might. Joe kept telling me, "Just keep her in, Nik, just keep her in." I was breathing and moaning and holding myself up with the oh shit handle, the whole time thinking I was going to deliver her in my husband's car. </div>
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We got to the hospital and the valet was already gone. Joe threw the car in park and left it running. I was freaking out because it's not the best city and I was afraid someone would steal our car. In hindsight, it was a funny thing to be worried about given the fact that I was literally giving birth in the entrance of the hospital. There were no wheelchairs and the elevator was farther away from us than the stairs, so we took the stairs. I walked up two flights of stairs, stopping to breathe through each contraction, to get to the next bank of elevators that would take us to labor and delivery. A hospital employee who was on break or starting their shift or something, held the elevator door for us and when he realized that I was literally having my baby right there, he ran ahead of us off the elevator and alerted the nursing staff. </div>
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Several nurses came running around a corner, one had a wheelchair, but I couldn't sit. I just did not want to sit. They got me into a room and I stood next to my hospital bed, leaning forward on it to work through a few more contractions. Joe went to go move the car. I remember thinking he wouldn't make it back in time. I took my clothes off and got into my gown. I was checked into the hospital system at 10:57 p.m. </div>
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A young nurse came in to start my IV, I was having back to back contractions. I told her I didn't want an IV and she grabbed my arm to start the line, and that's when I verbally assaulted her telling her to stop touching me with her pointy stick. I didn't see that nurse again. </div>
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They asked me if I wanted an epidural and I said yes and then no again immediately. I remember thinking there wouldn't be time, there wasn't enough time. I knew if it hurt that much that I was close and it would be over soon. A nurse checked me and I was 7 cm, when my OB came in a few minutes later she checked me and I was fully dilated and ready to push.</div>
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The first few contractions felt wild and out of control. My OB gowned up and sat down as I started to push, and my water exploded with a force that surprised everyone in the room. The pain got even more intense and I became even more frightened. I thought about the pain and the fears and all of the things keeping me wild and scared, and then something shifted with my next breath. I exhaled and let it all go, giving into the process, giving into the fear, surrendering. </div>
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As I focused on my breathing, I got very quiet. And then I pushed and pushed and pushed. In between contractions I actually had (short) breaks to regroup a bit. I stayed quiet, except to say a few times that I was tired, or that I didn't want to ever do this again. And then on one contraction Joe, my OB and the nurse that was helping to hold my leg started encouraging me to push a little longer and a little harder. My OB told me to stop pushing, she adjusted Eliza and then she told me to push again and a few seconds later I felt her pass through my body and my perfect baby was on my chest. </div>
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I looked at her and I cried, "We did it baby girl. We did it. It's just you and me. It was always you and me. We did it." And I wept and kissed her sweet face. I got to hold her for over an hour and nurse her. Her grip and her latch were strong, and we sat together. Nursing and clutching each other.<br />
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Eliza James was born on October 21 at 11:27 p.m. weighing 7 pounds, 13 ounces and was 20" long.<br />
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My perfect, spiky-haired, gorgeous baby girl came into the world 1 hour and 45 minutes after I opened my eyes in that bathtub.<br />
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Because I had no IV, they couldn't push pitocin to deliver my placenta and that took almost a half hour. I actually felt guilty for holding up my OB, but when my body was ready I could feel the contractions start again, and I pushed through one contraction and the placenta passed me, the room cleared out, and I was alone with my baby girl. Joe came back from calling his parents and our nanny and said goodnight and we were alone together again. My miracle baby and I, holding onto each other.<br />
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I now understand why people preach about natural births. I'm so glad I held out and let her come on her own terms. From beginning to end, her birth was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. Once I let go of my fears, it was so peaceful and so natural. I understand now why I was given the gift of this child, this little healer, this tiny warrior. I am thankful each and every day.<br />
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<i>{ 1 week old }</i></div>
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<i>{ 2 weeks old }</i></div>
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<i>{ 3 weeks old }</i></div>
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<i>{ 4 weeks old }</i></div>
<br />nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-62266138075805734432014-11-11T15:02:00.002-05:002014-11-11T20:54:53.443-05:00The Collapse. Midnight. Then Peace.I have been meaning to capture Eliza's birth story before the tiny details escape me, but there is a slightly larger story to tell and one that I have been both afraid to share and covetous of sharing. It has been such a deeply personal series of moments that have brought me great pain and greater comfort and I hesitate to be that exposed. But if I am to tell the story of how she came to be born, then I feel I must tell it from the beginning.<br />
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It is not easy to go through a pregnancy and terminate a marriage simultaneously. In fact, at times it feels emotionally impossible. The night Eliza was born, I sat in my hospital bed holding her, nursing her, while editing the Memorandum of Understanding which executes my separation and precedes my divorce. The dichotomy of being filled with so much love and so much anguish concurrently is a space I hope to never feel again.<br />
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<h4>
The Spirit Guide</h4>
About halfway through my pregnancy I felt heavy. My soul felt heavy. I worried about what this energy would do to the baby, how it was affecting her. So I began seeing a woman for Reiki with the goal of clearing out some of the darkness. I only managed to go twice in nine months. Taking care of myself isn't something I have a lot of time for, but the sessions were powerful.<br />
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During the first session, Eliza didn't stop moving, wriggling, writhing. It was like the movement of the energy was giving her new life. I woke up from the session with an unstoppable force of tears rolling down my face. If you know me, you know that I don't cry. I just don't cry. This release was so necessary and so important. The healer who performed the session hugged me hard when it was over. I joke now, that I paid $80 for a hug. Ill-timed jokes are my thing when I am maxed out or vulnerable. In truth, it was the best $80 I had spent all year. It was also the first hug I'd had all year.<br />
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I walked away feeling lighter, but not clearer.<br />
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Session two came nearly a month later, I drifted into that space between awake and asleep and felt the baby move and felt my fears rise and felt my breathing slow down, almost stop. I was literally drowning in the fear, I could feel myself holding onto it, worrying how I was going to do this all and do this all on my own. And that's when I felt something or someone hold my hand. It was warm and it squeezed my hand and I knew that I would find the strength to make it through, I knew that I would be okay.<br />
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<h4>
The Dark Night of the Soul</h4>
On September 24, we received the first offer on our house. It was $70,000 below asking price. It was an offer we could never take, as doing so would mean I didn't even have enough money to start over again, to put a roof over my babies' heads. We were deep in the thick of our separation and feelings were everywhere. The offer ignited fear in both Joe and I, and manifested into how we each process that feeling of being afraid. It was a new low. I felt like this would never be over, we would never come out of it, I would never survive. And what came after between us took me to a place where I lost all hope.<br />
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After putting my babies down for bed, choking back tears, I slid into the bathtub where I cried. I cried so hard I vomited all over myself several times. I cried until the water went cold and then I cried long after it had gotten cold. And I prayed for death. I acknowledged that I didn't have the strength to survive, and I had lost the will. I acknowledged that the fear and sadness had consumed me. And I prayed for the end of it all. I prayed that god would just take me and let me leave the pain of this world and this body, but that someone would find me in time to save the baby. I asked god to send me a sign that everything would be okay or to just take my life, let me go, just save her.<br />
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That's when I felt something reach through me and embrace me. I felt something holding me up. I felt something comforting me. This force held me until I caught my breath. And, again, I knew that I would find the strength to make it through.<br />
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<h4>
September 25, 2014</h4>
At nearly 37 weeks pregnant everything felt like effort. That Thursday was no different. All three kids had school, I had deadlines to meet for work, life wasn't stopping or even pretending to slow down.<br />
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The kids were zoo-y and Ryan's bus was late, making the girls late for school and me late for a conference call. I fought with Reese. I felt numb. After making it through what felt like the longest morning and afternoon in history, I got to 4 p.m. only to find out that Joe was stuck at work and, of course, I hadn't gone to the grocery store. There was nothing in the house to make for dinner and I was feeling too spent to attempt shopping with all three in tow.<br />
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Joe got home at 6:30 which is when we normally have dinner on the table, and we left to go to a restaurant nearby. One that we had never been to. The kids were still sideways and shouting and fighting and vying for attention. The adults were exhausted and trying to discuss the offer on the house, the day before, trying to pick up pieces and make them fit. We walked into the restaurant around 7:15 and were seated and then promptly ignored. And when the third drink got knocked over, after the fifth tantrum had started and the fourth toy was thrown in anger, we got up and left. And now it was 7:45 -- just fifteen minutes before bedtime -- and our kids still weren't fed, or bathed, or even home.<br />
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I called a local pizza place that has a sit down restaurant and placed a dine-in order over the phone. I explained that we had three overtired kids and we would drive around for 15 minutes before coming inside, to avoid pre-meal meltdowns. While trying to place the order my phone dropped the call four times. It seemed as though every part of life was trying to test me. When it rains it pours.<br />
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We sat down at the booth and the food came out shortly after sitting. Perhaps the only good thing about feeding our brood two hours later than normal was that they were <i>hungry</i> and it was finally <i>quiet</i>. There was so much to talk about in the quiet space, but all we could do was sit expressionless and be thankful that we were almost at the end of another day. We likely looked as hollow as we felt.<br />
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The waitress came to our table and asked us if we needed anything else, and I told her, "just the check."<br />
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To which she replied, "it's taken care of."<br />
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"What?"<br />
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"That lady sitting over there bought you all dinner, she's almost done with her meal. I thought you'd want to know before she left."<br />
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I walked over to her table, exhausted, leading with a 9 month belly that surely had tomato sauce underneath in the places you stop being able to see after a while. She was sitting with a near-empty pint of beer, middle-aged, unassuming, married (wearing a ring), but eating alone. I warned her that I was a hugger and that the pregnancy was making me emotional. She said to me, "then let me stand so I can be hugged."<br />
<br />
She hugged me tightly.<br />
<br />
I said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. This has been a hard day, a hard few days, and it's not about money, but thank you."<br />
<br />
She said, "I know. I love you." I pulled back slightly off-guard. "I love you," she said again. She pulled me back in, tighter this time, and said, "It's okay. I love you."<br />
<br />
We hugged in the middle of the restaurant for minutes, me crying and her whispering, putting me back together. Then she walked over to the table and said hello to my children who were happily and quietly eating the meal she had just provided us. They chatted with her for a few minutes, she learned all of their names and they told her the random stories that toddlers tell. Then she reached down and squeezed my hand before leaving.<br />
<br />
After she walked out Reese looked at me and said, "Mommy that lady was really cool."nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-13926437831944364312014-10-06T15:57:00.001-04:002014-10-06T21:54:27.081-04:00Pumpkin Painting Party InvitationsFun fact: my due date for E is the day after Lola's 2nd birthday.<br />
<br />
Well, it <i>was</i> anyway. But I just found out that my OB switched the date. I have no idea how or when this arbitrarily happened as this is my first (ever) spontaneous conception. But apparently when you get pregnant outside of a lab, things like date moving take place? Seems like a whole lot of tomfoolery to me.<br />
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I had hoped that the girls would share a birthday. Four kids. Two birthdays. Only one set of twins. It was too awesome not to wish for, but given the state of the state, I don't think E will be cooking for that much longer.<br />
<br />
Me being me, I had started planning Lola's second birthday the day after her first birthday.<br />
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Birthdays are a big deal around these parts. I grew up in a household that often forgot birthdays or used the acknowledgment of a birthday to manipulate. It was awful to have the very people who should be celebrating you make you feel insignificant, or worse.
To me a someone's birthday is the day they came into the world. Without that day, this person you are celebrating wouldn't exist and then who would you love? It is special. And sacred. <br />
<br />
On your birthday you should feel loved and appreciated and, most of all, happy. In a word, complete.<br />
<br />
I am over the top with my kids' birthdays, and part of that is totally for me. But my special crazy is for them too. I want them to know how much they mean to me (to us), how loved they are, I want them to feel like the day that they came into the world was the most special day of a lifetime.<br />
<br />
I know they feel it. Reese remembers every part of her <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/search/label/superhero%20birthday" target="_blank">third birthday</a> and talks about it all the time. And this year on my birthday, when the day was over, Reese looked up and said to me, "Mommy, wait! Your day can't be over, we need the decorations and your friends." She knows a birthday is supposed to be celebrated with people you love. I have done my job. (Well, part of it.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, I am working through my psychoses in therapy, I assure you. And cutting myself some slack. Or so I thought, anyway.<br />
<br />
Specifically, I shelved Lola's original over-the-top second birthday ideas until next year when it can be a combined 1st and 3rd birthday for her and E. I whittled down the guest list. And I simplified by doing treats only, instead of a full meal with a party...<br />
<br />
...and then, in what can only be described as cosmically bad timing, I planned the party for three days before my new (to me) due date.<br />
<br />
Since I pared down so much of the party, I unleashed the crazy with her invitations -- hand painted pumpkins with custom tags.<br />
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Look, Rome wasn't built in a day and my crazy won't be fixed in a year.<br />
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Regardless, I'm really excited for Lo's little get together. I hope that even though there's a new baby coming into this world -- possibly on her birthday -- and there's a lot of chaos going on, in general, that she feels loved and special. October 17, 2012, was one of the most important days of my life. I am excited to share the culmination of my beautiful girl's second year in this world with our closest friends and family. And I really (<i>really, really</i>) hope I am around to host it!nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-8384645555468792622014-08-19T22:17:00.000-04:002014-08-19T22:33:58.645-04:00Lemon Drop's Maternity Pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I almost didn't do photos because I thought with a third pregnancy (fourth kid) they were superfluous. But I started thinking about what it would be like to be the last kid born and not have pictures like these that the rest of your siblings had. And I've been so busy with the kids and life and work that I haven't taken a whole lot of time to just be in the moment with this pregnancy. These photos were a gift to my new precious baby and, even more, to myself. </div>
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About a month before they were supposed to be taken, I had a hormonal meltdown and I wanted to set my closet and myself on fire. I just was so emotional and felt so grody that I said to hell with it, I'm not doing this, I'm not spending time and energy and money on silly photos. A few girlfriends pulled me up by my bootstraps and let me throw my hormonal hissy fit and got me back on track. I love you girls, thank you. The end result is a handful of images capturing, celebrating, reveling in my last pregnancy. I couldn't be more thankful.</div>
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Reese and Lo are so excited about number four. Reese sings itsy bitsy and the ABCs to lemon drop and when the song is over she asks me if the baby woke up and smiles widely at me and says, "did you feel her kick?" The baby usually doesn't, but I always say yes. Tonight, in an effort to thwart bedtime she told me she wanted to feel for the baby and when she put her hand on my belly lemon drop gave her a whopping thump and Reese's eyes bulged out of her head and she whispered, "I felt that." </div>
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Bean lifts up my shirt and kisses my belly all day long. She sings and signs baby and blows my belly kisses. I don't know how, at her age, she understands that there is a baby in my belly. But she seems to know lemon drop is there, I just know she's going to be the best big sister. She's got so much love to give and she's such a gentle little girl. I can't wait for them to meet her. </div>
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We had a pretty bad storm here a few weeks ago and Ryan was woken up by all the thunder and lightning. He ended up wide awake in my bed for several hours, and we just laid there quietly and held each other. Around 4:30 a.m. lemon drop woke up and started wiggling, which is her normal routine every night. I pulled Ryan's hand to my belly and he moved his tiny palm around my skin and played with his sister, giggling, eyes-wide, completely in awe and baffled by the movements that were happening. When she finally settled back in, he grabbed my hand and put it under his shirt and said, "momma, feel baby in my belly?" Sweetness. Pure, pure sweetness. </div>
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Eight weeks until she's here and my little family is complete. By the time lemon drop is here, I will have been pregnant more than 800 days over the last four and a half years. That just baffles me. I thought I would never be a momma. And here I am with my arms and heart just bursting at the seams. </div>
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nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-26007523314092398162014-07-26T08:43:00.000-04:002014-07-26T08:43:00.243-04:00Coffee Should Make ItselfThings I have been asked to fix today (<i>all before 8 a.m.</i>):<br />
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a knit blanket with an airplane stuck in it<br />
a matchbox car that has been thrown one too many times<br />
a soiled sheet<br />
socks that make one's feet too slippery<br />
milk<br />
underwear that can't accommodate two legs in one hole<br />
the deflated green arm of a balloon animal octopus<br />
a broken friendship<br />
an iPhone (in guided access)<br />
books that won't stack properly<br />
a blanket not perfectly flat<br />
breakfast<br />
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<br />nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-11698515651037947922014-07-01T22:30:00.002-04:002014-07-02T10:40:56.947-04:00I Have No LifeStill trying to find my way back here. Blogging is <strike>somewhat</strike> very self-aggrandizing and I'm not feeling too rah rah yet. And divorce is like the death of blogging. <br />
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Joe took the twins to their see their grandparents at the farm this week. They were over the moon excited to go. My mother in law bought the twins air mattresses to replace the cribs she had for them and when I talked to the kids this morning Reese went on an on about her new bedroom. She's such a funny kid. Air mattresses are the coolest thing to ever happen to her, apparently.<br />
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I got these pictures today, and word that Ryan asked for lunch and ate a whole grilled cheese sandwich, two slices of cheese, half a box of graham bunnies, a bunch of grapes and two cookies. All things that may seem normal for a growing boy, but it's not normal for my boy. Hearing about his eating adventure warmed my heart. I know it means he was engaged today, regulated, and that he's relaxed enough to eat. I know it means he's happy.<br />
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God I miss them. This is our fourth time apart. Ever. It's weird for them to be doing things without me. So weird.<br />
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Lola stayed home with me because she is still not really walking (getting there though!) and she's still the baby, for all intents and purposes. And when the kids are at the farm they ride horses and tractors and do all sorts of "big kid" things, she's just not there yet. Almost, but not quite. So I get to play singleton mommy for a few days and I'm loving it while it lasts. It's so different. My blood pressure at my OB appointment today was 110/60 and I joked with the nurse that it's because my two older kids are on vacation.<br />
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Yesterday I threw off her schedule big time and the poor peanut napped until 7 p.m. as a result, so we went to a pub for dinner (keeping it klassy) and split a bacon cheeseburger. She got my bacon and I got her cheese. The damn place didn't have highchairs, which totally reminded me of that movie with Reese Witherspoon where she's all, "you have a baby!...<i>in a bar</i>" Totes me. Anyway, sans high chair meant Bean ate while sitting on my lap. She managed to sit in a regular chair for part of the meal, but couldn't reach the table well. The cutest. Seriously. Once she finished her beer, we headed over to a friend's house to watch The Bachelorette and she stayed up till 11 p.m. I feel like I'm on 16 and Pregnant with this kind of parenting, but what the hell?<br />
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Anyway, tonight I got a sitter and went with one of Lo's therapists to a spin class at a new gym. First of all, damn, I love spinning. I felt (still feel, hours later) so, so good. <i>Note to self</i>: make room in the budget for a sitter so I can take spin once a week. Second of all, I realized that I have no life. Seriously, holy shit, people. I have no life. My kids are my WHOLE life, and I am not theirs. I mean, I kind of realized this after I went to Martha's Vineyard last month and the Earth didn't stop rotating on its axis, but the realization keeps punching me in the face.<br />
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I think I need to join something and meet people. Like get out and, uh, make something of myself. Maybe I'll join a running club or something. How high-fashion would it be to run in an adult diaper? Don't judge, four kids in three years and I pee myself at inopportune times. <br />
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So what does one do when the life they created ceases to exist? Obvi the kids are still priority numero uno. But now what?nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-42894476375947426342014-06-26T10:51:00.000-04:002014-06-26T17:30:02.352-04:00Freedom, Joy, Growth<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19.31999969482422px;">"The basis of your life is absolute freedom, the goal is joy, and the result of that perfect combination is motion forward, or growth. Your goal is to find objects of attention that let your cork raise." (Abraham-Hicks)</span></blockquote>
I've been trying to find my way back here, because once upon a time I really enjoyed writing and I still enjoy looking back on old posts about my kids. Lately my life has been something stuck between denial and a Smashing Pumpkins compilation (melancholy and the infinite sadness, people).<br />
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Joe once said that blogs are the only thing faker than Facebook. And I have to say, I agree with him. I've tried to walk the line of truth here as much as possible, but there are some things that are just, well, personal. So the truth, I am six months pregnant and my husband and I are separating. Not like trial separating to see how it feels. But we made a plan to divorce one another and that includes us staying married for a little while so that I can have amazing things like health insurance when I deliver our fourth child this fall.<br />
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The divorce is collaborative which is legalese for saying that we worked with a mediator to come up with a mutual agreement that is kind and required a ton of patience and amicability so that our kids are protected and know that they are loved. We will still be seen together in public and in pictures, because we are still a family. I hope that we are proof that sometimes people love each other more when the arrangement is slightly different. I know that we will be proof that our love for our children is paramount to all other things. And that is all I will disclose about my marriage, because some day my children will be literate and they don't need their personal bizness up on the internets.<br />
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Someone once made a comment here about our house, calling it the <i>Barbie Dream House</i>. Something that was part judgement mixed with a splash of jealousy and a hint of bitterness. Comments like that are the hard part about sharing parts of your life; sometimes people don't realize they are hurting you. Or worse, they know exactly that they are hurting you and they spit that shit out anyway.<br />
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So the Barbie Dream House is on the market, and ironically it's my Barbie Nightmare House, not because there is anything wrong with the house itself. No, the house itself is perfect. It is an amazing, gorgeous, from a magazine house that was intended to be the very start of forever. However, I cannot afford to keep it alone and until it sells I am stuck living inside of it with no option to purchase another home for me and my children. And let's be honest, at 6 months pregnant I am a ticking time bomb.<br />
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I found another house, exactly perfect, but the sellers won't take a contingency until the house has been on the market for a longer period of time, so I am waiting and praying no one else loves this house as much as I do. If you know me, you know I suck at waiting.<br />
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I wish that the whole thing was cut and dry, but a move comes with all sorts of complications due to Ryan's autism diagnosis. Without getting into lots of boring details and what-ifs, if-thens, if I leave the county I lose Ryan's bussing and if I leave the school district I lose his whole IEP. So, that's stressful not because it can't be solved, but because the solution is completely out of my hands for the time being.<br />
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Clearly, a lot of crazy things have been happening and I've been trying to sort it all out. It's left me with a lot of time to think about why. Note, not <i>why me</i>? But actually WHY. What am I supposed to be taking from all of this? Dear Universe, what is it that you are trying to teach me? And I think the answer is two things:<br />
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1. <b>Let go.</b> Of control, the need to feel like you are in control, and the idea that life is some picture in your head that you can enact. It is not perfect. It is messy. There are hiccups. (But you survive them.)<br />
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2. <b>Some thoughts are better kept to yourself.</b> I am a chronic over sharer and a chronic say exactly what you thinker. I need a filter and an internal edit button in order to preserve relationships with people I love and to protect myself from unnecessary harm.<br />
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So, I am learning. I am welcoming the lessons. I am growing.nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-46715203254795221172014-06-22T19:08:00.002-04:002014-06-22T19:08:27.770-04:00For Sale By OwnerHi friends, my home is for sale. If you know someone in the market in the Albany, NY area, please share the information. It's a great house and it deserves a great family. Thank you in advance for reading and sharing.<br />
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4 Beds / 3.5 Baths</div>
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4-car garage</div>
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3,518 sq. ft. on 1.15 acres </div>
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house backs up to 8 acres of forever wild</div>
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MLS # 201407958 </div>
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<a href="http://www.forsalebyowner.com/23986963">www.forsalebyowner.com/23986963</a></div>
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<a href="http://youtu.be/5mlN0h22cQI" target="_blank">Virtual Tour</a></div>
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Feel free to email me with any questions <a href="mailto:nikinikinine@yahoo.com">nikinikinine@yahoo.com</a>nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-47313611313710129832014-06-02T10:12:00.002-04:002014-09-30T10:22:31.797-04:00Martha's VineyardI'm away on my first child-free vacation in four years. By myself. After a few unsuccessful attempts to coordinate a girls weekend over the last year, I decided what I really needed was some time away and I didn't care if I didn't have company. Being alone with the kids nearly 24/7 is draining and I felt like I wasn't being the mom I wanted to be, my patience were thinner, the amount of times I was checking my phone to escape to the outside world were more frequent and I was missing out on the bigger picture. But more than that I was exhausted.<br />
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So I set aside some money from one of my accounts and booked a long weekend for myself. I chose Martha's Vineyard because it's within driving distance from my house, so no extra costs for flights and if I needed to get home (god forbid) I could. Plus I've never been here, so there was the added benefit of trying something new.<br />
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<i>{ my Edgartown carriage house }</i></div>
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I booked an adorable carriage house in Edgartown and off I went. I was lucky to have my trip overlap (by one day!) with an old friend from college, so I spent Saturday night with a glass of wine, takeout, and good conversation.<br />
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Yesterday was my first full day here and it was lovely. I slept until 10; took a long, hot shower: and drank hot coffee while reading a real estate guide on the front porch (just for fun, I was kidding on <a href="http://instagram.com/nikinikinine" target="_blank">Instagram</a> when I said I was moving here!).<br />
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I spent the afternoon exploring Edgartown on foot and then hopped in the car and drove to the end of Katama Road to North Point Beach where I read a book and relaxed in the sun.<br />
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To save money and for convenience, I hit up the grocery store when I got on the island and bought items for breakfast and packed lunches, but I promised myself to enjoy dinners out. Last night I treated myself to a dozen oysters and an Allagash White Ale (nice job, Portland!) at <a href="http://www.mvchowder.com/ordereze/default.aspx" target="_blank">the Chowder House</a>, before driving back to Edgartown on Beach Road.<br />
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The kids would have loved Beach Road, with the ocean on one side and the bay on the other, so many places to stop and find crabs and clams and shells. Picnic tables and enough sand for a thousand castles. They will love it here.<br />
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The weather has been perfect -- high 60s to low 70s -- and I came early enough in the season that I've avoided a lot of tourist congestion. I was one of six people (in fairness the other five were groups) on the beach yesterday afternoon. This has been heaven.<br />
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nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-43518565711595543892014-04-08T22:08:00.001-04:002014-04-08T22:08:27.370-04:00Desiderata<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.<br />
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Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.<br />
<br />
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.<br />
<br />
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.<br />
<br />
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.<br />
<br />
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.<br />
<br />
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.<br />
<br />
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.<br />
<br />
Be cheerful.<br />
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Strive to be happy. <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Desiderata, Max Ehrmann)</span></i></div>
nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-26529694304318678882014-02-25T16:49:00.000-05:002014-02-25T16:49:14.299-05:00Superhero Birthday Party: The FavorsWhen we decided to do a superhero theme for the twins birthday party, I knew immediately that I wanted to make capes and masks for all of the kids as party favors. I mean, seriously, what three year old doesn't want to be a superhero? I started sewing right after Christmas, and much to my surprise (thankfully) the whole prcess went pretty quickly. The key was definitely cutting all of the capes en masse and then sewing, ironing, sewing through each step also in bulk, rather than doing one cape at a time from beginning to end. *Although* I did sew the first two capes one at a time to make sure things were coming out right, and I am glad I did, since the first cape I made ended up being Lola's cape, since it was about 7" too short for the big kids. Oops. <br />
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The twins were little hams, modeling their capes in the weeks before their birthday party. And it cracked me up to watch them chase each other around their house with their capes flying behind them. We had a few capes leftover, plus the capes that the kids each got at their party and they still request to be a superhero and wear the capes around the house over a month later.<br />
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Keeping a dozen three year olds entertained is no small feat, so when it came time to decide on what activities to have at the party we decided to do cape and mask decorating stations. Joe and I spent several nights leading up to the party cutting out felt stickers into lightening bolts and circles and stars. Just last week I saw a bunch of felt sticker shapes at Hobby Lobby and I was kicking myself for not checking there first. I bought silver sticker letters from Michaels. The decoration stations were a huge hit with the toddler crowd.<br />
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I really loved this party, the kids were so into it. Especially Reese and Ryan. They LOVED being superheros and having superhero shirts and capes. They wore their masks for hours and it was really the cutest darn thing I have ever seen. So much work and thought goes into these parties that we throw, and that's definitely my choice. But it is so awesome to see the kids so happy and loving their special day. It makes every crazy night crafting a million percent worth it. <br />
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A few friends asked me to post resources for making the capes and masks, so here they are. <br />
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For the capes I used a combination of <a href="http://www.howdoesshe.com/super-hero-cape/">this tutorial from How Does She</a> and this <a href="http://www.serving-pink-lemonade.com/2010/10/super-cape.html">this tutorial from Serving Pink Lemonade</a>. Honestly, I liked using a plate and having a curved neckline. But the How does she tutorial was helpful in determining length. I want to say my capes were 15" folded wide and 32" long before I sewed them with a 1/2" seam allowance. I used sticky velcro on the tabs to shut them and make them easy for the kids to take off and on by themselves.<br />
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Here is the <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1iRK-tLt_KoMktpSzdUYzdEcHM/edit?usp=sharing">template for the masks</a>. I just printed it on regular printer paper and traced it by hand onto felt. Then I cut little snips on the edge near the eyes and strung them up with silver elastic.<br />
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I hope they are helpful, as always if you have questions leave a comment or email me directly.<br />
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nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-55603387034977648632014-02-11T22:12:00.002-05:002014-02-12T14:16:48.237-05:00Superhero Birthday Party: The CakeSo Reese and Ryan's birthday cake is kind of a funny story. Those close to the event have dubbed their birthday cake scandal as "cakegate". In an effort to save myself time and sanity, I hired out the cake to a "cake artist". I figured it would be hard to top <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/2013/01/hot-air-balloon-party-cake_24.html" target="_blank">last year's cake</a>, so while the cost was exorbitant I felt like the relief from baking was necessary.<br />
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I sent the cake artist several inspiration pictures for the cake, set up delivery -- which was for a Sunday -- and went about planning the rest of the party. On Saturday, while I was at a birthday party with Reese, I got a confused text message from Joe saying that the cake lady was at the house dropping off the cake.<br />
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I figured, okay, she came on the wrong day, no big deal. At least it was a day early and not a day late. She put the cake in our refrigerator and left. I should have known this was the start of something horrible. I came home and excitedly tore open the fridge door to find a lopsided cake with fingerprints all over it, cake sticking out through icing, smudges and smears in fondant. Frankly, it was horrific. And the only thing that made the cake even more unpalatable (if that was possible) was the fact that I actually paid someone to make it.<br />
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<i> { me looking like something out of American Psycho and Bean providing much needed comic relief }</i><br />
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I called the artist up and told her that the cake was awful and I was devestated. And you know what she did? She drove back to my house in a snowstorm, took the cake and gave me back my check. She even held an umbrella over the turd cake on the way back to her car to protect it from the elements. What a nutbag.<br />
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So I did what any irrational, cakeless mother would do the night before her kids' birthday party. I went to the grocery store and Michael's and bought all of the ingredients to make my own cake. I will tell you indignence can do wonders for your inner cake boss.<br />
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Three hours later and the cake was done. And I have to say, I may have topped last year's cake with this one. While the experience didn't help my inner control freak, it did convince me to just make the kids' cakes each year moving forward as a special tradition. I actually kind of enjoy it.<br />
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<i>{ Ry got the the cake before the candles did... } </i></div>
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<i>Looking for the recipe? Find it <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/2013/01/hot-air-balloon-party-cake_24.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</i>nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-51388556547100379102014-02-10T07:30:00.000-05:002014-02-10T12:51:25.698-05:00Super Reese and Super RyanEvery superhero needs their own super suit. My kids loved these and they are cute enough to let them wear still now, which is a double bonus. I basically remade their <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/2013/05/big-brother-and-big-sister-t-shirts.html" target="_blank">Big Brother and Big Sister t-shirts </a>with a new "super" design. What can I say? If it ain't broke, don't fix it.<br />
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What you'll need:<br />
<ul>
<li>A pre-washed, blank t-shirt, one piece, or tank</li>
<li>Felt or fabric piece for the applique</li>
<li>Embroidery floss and needle </li>
<li>Scissors (the small ones with a pointy tip work best) </li>
<li>Heat n' Bond fusible webbing </li>
</ul>
I ordered American Apparel shirts on Amazon. NOTE: these run very small, so size up. The rest of the supplies I had leftover from the last time I made these shirts. But all of the items can be purchased at Walmart or craft stores like Michaels, Hobby Lobby, etc. <br />
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For the applique, I printed out lightening bolt clip art from a Google image search and an oversized R that I just put into a regular word document. I didn't photograph all of my steps, so I apologize in advance for the detailed description sans photos. If you run into issues or have questions, feel free to email me or leave them in the comments and I'll try to talk you through it!<br />
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Instructions:<br />
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First take the template and place it under a sheet of your fusible webbing. Trace the lightening bolt and letter on to the webbing. You'll want to make any thin lines a little thicker so they will be easier to cut and stitch later on.<br />
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Make sure you trace your lightening bolt and letter backwards so that when you flip them over and adhere them to your shirts they read correctly.<br />
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Then iron your webbing onto your felt or fabric. Set your iron to the wool setting and make sure your steam is turned OFF. Iron the design onto your felt or fabric, holding the iron against the heat n' bond and felt for about three seconds. Do not over iron.<br />
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Carefully cut the appliques out.<br />
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Next, peel away the paper that is still on your letters exposing your fusible webbing. Place your appliques where you want them on the t-shirt with the fusible webbing/glossy side down. Iron the applique to the garment by applying light pressure over the felt for about 10 seconds, again using the wool setting with no steam.<br />
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I got thicker felt this year after my melting snafus the last time and I couldn't get the webbing to heat enough from the felt side, so I had to pin my appliques in place and turn the shirt inside out and then iron the shirt (does that make sense?!)<br />
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Now that your letters are attached to your garment, you're ready to start the applique process. For this process you will stitch by hand using a straight stitch, which is a really simple stitch to master. If you aren't sure how to straight stitch a quick youtube search will solve that problem for you.<br />
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Cut about 3-4 feet of your embroidery thread. Each skein of thread has six strands, separate two of the strands from the piece you've cut and thread them through your needle.<br />
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Once you have finished stitching all of the appliques, you're done.<br />
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Be sure to wash your garments inside out, to help the felt wash and wear better.<br />
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The twins had such an awesome birthday party and I think some of these little details helped make them feel extra special. They beg to wear their superhero shirts every time they see them and Reese tells me every time she sees anything from her party that we need to throw the party again.<br />
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I love that they are finally at an age where all of the crazy things I do to celebrate the day they came into my life resonate with them. I recently saw some art on Etsy that said, "your birthday is the best day of my life". It really is.nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-19000181870358737082014-02-08T09:59:00.001-05:002014-02-08T09:59:04.966-05:00Surviving JanuaryI have been battling my hair ever since the twins were born. I cut it short thinking that would be easier to maintain. It's not. I grew it out thinking I'd pull it up and look cute. I don't. Finally, I invested in a <a href="http://www.folica.com/tools/curling-irons/sultra-the-bombshell-clipless-curling-iron" target="_blank">curling wand</a>. I'm cheap so this took a long time to commit to and a big coupon code helped make the decision. My hair looks like this all the time now and it's so easy. I go to bed with my hair wet. Wake up with it looking like a hot mess, wrap it a few times and bam! beach hair (in January). YESSSSS!<br />
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You'll have to believe me, since I'm not big on selfies.<br />
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The twins had their birthday party, which is one of my favorite times of the year.<br />
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Ryan started his new school. He loves riding a school bus and he's doing amazing.<br />
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Read an awesome reminder about the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dawn-gluskin/life-lessons_b_4629195.html" target="_blank">truths of life</a>.<br />
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Hosted a little man themed baby shower for one of my dearest friends.<br />
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And wrapped up <a href="http://nikinikinine.blogspot.com/2014/01/lola-fleur-catering-events.html" target="_blank">my first full service design client</a> under harper + henry. Loving the work, loving the people I am working for. Life is good. </div>
<br />nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-18241925477493844062014-02-03T07:00:00.000-05:002014-02-03T07:00:00.793-05:00Reese and Ryan Turn 3My beautiful babies turned three years old on January 12. As Reese (and now Ryan, since he learns everything to do with talking from her) would say, "I CANNOT BELIEVE IT!" So big. Three is my favorite age yet. They are both verbal and <i>funny</i>. I have started journaling their little conversations so I won't forget them. The other day Ry just started busting a move in the living room. I mean the kid was shaking his moneymaker. I looked at him and started laughing and he said to me, "Ma, I dancin" with the most serious look on his face. Reese told me last week that she needs to take a trip to the moon so she can feed the puppies. Three is the best.<br />
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We taped balloons to the outside of their door again and when we heard them playing and fussing in their rooms we went and knocked and told them the door was stuck and we needed help opening it. Reese's face when all of the balloons cascaded around her little head was amazing. When I tucked her in for naps that day she told me, "I going to bed now, when I wake up you open the door and make the balloons come again, okay?" Gah, I can't take it.<br />
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After they got done playing with their balloons and then fighting over whose balloon was whose, they came downstairs to open their presents -- the each got a Lite Brite and an LED writing tablet. And then they got to open presents from their grandparents, who weren't able to make the trip back here again.<br />
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Coming off the heels of Christmas, they were bowled over at the idea of more presents. January might be their most favorite month ever.<br />
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They got pancakes for breakfast, which is their favorite and then they got to take a bubble bath in mommy's big bathtub. The total royal treatment.<br />
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Since it's just us and our kids here in this area -- no family, our celebration is pretty simple. After naps the kids had dinner and then they had a bitty birthday cakes. They discovered the joy of licking off the candles. Aaaaand they made us sing happy birthday to them each (individually) seven times, of course, with the candles relit each time. They can't see a candle now without spontaneously breaking into song.<br />
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They are finally at the stage of toddlerhood where they get holidays and birthdays and they can anticipate them. They were talking about parts of their birthday for days after we celebrated, which warmed my heart because the day was so very simple. How lucky I am that I've gotten to spend the last three years with these kiddos. I am thankful every day.<br />
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Their big party was the weekend after their actual birthday, which works out so nicely because it gives us time to celebrate them and be still. Three years old. I cannot believe it.nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-41168895040341454432014-01-30T09:43:00.000-05:002014-01-30T09:55:35.675-05:00Lola Fleur Catering & EventsI recently completed work on a site for a catering and events company based out of Mississippi. The owner, Jennifer, is a fellow mommy of three under 3, so she holds a special place in my heart for a myriad of reasons. The least of which is juggling a crazy schedule with an emerging business. I loved her style - fresh, classic and feminine. <br />
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Under Jenn's project I got to work in a number of capacities, the first of which was helping her name the company. After a few brainstorming sessions, Lola Fleur emerged as the clear winner. Lola was Jenn's grandmother's name and holds a special meaning for her. Fleur is the french word for flowers which just fit the brand well. Starting with concepts for flowering rosemary and then moving through lavender, we worked through concepts for her visual identity. A few brainstorming sessions later and we had graphic branches and solid color concept to execute on the visual elements for her brand.</div>
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I have to say that this is one of my favorite parts of working with clients, helping them realize their vision, create concepts, narrow down their messaging, and fall in love with their brand. </div>
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Jenn's site included several interior pages outlining her business offerings and relationships within the event planning community. We also created an accordion menu to answer clients' most frequently asked questions and a tiled image gallery to showcase her work. Both of these elements are components that she can easily update and add to on her own as her business grows.<br />
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Her site was coded with a custom contact form with fields defined for easy inbox sorting, allowing her to discern web-driven emails from those regularly coming into her inbox. This helps create a streamlined process for responding to new and current clients.</div>
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And, finally, her site was created with a custom blog, allowing her to showcase her work and ideas. The blog is organized by categories and features allowing users to access the most relevant information to them, or just peruse all of the areas of Jenn's business easily.</div>
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We created these fun icons for Jenn's home page which create a secondary navigation to pages within her site and also link to other components of her brand, like her catering to go business.</div>
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<a href="http://lolafleurevents.com/" target="_blank">Lola Fleur Catering & Events</a> is set to launch later this year. Jenn's events are truly gorgeous and I can't wait to see where this business goes under her direction.nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-62128566285856772692014-01-23T20:57:00.000-05:002014-01-23T20:57:57.769-05:00Love Letters (Boy Edition)Tomorrow ends Ryan's first week of school. Each day I've been painstakingly packing his lunches and praying he's eating. Eating is a chore in this house and, unfortunately, I am somewhat limited in what I can send unless I want to drive his teachers completely BSC. <br />
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His daily reports have been coming back great and most of his lunch is being eaten. Hallelujah.<br />
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On top of the whole, "will he or won't he eat this" nonsense, I have been writing little notes for him each day. Just so he remembers that I'm still here and so that he knows that I am missing him every second of every day. I am not an artist in the least, and after a few days I have exhausted my repertoire of doodles for his lunch box notes. That is to say, I drew a flower, a heart, a sun and a stick figure. And I'm spent.<br />
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So tonight I created little love letters to tuck into his lunch box instead. This is much easier than being creative at 11:30 p.m. And the notes are quite cute. I thought some other mommies might be able to benefit from my insanity. Feel free to <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1iRK-tLt_KoNU96cUhqa0lrY2c/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">download a set of love letters</a> and use them with your kiddos. I printed them on cardstock, but you can print them on normal printer paper. Cut along the lines, write a little note, tuck it into your little guy's lunch box and ta-da! Awesomeness.<br />
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Enjoy :) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOj-Dza7WfV_f1f3Yr7R4rTx5qnSLCoiU_Em80aJYWh_K-DibWb2qWx4QJP-w2BTYtDkrnLDsQgYRSc1FuurjV417YRO4zOG0FOtPoAFZK-uWrWszym7hHvps3rnq26yGKZkRIRQ4yQQ/s1600/love_letters_boyedition.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHOj-Dza7WfV_f1f3Yr7R4rTx5qnSLCoiU_Em80aJYWh_K-DibWb2qWx4QJP-w2BTYtDkrnLDsQgYRSc1FuurjV417YRO4zOG0FOtPoAFZK-uWrWszym7hHvps3rnq26yGKZkRIRQ4yQQ/s1600/love_letters_boyedition.png" /></a></div>
nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-47914094497386696962014-01-22T14:46:00.001-05:002014-01-22T14:46:56.486-05:00Ryan's First DayI posted an update about Ryan's first day to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/nikinikinine" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="http://instagram.com/nikinikinine" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, but wanted to just update here quickly also. Thank you (<b>so</b> <b>much</b>) for all of the support and encouragement as our family goes through this transitional time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zhE9GN-TbT42lvaMS5UtPoeK3eIs_BJiESCUKzZMKa6guNpRUxLXuuVb_FfmTrtILX-yJIN2vnYBHOTAcG3YXvkTh4RnYMAAVOWCatbqnEkt4oYPinZQ0P1CJYEmr_OxixYXRGupvYg/s1600/car2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zhE9GN-TbT42lvaMS5UtPoeK3eIs_BJiESCUKzZMKa6guNpRUxLXuuVb_FfmTrtILX-yJIN2vnYBHOTAcG3YXvkTh4RnYMAAVOWCatbqnEkt4oYPinZQ0P1CJYEmr_OxixYXRGupvYg/s1600/car2.jpg" /></a></div>
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Yesterday, Ryan and I waited for the bus in my Vanborghini and <span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]">he
totally rocked the bus ride to school. I buckled him into his carseat and he started to fuss, but that quickly subsided when I handed him a special bin of new cars and planes that are for the bus only. The aide said he played with his cars and counted and talked
about airplanes. </span></span></span><br />
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<span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]">When the transportation company arrived at his school I was waiting there to meet him. I carried him into his school and he took his coat off and
walked away from me to go play. And he never looked back. </span></span></span><br />
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<span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]">I took him to his new
school once in December to play in his classroom and attend PE with his
classmates and he remembered everything -- he walked down the hallway right to his classroom like that was no big deal. You have to love a photographic memory. </span></span></span><br />
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<span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0].[4]">His first day report seemed to indicate that he did well. It was underwhelming and unremarkable, which is, I suppose, better than a note full of bad news. He ate his all of his lunch (this is huge) and was willing to participate in his individual therapy sessions. I wish the school had gone into more detail about how everything went, but I don't know if any report will ever be able to replace me experiencing his day alongside of him.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ogFGoNPygUCIqZjtJuK2Yj12AMIqXC7O3Aj4fQLRI4fn3C5ksOJUuwE0SQZsNlHjWnbLurQ4i3yvfuiuwGcWU2Xkyt1wBy9z9ozr9JGRDvh4AN2cEbqqZ0UM9gwzEkd6TUcUa8pme7I/s1600/car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ogFGoNPygUCIqZjtJuK2Yj12AMIqXC7O3Aj4fQLRI4fn3C5ksOJUuwE0SQZsNlHjWnbLurQ4i3yvfuiuwGcWU2Xkyt1wBy9z9ozr9JGRDvh4AN2cEbqqZ0UM9gwzEkd6TUcUa8pme7I/s1600/car.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0].[4]">The transition has been hard on me. I miss him every second of the day. Our normal toddler activities are still happening, only it's just me and the girls and that feels alien. I've realized I don't know my daughter as well as I thought I did outside of the context of her twinship. A realization that is heartbreaking. We played Barbie's yesterday for the first time and it felt as cool as it did uncomfortable. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0].[4]">Reese is struggling too. She is needing lots of hugs and lots of attention. Her antics warrant patience, and I am trying so hard to give her the room that she needs right now to adjust. I am not sure either one of us knows how to live in a world where Ryan isn't a constant part of our days. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0].[4]">I am sure, with time, this will get easier. Hell, we all got used to having 5 therapists in our home 20 hours per week for the last six months and, let's be honest, that's not normal <i>at all</i>. But on Monday when no revolving door of therapists came, it was off-putting. It's funny the things you can get used to. So while this situation is unconventional and, frankly, undesirable, this too will become our version of normal. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638351697681235748}.[1].[2][0].[16]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0]"><span data-reactid=".r[4r77d].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[0].[1].[1].[0].[1].[0].{638726393773866214}.[1].[2][0].[4]">Hopefully one day I won't feel compelled to tell everyone that Reese is a twin, that I have three kids, not two, when we're out and about. But right now I feel like I need to remind everyone that one of us is missing. </span></span></span></span></span></span>nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3006748481015146076.post-61375104112309180892014-01-20T14:15:00.002-05:002014-01-20T14:52:10.697-05:00The Roller Coaster UpTonight I will pack my son a lunch in his brand new lunchbox for the first time. I will put in his favorite snack, a sandwich I hope he'll eat, and a cookie, because I know if he eats nothing else he will eat that cookie. I won't be there tomorrow to make him something different if the texture of the sandwich doesn't fit his needs, or if the smell is somehow different. I won't be there to sit him on my lap and help him eat if he's disorganized. I won't be there.<br />
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I wasn't prepared for that lunchbox. For picking it out and ordering it. For opening it and making sure all of the food containers fit neatly inside. For explaining to his twin sister that I didn't get her a lunch box because she still gets to eat at home.<br />
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Tomorrow a bus will come and pick up my son and drive him to school. He will start a new life that involves spending 35 hours a week away from me, with someone else driving him to his new destination. And I wonder, did I give him enough of a platform to jump from? Will they continue to help my baby develop into the sweet and tender little guy that he was on the path to becoming? Do they know how often he needs hugs and high-fives? If I tell them, will they remember?<br />
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Ryan's school is a good one. I hand-picked it after months of touring schools and interviewing staff. It is the right choice for him. For all of us. He is ready. He has plateaued at home and gotten as far as he can with home- and community-based therapy. Now he needs to go to a larger, social learning environment and learn how to generalize his skills. Learn how to keep his language in a crowd of people. Learn how to cope. And he's ready to do all of these things, with help.<br />
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But I am not ready. I am not ready to send him out without me. To lose him for all of those extra hours. To trust someone else to guide him and teach him. I am not ready.<br />
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I am so, so angry, but I have nowhere to put it. And underneath that anger is a wave of grief so large that when I let myself feel it, I am sure I will drown. I am a fixer and I can't fix this. I can only wait to see what happens and hope. The waiting kills me.<br />
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I have theories -- not taking always my folic acid when I was pregnant, the CPC's they found in his brain when I was pregnant, the genetic possibility. I may have done this to him, I may have caused this.<br />
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I have guilt -- that I didn't fight harder to get him services when he was screened at 15 months, that I didn't see this sooner, that I didn't know what to look for, that I didn't question the people who were the supposed experts when I knew they were wrong.<br />
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I have grief -- that he may never have a wife and children, that he may never have a true friend, that he may only learn the social expectations we have for him and imitate them and not truly have a conversation that makes him laugh so hard his belly hurts.<br />
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He has so many skills. Joint attention (the ability to socially reference others to follow instructions or see how to do something), eye contact, the desire for approval, seeking out affection, spontaneous and appropriate language, pretend play, imitation. So many good things. But the last few weeks, with the break in his routine, he has been the worst I have ever seen him. Hand wringing, facial ticks, verbal stim, teeth grinding. He got a sinus infection and I noticed that with his illness he started to rock himself. Several nights this week, his disability has been so evident that I have excused myself from the dinner table to go upstairs and cry.<br />
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Our therapists, who came to our house for the last time on Friday, have told me that Ryan's skills are so high and so hopeful. They have reassured me that it is unusual for a child on the spectrum to have so many typical skills. They have consoled me and told us what a good job we have done for him so far. They have shared with me that he is one of the smartest children that they have ever come across. That his photographic memory will help him learn so quickly.<br />
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He learns skills in a day and generalizes them within a week, which is often a several month process for other kids.<br />
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We are at the bottom of the rabbit hole looking up. With this next transition, we have further to fall before we can start to climb our way out. I am hoping that there is, somewhere, a way out.<br />
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I have put all of my expectations on hold to wait. The horrible, miserable waiting. I don't want to wish his life away. But I want to fast forward to the ending. To know how this turns out. To feel that it will be okay. This will be okay. Instead I sit holding my breath. Waiting. Holding.<br />
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I am thankful for the starting point he has been given, I just wish I could give him more. Actually, I wish I could just make this go away. Or take it myself. I would gladly take it myself. Every day it kills me that I can't fix this. I can only hope and wait.<br />
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And, in the meantime, I can love him.nikinikininehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06973740322116829957noreply@blogger.com