tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91654134720974029892024-03-04T23:17:57.021-08:00 Root 'em Deep The random musings of a wife, mama, teacher, and very screwed-up Christ-follower.Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-44420715819242076962014-05-14T08:45:00.003-07:002014-05-14T08:46:38.737-07:00Lucky 13--An Archive<div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm posting this blog I wrote last year, because I don't want to lose it. I published it as an assignment on my teacher blog page, but it definitely fits better with these musings. In a month, Gabe will be 14. This year has been the typical roller coaster one can expect with teenagers, but I am still so incredibly amazed at how lucky I am to be on this ride with my boys and their dad. It doesn't get much better...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://smittyhawks.blogspot.com/2013/06/lucky-13.html">Lucky 13</a></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This summer is flying by. As of today, I've been out of school for an
entire month. During that time, I did 3 grad classes, another CCU,
cleaned out my attic, have been watching my 3 month old niece twice a
week, volunteered for VBS, and more. I'm tired. Oh, and I had a
garage sale Friday and Saturday. I'll say it again, I'm tired.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabW2wOLB0sodzj6sUmE_6zY2JEY8VcmtHskRdxk6ZOEkVO_eI8H66gr9UtYosUL6DJHBbTQnTsd64-7t4xleS3TAiO1XW736AhGXcgfuhBVkyF284p6CffUHi9GMe4kpfzRGuiNr3NY8/s1600/Gabe+13.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabW2wOLB0sodzj6sUmE_6zY2JEY8VcmtHskRdxk6ZOEkVO_eI8H66gr9UtYosUL6DJHBbTQnTsd64-7t4xleS3TAiO1XW736AhGXcgfuhBVkyF284p6CffUHi9GMe4kpfzRGuiNr3NY8/s320/Gabe+13.jpg" height="320" width="191" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But on Wednesday this week, we took time to celebrate one of the best
parts of our lives. Gabriel Brock, our oldest, turned 13. While I have
a little nostalgia about how great he was when he was little, I have
truly enjoyed every phase and been ready for the next. Ok, I guess the
one exception to that was the first 12 weeks when he screamed every
waking second. Every other stage has been challenging, exciting, fun,
thrilling, scary, and humbling. This kid is our first try at this whole
parenting thing and my husband and I will readily admit we've screwed
up. Lots. More times that I can count. In fact, I can think of 3 or 4
examples of decisions or statements this summer in which I would like
to call out "Do-over!" and try them again. But that's just it. There
are no do-overs as a parent. Or a spouse. Or a teacher. Every single
minute has to be "game on" and the clock is definitely running.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some of my friends dread the teenage years, but I have to say I'm
ready. Elementary school was great, but Gabe's more than ready for
middle school (7th grade in the fall). He's clever, funny, and growing
every second it seems. I love teenagers; that's why I can teach high
school. While I don't love the snottiness, attitude, or the mood swings
we've been experiencing at our house, I am very aware that we are
already late in the 3rd quarter of our full-time parenting with him.
I'm looking forward to every second I get to be with Gabe this 13th
year. Every second counts, after all, and the clock is ticking. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-33152198243313504762013-11-16T05:44:00.003-08:002013-11-16T05:49:39.025-08:00Living the Life--Type I Diabetes: Know the Signs<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkMljKT9V7ADrmSNo_ZWCuPmLBSx9uKWDDQKVVB1IteCtGR0_bBKnSPQEaAIhKMdxLEy5bR1puNpFasHa3sKhnV_zOI-Vk3IG_wwek1EbLbc1P5c6XvjVvk5jiHquLERmdwOEFeVYeZbj/s1600/Blue-circle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkMljKT9V7ADrmSNo_ZWCuPmLBSx9uKWDDQKVVB1IteCtGR0_bBKnSPQEaAIhKMdxLEy5bR1puNpFasHa3sKhnV_zOI-Vk3IG_wwek1EbLbc1P5c6XvjVvk5jiHquLERmdwOEFeVYeZbj/s1600/Blue-circle.jpg" height="175" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">World Diabetes Day </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My kids have it rough. If they complain of being thirsty too often or have to pee more frequently than usual, they are subjected to a series of finger pokes and blood sugar checks. Whether they think about it or not, along with my nose to one and my legs to the other, I may have also passed along the genes/propensity to get diabetes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm careful with them because I know the signs. If my parents had known what to look for, my diagnosis would have been much less dramatic. But this is me friends, so I suppose anything short of dramatic would have been out of character. By the time I arrived at the hospital, my blood sugar was over 800 and I was in full ketoacidosis--I struggled to breathe, I couldn't stop puking, I was hallucinating, and I couldn't stand or move on my own. If we had waited any longer for treatment, I would have gone into a diabetic coma, and the odds of coming out of one of those aren't pretty. But I did receive treatment, and every day since I have been figuring out how to live with it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This week was World Diabetes Day (November 14th). According to the International Diabetes Association, the<a href="http://www.idf.org/worlddiabetesday/toolkit/gp/facts-figures"> number of people with diabetes is increasing in every country</a> and within a few years, the United Nations has determined that it will be at pandemic levels throughout the globe. So friends, know the <a href="http://www.idf.org/worlddiabetesday/toolkit/gp/warning-signs">signs</a>. Be aware of them in your children for Type I and yourself and those older for Type II. Here's a quick run down:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">-Excessive thirst</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Frequent urination</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Lack of energy</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Weight loss </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Frequent infections/illnesses</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Headaches/difficulty concentrating</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent me from getting Type I diabetes, and hindsight is always 20/20. Knowing the symptoms is key to prevention in Type II at least, and the sooner you catch Type I, the easier it is to control within the first few months. Life may be rough for my kids that's for sure. But if we can avoid the drama my family and I went through all those years ago, it's definitely worth the finger pricks now and then. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-37224459500182613072013-11-04T18:24:00.000-08:002013-11-04T18:48:22.139-08:00Living the Life-- Type I Diabetes: Not Your Grandma's Disease<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhGOmhz7rm4bJi0Po_O0-hlTrnsKrxGYmqhFzHer3O4Gj5jZsjPoio9MistL18SRqkMUBs5AWfgbf_hCL6TV__9nspDZSg37Vly6pO0oxOKW5marYO3xNZ0ZS9-qX3-TATZGjzhBKvJlZ/s1600/Bracelet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhGOmhz7rm4bJi0Po_O0-hlTrnsKrxGYmqhFzHer3O4Gj5jZsjPoio9MistL18SRqkMUBs5AWfgbf_hCL6TV__9nspDZSg37Vly6pO0oxOKW5marYO3xNZ0ZS9-qX3-TATZGjzhBKvJlZ/s1600/Bracelet.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I was 12 years old, I was diagnosed with Type I diabetes mellitus. No, this isn't the same thing your grandma has. No, I didn't get it because I was fat or drank too much sugared pop. I'm diabetic because cells in my body attacked the beta cells in my pancreas, and effectively killed off that part of the organ. I didn't do anything wrong to get it; I couldn't do anything to avoid it. No one is completely sure why some people get it and some don't. It may be genetic, it may not. Whatever it is, there is no cure. And to be honest, I have very little hope that there will be one in my life time at the rate the research is going. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Part of the reason for the delay in the cure is that Type I diabetes only affects 5% of all diabetics. That's right--5%. The total number of diabetics in our country is growing at an exponential rate. In 2011, the <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/diabetes/pubs/pdf/ndfs_2011.pdf">CDC reported</a> that there are 25.8 million diabetics. That's 8 out of every 100 Americans. So in other words, 95% of all diabetics in this country have Type II diabetes. That, my friends, is the preventable kind in almost all cases. There are a few cases of Type II occurring due to medications (steroids such as prednazone, for example) in otherwise healthy adults, but overall, the number one cause of Type II diabetes is being overweight and a lack of physical activity. In fact, according to the <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/diabetes/pubs/pdf/ndfs_2011.pdf">CDC's study</a>, 58% of all of those at risk for Type II diabetes were able to stave off the disease with lifestyle and activity changes. In those aged 60 and over, that rate increased to over 70% who avoided the development of the disease. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So where are the bulk of the money and resources going in the fight against diabetes? Education and prevention of Type II. Am I bitter? Maybe a little sometimes. Ok, maybe more than a little. It could have to do with the fact that I've gotten flyers from the AARP since I was 13. It could be that so many people assume I just have to pop a pill and be ok. It could be because I have a disease I couldn't prevent. A disease that is the 7th leading cause of death in America. A disease that is the leading cause of blindness, renal failure, and non-traumatic amputations. A disease that I didn't get a chance to stop or lose weight to make go away. So this month (Diabetes Awareness Month) I thought I would share a slice of my life living with this nasty disease. And I promise, it's not all this depressing. Diabetes is my constant companion, my thorn in the flesh, and even at times, a blessing. It's not your grandma's disease for sure. No, my disease is much more complicated than that. </span><br />
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Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-89091405843027880812013-10-31T20:24:00.004-07:002013-10-31T20:24:48.823-07:0031 Days and More to Come<span style="font-size: large;">Well 31 days have come and gone, and I can say that I'm exhausted. Blogging every day is tough. Trying to fit it in with grading, laundry, kids activities and seeing my husband every now and then was not easy. But I've enjoyed my time blogging and will keep it up, just on more of a 3 or 4 times a week basis as opposed to every day. In fact, tomorrow is T1 (Type 1) awareness day and kicks off Diabetes Awareness Month. In honor of that, this T1 can't help but share some thoughts, joys and struggles of being a diabetic for the last 28 years. So the 31 Days of Digging Deeper series may be over, but I'm looking forward to continuing this "conversation" I'm having with many of you. Thank you for reading and encouraging me as I look forward to many more days to come.</span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-66350709823190189742013-10-31T05:41:00.005-07:002013-10-31T05:41:48.982-07:00Better Late....<span style="font-size: large;">So I missed another day of blogging. I will blog again later today, but in honor of the day, I thought I would share this:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6eQTjdMnXjuK_H37oAqqftp77jFJ2wClZCFC7NAUR6577yNAejR601gM_qDcoN4wPtF2XlZN6HJeNfV1_d2VtspAzztYolGl__XPUkgNZEPJXaBJX1pirL675kI52Iwn13HZSkOpYhrY7/s1600/Zane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6eQTjdMnXjuK_H37oAqqftp77jFJ2wClZCFC7NAUR6577yNAejR601gM_qDcoN4wPtF2XlZN6HJeNfV1_d2VtspAzztYolGl__XPUkgNZEPJXaBJX1pirL675kI52Iwn13HZSkOpYhrY7/s1600/Zane.jpg" height="238" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Halloween!</span></div>
Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-23288681813101565882013-10-29T19:24:00.001-07:002013-10-29T19:24:15.992-07:00Creamed Peas and Tough Cookies<span style="font-size: large;">My Grandma Downing was not exactly your typical grandma. Buying her cards for Mother's Day or her birthday was always somewhat comical as the gushy Hallmark sentiments for grandmothers didn't even come close to fitting the kind of relationship we all had with her. You see, my Grandma Downing was not particularly thoughtful or sweet. She was not tactful, and she was definitely not submissive. No, my Grandma Downing wasn't typical, but that didn't make me love her any less.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While there are lots of things she wasn't, she was a great cook. She made fresh creamed peas that were to die for. I won't touch the things now, but Grandma's were amazing. She made phenomenal Parker House rolls, and incredible home-made angel food cakes. She always had Post Toasties or glazed donuts for me to have for breakfast, and as a kid, it felt like she was treating me like a queen. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My grandma didn't know how to show her love very well though, and she had a temper. One time when I was there for a week in the summer, I was so homesick, I tried to call home. I was so young, I didn't know about area codes, and I ended up talking to an operator. Grandma heard the sound of the phone and asked if I was playing with it. I lied and said no. I went to Grandma Sexton's from there, but before long, Grandma Downing came to get me with a wooden spoon in her hand. I'll never forget that walk back to her house with her holding me firmly by the hand--telling me how lying was wrong and had to be punished. How expensive it was to make a long distance phone call. How she had a lot to do and I was keeping her from it. Now I was no stranger to spankings. I got them all the time at home. But this one stung deeper somehow and I haven't forgotten it. She was more harsh than she should have been, but I betrayed her trust. She let me call home that night and Grandpa gave me extra loves and snuggles. Grandma loved me very much, but she was one tough cookie. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I think about Grandma Downing, the ways she encouraged me were subtle. She loved the way I played the piano. She asked me to play at her church often, and she encouraged me to practice on her piano at home. She wrote me letters and shared bits of her daily life with me, even when I was small, so I could feel a part of her life. When she moved to Norfolk, Brian and I would go to her apartment each Sunday and have lunch with her. We carved pumpkins at her house one year, and spent the afternoons talking. She loved Brian and loved how he loved me. She'd tease us both and we'd tease her right back. When we had Gabe, she called him Brock (his middle name--her maiden name) for the longest time because she "liked that name" better. She always asked if I was taking care of my diabetes and worried that I wasn't. She talked "school" with me as she had a been a teacher before getting married, and loved hearing about my student's shenanigans. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My Grandma Downing was not your typical grandma and she was not without faults. But neither am I. At times, I have a temper similar to hers. I don't always show an abundance of tact. I have been far too harsh with my own children. I am incredibly blessed to have had so much time with her and for both of my boys to have positive memories of her. I miss all of my grandparents, but I miss her the most. It's not just because I knew her the longest, although I know that's part of it. Rather, I miss her because I was old enough to recognize her shortcomings and love her in spite of them. As I recognize so many of them in myself, I hope my own family is able to do the same.</span><br />
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Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-69710272769089099202013-10-28T19:23:00.001-07:002013-10-28T19:42:54.734-07:00Tending the Roots<span style="font-size: large;">So I missed a blog yesterday. I would say I'm struggling with large amounts of guilt, but I was getting ready for Zane's big day today. You see on October 28th, 2005, a full 5 weeks early, Zane Michael burst on the scene in all of his gigantic fabulousness. Weighing in at 10 pounds 7 ounces and almost 23 inches long, he was a force to be reckoned with from day one. We celebrated with food, family, and gifts and both of us are sad the day is already over (Gabe is not. He's ready for his brother to do his own chores again). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Birthdays are big deals in my book. They were always big days for me growing up, and by celebrating the birthday, you celebrate the person. Brian doesn't get nearly as excited about these days as I do, but he humors me. So while I may only get in 30 days of blogs this month, I can live with it. I have a very happy 8 year old tonight who will remember a great day. Tonight he knows without a doubt that his family on both sides values him. I'm pretty sure that's what rooting them deep is all about. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-83695244663243583222013-10-26T19:35:00.001-07:002013-10-26T19:35:05.061-07:00Perfection<span style="font-size: large;">Today we went to my parents to help do some fall work. The boys had a great time, we got a fair amount done, and I got to have some of my mama's chocolate angel food cake. Dad and Zane even got to blow out their birthday-buddy candles together. All of this was great, but to top it all off, the Hawkeyes won and the Huskers lost to a team we already beat. That, my friends, makes for a pretty perfect Saturday all-in-all. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-44261382761896927382013-10-25T19:44:00.003-07:002013-10-25T19:44:36.123-07:00Fun Fact Friday: Facebook is So Yesterday<span style="font-size: large;">That's right--Facebook is so yesterday--if you're a teenager, that is. According to this <a href="http://www.piperjaffray.com/2col.aspx?id=287&releaseid=1863548">semi-annual report</a> about teen buying and spending habits, only 23 percent of teens say Facebook is their most important influence on purchases. Instead, 26 percent of teens cite Twitter as being the most important influence on their purchases. So, for this Fun Fact Friday, <a href="http://www.julierowse.com/">Julie</a> and I decided that we should weigh in on which of the myriad of options out there is our social media site of choice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My decision is pretty easy. I don't have an Instagram account, and I rarely tweet. On Twitter, I follow news sources, a few friends, and a comedian or two, and I'm happy checking it once a day or once a week. I check Facebook once a day, but am mostly annoyed. It's a convenient way to keep up with people with whom I rarely speak, but I don't love seeing everything everyone posts. So what is my favorite social media site? Pinterest. I don't know if that counts, but with Pinterest, I can control what I see; if I don't want to see what someone posts, I stop following them or just their particular board I'm not interested in. I get inspiration from Pinterest as opposed to the other sites, and I love the visuals. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So teens can have their Twitter, and I'll take Pinterest. 100 percent of the time. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-21925009537319650172013-10-24T19:01:00.001-07:002013-10-24T19:01:41.747-07:00Girls Like 'Staches<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight I have to pause my series (if two posts make a series) on people who have invested in me, to share a little teenage insight I received tonight. You see, I was told in all seriousness by my 13- year-old that girls like 'staches. This was said as he stroked the newly visible hair that has appeared above his lip. By visible, I mean to those who happen to have a magnifying glass handy. He went on to describe an eighth grader with a full grown beard, and a seventh grader with a dark brown, pencil-thin 'stache above his lip. I usually just think those kids need to wash their face. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I made a big deal of the newly grown hair, I couldn't help but tear up a bit. This is another milestone--a big one at that--in his physical development. We raise them to grow and leave us, but that doesn't necessarily make it any easier. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-77632469420377955162013-10-23T19:51:00.002-07:002013-10-23T19:51:32.007-07:00Candy Bars and Shenanigans<span style="font-size: large;">My Grandpa Downing was a blacksmith when I knew him. He had farmed most of his life, but when he and my grandma moved to town, he eventually opened his own blacksmith/welding shop. I used to go visit him there, and I remember him with his welding mask on, banging away at his latest project. He was an artist in many ways, forging picture frames, fences, mirrors, and other great stuff out of metal, horse collars, and riding tack. He always had bottles of orange, grape, or strawberry pop in his fridge. On a hot summer day, in the shop filled with the distinct metallic smell and the dust from the gravel floor, it was about the best thing I'd ever tasted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I loved being with my grandpa. He had this goofy grin that lit up his whole face, and I can still feel his chuckle that started somewhere deep in his chest. His hands were gigantic and leathery, but I never noticed as he held me on his lap or when he would let me hold his hand as we sat in church. If he wasn't at the shop, Grandpa always smelled of soap. Grandma wouldn't let the poor guy too far in the door without a full hose-down in the shower. When we would leave to go home, Grandpa always gave us a fifty cent piece or two and a Three Musketeers bar. A full sized Three Musketeers bar. That was a rare treat I savored for the full three seconds it took me to inhale it before we even got out of town. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But one of the things I loved the most about Grandpa was his stories. During the week I would spend there each summer, Grandpa would be the one to put me to bed. Rather than reading stories out of a book, he would tell me stories I thought he made up. He told me a different part of the story each night and it began with a handsome young man meeting the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. I was a sucker for a story like that (and still am). He told me about evil step-sisters, and crazy car rides on bumpy roads, a marriage, and eventually the three beautiful little girls who followed. He told stories about the three little girls--the oldest one being so smart and sassy, the middle one being the feisty, naughty one, and the youngest being the one they had to look after. Grandpa had such a way of telling stories that even today, I can hear his voice and remember how I felt as he shared those adventures each night. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I couldn't wait to go to bed and hear more about the shenanigans of the girls, especially the oldest as she was definitely my favorite. Grandpa had timed his stories so that they all came together on the last night of my stay. At the end, he told me the names of the three little girls--Marie, Mary, and Shirley--my mom and her two younger sisters. I was shocked, to say the least. The fact that my mom was naughty was flabbergasting and freeing at the same time. The way he described his wife of 50-plus years and his love for her still stick out to me all this time later. My Grandpa Downing was an amazing storyteller. But in telling me the stories, he did so much more than entertain a little girl and help her go to sleep. He gave me a sense of who my mother was and how much she was loved by her daddy. He showed me what true love looks like--for a wife, for his children, for his grandchildren. He showed me how to invest in our children, and to pass down the stories of our own lives to help give them a sense of place in their own. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">His gifts to me weren't really half dollars and candy bars. His gifts were his time, his devotion, and his stories. </span><br />
<br />Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-20378292171027199522013-10-22T19:43:00.002-07:002013-10-22T19:44:14.751-07:00Making the Cut<span style="font-size: large;">This post is only brought to you by the fact that I must write for 31 days. I'm excited to write the posts in my series about those who have invested in me, but getting home tonight at 9:30 PM does not lend itself to the creation of great material. The people who have invested in me deserve far better. So, in the world of blogging, this post would never make the cut. Right now, I'm ok with simply putting in the time and showing up each day. Sometimes, that's all we really need to do. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-39483436828156996502013-10-21T19:35:00.002-07:002013-10-23T19:59:12.629-07:00Love and Chocolate Cake<span style="font-size: large;">My Grandma Sexton was the kind of grandma you read about in picture books. At least that's how I remember her. She had salt and pepper black hair, was short and fiesty, and smelled, for lack of a better word, yummy. It was probably some Avon scent, but I distinctly remember how she smelled, how her house smelled, and friends, it all smelled like happiness to me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We went to visit my grandmas at least two or three times a year. They lived in the same town after all. I remember plenty of holidays, but what really stands out to me are the summers when my parents would drop me off to spend an entire week split between my two grandparent's houses. Did I mention they also lived exactly one block away from one another? It was a pretty great set up, that's for sure. While I loved being with both my grandmas, I knew that at Grandma Sexton's, I could do no wrong. At Grandma Sexton's house, I wasn't in the way or naughty (although I'm sure I was both), and she made me feel like I was one of the best things that ever happened to her. We played games, did house work, and I pounded the heck out of her out-of-tune piano. She showed me how to make home-made noodles, had the best grape juice, and made a mean chocolate cake. We sang songs (she was always humming something it seemed), I read books, and I visited the neighbor lady who I adored. The highlight of most days was when we watched Grandma's "stories" in the afternoon. We each sat in our recliners and Grandma filled me in during the commercials on all the good gossip from not only her "stories", but the small town in which she lived. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm sure I have some pretty rose-colored memories about that time with Grandma. But the summer I was 15, she fell asleep peacefully and never woke up. I knew then that I had lost someone I could never replace. Grandma had shown me unconditional love in the way only grandparents can. She listened to me and had time for me the way others didn't. Her laugh was contagious, and her belief in all things fanciful was as well. I felt safe with her on the nights when the thunder clapped so loud I couldn't stay in my own bed. She would shush and sing to me and tell me all about the angels with potato carts rolling over bridges in heaven. She prayed with me and showed me what faithfulness looks like in the face of loneliness and eventually illness. She made me feel valued--something I hope to reciprocate in the way I treat my own children (not as often as I should) and my nieces and nephews. My Grandma Sexton invested herself in me even though I wasn't the picture book granddaughter. She just made me feel that way. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-17316115335259562092013-10-20T16:10:00.002-07:002013-10-20T16:10:43.143-07:00Coming Attractions<span style="font-size: large;">I'm cheating today. All I'm doing in this one is telling you what's coming this week. Thinking about this rooting deeper business, I have some people who have invested in me to do that very thing. This week, I'll talk about a different person each day who chose to invest in me in one way or another to help me think about things below the surface. To find meaning. To focus on others beside myself. To make sure my roots are strong and deep. </span><br />
<br />Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-33491818062507300392013-10-19T19:01:00.002-07:002013-10-19T19:01:21.134-07:00Perspective<span style="font-size: large;">This three day weekend has been a blur of activity. Vala's Pumpkin Patch for Zane's early birthday party yesterday, shoe shopping with Gabe this morning, Zane's football this afternoon, with some grocery shopping, baking, and laundry thrown in for good measure. Tomorrow is teaching Sunday school, church, more laundry, and trying to get at least one room in this house marginally clean. Life is busy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">While our lives may be busy, we know that it could be worse. It's busy for sure, but today there was time to watch the Hawkeyes come close to beating Ohio State with Gabe. There was time in the car to talk about what's going on at school with him. There was time to snuggle with Zane before bed and to cheer like crazy as he went for his opponent's flags on the field. As I think about this, I am very aware that other families do not have the luxury of this time. Many parents have to work on the weekends. Many have to work two jobs. Some struggle with illness, and others are not able to be present in the lives of their children the way Brian and I are able to be. I have no idea what the future will bring. For that matter, I have no idea what the next hour will bring. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">So for now, I'm enjoying the busyness and all that it brings.</span></span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-27686651223948708932013-10-18T19:23:00.002-07:002013-10-18T19:24:05.838-07:00Fun Fact Friday--Quiz Style<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight <a href="http://www.julierowse.com/">Julie</a> and I are each responding to some quiz questions from a book called <i>Coke or Pepsi?</i> So here goes; some fun, silly factoids about me:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Coke or Pepsi forever? </span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Clearly it's Diet Pepsi for me. Forever. In a glass bottle if I can get it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Are you a share-your-umbrella kind of girl, or an every-girl-for-herself kind of girl?</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Get your own. I keep one in the car, one in my classroom, one by the door. My hair is flat enough without getting wet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. If you could be an Olympian, what sport would you choose?</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ice skating. Yep. I rocked the Dorothy Hamill hair cut until I was 10. Not so much the ice skates, but that's a minor sticking point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. Do mannequins give you the creeps?</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes. They're weird. After being at Vala's today, I answer heck yes. Those weird fairy tale creatures gross me out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. Would you rather hike through the woods or stroll through the city?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Can I say both? I would stroll through Central Park (sort of the woods) so I could stroll down 5th Avenue. I LOVE hiking with my boys in our woods, in Jewell Park, Fontanelle Forest, and various great parks all over. However, I love real city streets (Omaha doesn't qualify). New York, Chicago, San Francisco, I'd stroll down those in a heartbeat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I feel like I should tally points now for my answers to tell me what type of personality I have or something, but there it is. </span></div>
Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-45701817707489578392013-10-17T20:31:00.000-07:002013-10-17T20:31:15.294-07:00Parent-Teacher Conferences: What Your Kid's Teacher Really Wants You to Know II<span style="font-size: large;">Another great night of conferences is in the books. As usual, it was a crazy few nights, and right now I'm surprised I can put together a coherent sentence. So what is the second thing teachers really want parents to know? We like your kid and are on his/her side. That seems obvious, but at the secondary level, parents and students can become disenchanted with the system. Are there teachers who don't like all of their students? Unfortunately, yes. However, do most of us enjoy working with kids and do everything we can to help them succeed? In short, yes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We like our students. Parents, we like your kid. We see potential in him/her. We try to nurture that and help them grow. Let's work together to help your kid be amazing.</span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-81765611065115914242013-10-16T19:32:00.000-07:002013-10-16T19:33:13.567-07:00Parent-Teacher Conferences: What Your Kid's Teacher Really Wants You to Know<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight I got slammed with more than 30 conferences. All great ones as usual, but more than 30 conferences after a full day of teaching leaves one feeling....well, slammed. But rather than break my commitment these next two nights, there are two quick truths I would share with parents if I could. Let me start with this little gem:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1) It's ok for your kid not to get an A. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I know that's shocking. Some parents frankly can't handle it. But in our culture of everyone gets a trophy, the number of parents who think their kid's a genius is pretty frightening. If your kid is learning, growing as a reader of more challenging text, learning to write to more challenging prompts, specific purposes and audiences, learning new vocabulary--if your child is improving and beginning to assimilate the content, than that C is something to celebrate. If they're pulling a B? Good for them. Stop focusing on the grade. Focus on mastery of the skills. Focus on the journey to mastering those skills. Focus on the fact that your kid is working his/her butt off to earn that C and praise them, encourage them, and empower them to keep working even when it's tough. Not every AP, advanced or average student is going to get an A all the time. If they do, there's a problem. If you earn an A simply for doing the work, that's a problem too. Now if they have a C because they're slacking off, not turning things in, or blowing off the tests, then we can talk about effort. But if they're working and challenged and earning a C? Lay off helicopter parent, and appreciate your kid for his/her abilities.</span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-45472618989878880382013-10-15T19:35:00.001-07:002013-10-15T19:38:22.720-07:00Missing Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGYYyAQkwc-t_W_X9oqn0SPIlZE36Xm2VToabTZ3RtA2A1UyZETkL2dV3_-5hEUP7cromCXO53lhJ-0LaKpywoaL_nTDLrd9I0-UEETjgIQMk2Fe0qoQa2FenZvvX0DMycw_-x0Rnj9sG/s1600/Grandma+Smith3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrGYYyAQkwc-t_W_X9oqn0SPIlZE36Xm2VToabTZ3RtA2A1UyZETkL2dV3_-5hEUP7cromCXO53lhJ-0LaKpywoaL_nTDLrd9I0-UEETjgIQMk2Fe0qoQa2FenZvvX0DMycw_-x0Rnj9sG/s1600/Grandma+Smith3.JPG" width="258" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Mary Anne Smith is my mother-in-law. Some would take issue with my verb tense, as she died a few short months after this picture was taken. <a href="http://rootemdeep.blogspot.com/2013/10/cruise-director.html">Zane</a> is a newly-minted one year old here, but a few days from now, we'll celebrate his 8th birthday. No matter how much time passes, she will always be my mother-in-law--fiesty, funny, so very talented, and one of the most fiercely loyal people I will ever know. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But time has passed, and she has missed so much since she's been gone. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, family dinners. But more important than that, she never got to meet her two youngest boy's wives. Never got to see them married. Settled. Happy in their life choices. She wasn't able to be there when Alana was born. Or Ava. She met Zane and Ella, but didn't get to see the joy they have brought us all as they grow, or see Gabe's gawky teenage phase. Her grandchildren brought her immeasurable joy. She still lit up when she saw, talked to, laughed with and cajoled her children. She has missed so very much. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And we have missed so much. So much to laugh about, so much advice, knowledge, and experience to glean, so many recipes to share and projects to do. So many holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries to enjoy together. In the month before she died, she told me very clearly, "I'm not sad or worried about dying, but I'm going to miss THIS..."-- her family, our relationships, our lives together as a big, crazy, occasionally dysfunctional family. We have missed her desperately in "this," but how could we ever wish her back? She is without pain. She is not suffering. She is healed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've never understood people who want their loved ones to be watching over them in heaven. Why in the world would you want someone in Paradise to look down and see us in our screwed up mess of a world? I'm not sure when the whole going-up-to-heaven thing happens, but when she gets there, I know that Mary Anne is focused on what really matters more than anything--being with and worshiping Jesus in a new and amazing way. We have missed her desperately, and she has missed some things here. But really, I think we're the ones missing out on the amazing new life that she started living those seven years ago. We can fill her in on all of "this" when we see her again. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-70886720437212679062013-10-14T18:42:00.001-07:002013-10-14T18:42:27.642-07:00Balancing Act<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVTvrTfTDQ8dzmqPmOuJJER9sjzYfgU6eGZA5L37h_e4Kj6DoPF82dcIT9buvDLoTp-x1ddXe1BJlZemZTcHtNCdIbIthigDhUqHr6f-_Z8TylxE_VcNlFd_u_2Dm1RgjHrrlMpr7dbh6/s1600/P1010692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVTvrTfTDQ8dzmqPmOuJJER9sjzYfgU6eGZA5L37h_e4Kj6DoPF82dcIT9buvDLoTp-x1ddXe1BJlZemZTcHtNCdIbIthigDhUqHr6f-_Z8TylxE_VcNlFd_u_2Dm1RgjHrrlMpr7dbh6/s320/P1010692.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Atlas definitely had it rough for a Titan. As the myths go, this guy chose to fight with his dad Cronus, and Zeus punished him for all eternity by forcing him to keep the planets from colliding and rotating correctly. We all know the cliche--this guy has the world on his shoulders. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It doesn't take long once school gets going for me to feel the same. I am constantly struggling to maintain that elusive work/home life balance, and more often than not, something is way off. Sometimes my students "suffer" by waiting a long time for papers, or by getting what I consider to be a mediocre lesson that could have been significantly better with more planning and inspiration. Sometimes my own kids "suffer" in that I use up most of my patience on other people's kids and am left with very little for them. Other times I have to work--grading papers, making lesson plans, answering emails or dealing with issues as department chair--and my kids have to take a back seat and wait around or keep themselves busy when they really need something from me. My husband would say he suffers no matter what, but if my patience is short with the kids....well, you get the picture. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I know my issues with balance are not unique. Some say this is a "stage of life" issue, and maybe they're right. But as my principal reminded us today, we only go around once. Unlike Atlas, we're not bound to this life for eternity. This is the only chance we get to do things here, and as a Type I diabetic at age 40, I am increasingly aware that every day is a gift. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This week we have parent-teacher conferences, so the balances will be firmly in the work category. But my job is a God-given gift. I may not being doing it to the best of my ability if it were my only focus, but right now I can assure you that I am doing the best that I know how. My children are both truly miraculous answers to prayer. We have screwed up as parents in so many ways, but both of them know that our love for them is greater than anything else outside of God and each other. My life is most certainly lacking balance. But as Paul tells the Philippians in chapter 4, verse 11b: " I have learned in whatever situation, I am to be content." Not content with mediocrity, chaos or ignoring the people around us, but content in the peace that only comes from Christ and the understanding that He is in control, not me. That imbalance of power--all Him, not me--that's the kind of balance I need.</span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-42620832636345008862013-10-13T19:04:00.001-07:002013-10-13T19:04:52.250-07:00The Armor-Bearer<span style="font-size: large;">As a teacher, I have often learned that throughout the course of a unit or lesson, I learn more than the students. Sometimes I develop a deeper understanding of the content than ever before. Sometimes I learn more about my students. Sometimes I learn something entirely new. There's a saying along those lines that you don't really learn a concept until you teach it, and I have found that to be true over and over again throughout my 18 years in the classroom. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But this lesson has been highlighted for me again and again as a Sunday school teacher too. The lesson today was from I Samuel 14. Jonathan, the king of Israel's son, decides to test God and do what he can to help his dad's army defeat the Philistines. He asks his young armor-bearer to go with him. The armor-bearer knew that going with Jonathan would probably mean death, but he chose to go anyway. Jonathan knew moving into enemy territory probably meant death, but he knew God was more powerful than the gigantic army he was facing. The message of the lesson today was loyalty. One of the ways we show loyalty, the curriculum suggested, was through keeping our commitments and standing by them when things get rough. I am not very loyal. There have been times in my life when I haven't followed through on something I said I would do because I was busy. Tired. Overextended. Just didn't want to do it. It is easy for me to make excuses. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My husband is the opposite. His fatal flaw, were he a Greek hero, would be his loyalty to others and his commitments at all costs. I wish I could say his loyalty and my lack thereof haven't been the fodder for disagreements in our marriage. I wish I could say I haven't resented the times he insisted on honoring commitments when I would rather have bailed out. What I can say is that I have been very wrong on those occasions; my arrogance, pride, and selfishness have been in the way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />I'm not sure what
the kids took away from today, but if they got that God honors loyalty,
I'll be happy. Loyalty isn't easy. Keeping your word can become
excruciating. Or just plain inconvenient. It's not easy to be an armor
bearer, following your leader even when the cost seems unbearably high.
I'm glad my children have such an example in their dad, and I am so
incredibly grateful that my heavenly Father continues to show me grace
and prod me with examples of what I need to become. </span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-60245381277594417952013-10-12T15:55:00.003-07:002013-10-13T18:11:16.172-07:00Blessed<span style="font-size: large;">Today has been a full day of baby giggles, flag football, crazy extended family members (that's you Linda), and time spent together just the four of us. Tonight, Brian has the sheet hanging down from our deck for us to create our own "drive-in" movie theater. I'm supposed to be popping some popcorn right now. All in all, a great, busy Saturday.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I started this blog, my purpose in part was for my own accountability to be more intentional about building foundations that will last in the things I do every day. I don't know exactly how successful I am with that yet, but if nothing else, writing each day is a great reminder of the ridiculous generosity of my heavenly Father. Blessed doesn't even begin to cover it.</span><br />
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<br />Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-29026875797514094672013-10-11T16:02:00.002-07:002013-10-11T19:37:14.646-07:00Fun Fact Friday: Livin' It Up<span style="font-size: large;">Tonight Julie and I are spending some time living, not just writing about it. Check <a href="http://www.julierowse.com/2013/10/fun-fact-friday-living-life.html">her blog</a> out to see the exciting things she's up to, but tonight and tomorrow, we're hanging out with this little one:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTY37MzEM7et7ryIboGKBqVjMwjQiNdJxREF6k2zajwIu0M0h_ytyjW-4eB1dY4SptqJ0wxQO4OMhkdu3wVNpEVmOlkYM39qHo3dLQ6fk6D_407cH_go4iQL5XZjAMo7odAsdsI-tA0CPl/s1600/Ava.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTY37MzEM7et7ryIboGKBqVjMwjQiNdJxREF6k2zajwIu0M0h_ytyjW-4eB1dY4SptqJ0wxQO4OMhkdu3wVNpEVmOlkYM39qHo3dLQ6fk6D_407cH_go4iQL5XZjAMo7odAsdsI-tA0CPl/s320/Ava.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Zane wants to get her to laugh, Brian and I are hoping for some baby snuggles (and sleep) and Gabe can't wait to trade serburts. Friday couldn't get much better at this point.</span><br />
<br />Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-5366597120528522532013-10-10T19:11:00.000-07:002013-10-11T10:55:21.688-07:00Still Talkin'<span style="font-size: large;">We talk to our kids. A lot. I assume all parents do. We talk about their day at school, how activities, went, all that stuff. Now don't get me wrong, most of the time when I ask how school was, I get the one word answers you would expect: "Good." "Fine." "Ok." sometimes even "Great!" from my second grader. But I don't leave it at that. I have a series of questions I ask casually throughout the night. For example:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Who'd you play with at recess today?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">What was the coolest question you heard or asked today?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">What's happening in the book you're reading with your class?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">How was gym/media/computer lab/music?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">What did you talk about at lunch today?</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't ask all of those; usually, one or two is all that's necessary to get them sharing something more meaningful about their day. As the night goes on, more stories flow out of them, and before long Brian and I have a pretty good picture of their day. There are times when they don't want to talk about things right away, and when that happens, we give them space. But by bedtime, those experiences usually come spilling out as well. We've tried hard to build a culture of communication and trust with them. Only time will tell how successful we have been. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImLWT-I22VegCNs3X90JFju3KI5deDQ_JF0polKRLcqF_7fFWmipAv09Q8Du9xL4VIxgJWX6rscGycFR9ZO3MoGsEDzQXPDr9MK0Ws_GvPjec4DaaHxMRF_Zxct1-MFlt2kTi8Pz37AFb/s1600/IMAG0447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImLWT-I22VegCNs3X90JFju3KI5deDQ_JF0polKRLcqF_7fFWmipAv09Q8Du9xL4VIxgJWX6rscGycFR9ZO3MoGsEDzQXPDr9MK0Ws_GvPjec4DaaHxMRF_Zxct1-MFlt2kTi8Pz37AFb/s1600/IMAG0447.jpg" height="191" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">But over the course of the last few months, I've had three different people in very different situations comment on the fact that our kids still tell us things about their lives. Most of them are just commenting not passing judgement, but all have found it noteworthy that our kids tell us things about their friends, teachers, activities, etc. What I find of note, however, is that this isn't the norm. I know our kids don't share everything with us. As Gabe gets older, he probably won't share as many of those details as he does now. But I'll keep asking. Maintaining their sense of privacy and autonomy is crucial, but learning to share life with the people closest to you--that's really what it's all about.</span>Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9165413472097402989.post-57966311200776783262013-10-09T19:40:00.003-07:002013-10-09T19:41:24.832-07:00End of an Era<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn7OrAYOY4w5XSon9XevtSh7yuHpwnb_-ayvATPAyRlqp9trS9J57tAG1GGW_-55nZUZvCop2wIcUJVyfIZJppK2KEpoi4-J8XLwoFJJiQyrc6eooN8UNewmz6DkeAPzmlTox0yNdKdhL/s1600/Family+Portrait+106.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn7OrAYOY4w5XSon9XevtSh7yuHpwnb_-ayvATPAyRlqp9trS9J57tAG1GGW_-55nZUZvCop2wIcUJVyfIZJppK2KEpoi4-J8XLwoFJJiQyrc6eooN8UNewmz6DkeAPzmlTox0yNdKdhL/s320/Family+Portrait+106.JPG" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Over the course of the last week, it has really hit me: life is changing. I know that's an er-duh kind of statement, but we are definitely in a state of transition right now. For example:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I will never again buy clothes in the boys 4-7 section. Both boys are now size 8 and up, with one in the men's section for some of his clothes.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Gabe is going to his first middle school dance tomorrow. Does he know how to dance? No. Will he dance with a girl? Probably not. If he does, will he tell us? Again, probably not.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Gabe is in middle school. And doing well, all things considered, especially academically. That's a huge praise right there.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Zane makes it clear on a daily basis that he is growing up and can do more things on his own. Usually, in an annoyed voice along the lines of "Maaaahhhhmmmmmm...I'm fine. I can do this." </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">This one gets me: Zane no longer wants to read the seasonal picture books. Or any kind of picture book. All he wants to read are chapter books now.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">We've stopped reading to Gabe before bed each night. After all, we finished the Harry Potter series, most of the Hardy Boys, and all of the Narnia books. While it was bittersweet for all of us, he would rather read his books on his own now. We still do prayers and/or devotions, but that time sharing books is over.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: large;">Our boys are 13 and almost 8. The little boy phase is over for good. While that's exactly how it's supposed to be, there are definitely things that I'll miss. I love being able to have real conversations with Gabe as you may only do with a growing young adult. Yet I miss the sweet innocence of his younger days. Zane is changing physically and I already miss his baby face and adorable sweetness. Life doesn't stand still for a reason, and I am excited about the next phase we have in front of us. But for a second or two, I am mourning the passing of time, for those fleeting years have been so sweet.</span><br />
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Amy Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02494348083332902858noreply@blogger.com0