tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76775879720317505652024-03-05T08:35:36.180-06:00Thoughts from a writing momPerhaps I seek accountability, or an occasional word of encouragement. Or both. I am going to tell others of the process of my books coming to be. I always said as a little girl that one day I would be a writer. My one day is now.cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-92035433218814883312023-11-27T13:54:00.000-06:002023-11-27T13:54:58.987-06:00The antidote<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">At our Parish, before Mass, we introduce ourselves to those
sitting around us and we ask for their prayer intentions. (I know, I know. This
makes so many of us uncomfortable. But this can be really powerful, too. We
were made for community and when you really think about this it IS a good
thing.) <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday I turned around and met Janet, an elderly woman with
a warm smile who I had not met before. Her prayer request was for those who are
suffering from loneliness during this holiday season. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I told her that I would pray for that intention during Mass,
and I did. Then I went about the rest of my day. This morning after school drop
off Janet and her request popped into my mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that this time of year can be
incredibly difficult for those who are lonely.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I said a little silent prayer again for the lonely, and then
yesterday’s gospel reading came into my mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In case you missed it, the gospel yesterday:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Matthew 25:31-46. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Jesus said to His disciples:<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>“When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the
angels with him, he will sit upon his glorious throne, and all the nations will
be assembled before him. And he will separate them one from another, as a
shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>He will place the sheep on His right and the goats on His
left. Then the king will say to those on His right,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom
prepared for you from the foundation of the world.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and
you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me,
ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.’<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Then the righteous will answer Him and say,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or
thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or
naked and clothe you?<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?’<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>And the King will say to them in reply,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of the
least brothers of mine, you did for me.’<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Then He will say to those on his left,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>‘Depart from me, you accursed, into the eternal fire
prepared for the devil and his angels.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>For I was hungry and you have me no food,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, <o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>A stranger and you gave me no welcome,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Naked and you gave me no clothing,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Ill and in prison, and you did not care for me.’<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Then they will answer and say,<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a
stranger or naked or ill or in prison, and not minister to your needs?’<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>He will answer them, ‘Amen, I say to you, what you did
not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the
righteous to eternal life.”<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Okay, so, I’m thinking to myself at this point that there is
an obvious correlation here between what I prayed for and this gospel reading. We
are to care for those who need it the most. This motivated me to do more than
just share these thoughts, so I called my local nursing home and found out
about volunteer opportunities for myself and for my children. They would love
for us to come and chat with those who cannot leave their rooms, and to paint
the nails of some of the ladies, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and to
play card games and bingo with some of the residents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s no coincidence that after praying for
the lonely, God nudged me to call my local nursing home and find out how we can
help. God is answering this prayer and using me to do it. Funny how that works,
right?? Maybe this will motivate you to look for ways in which you can serve in
your community, too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kG3OEfqnwuFbC4UpLLXVg23gRqZxmDC1qNAo1sjsifCI2EZHGEUfG0O_dxc684MLOKc2LlNFcUb1nwlCZFi8lzGq3mrJ1BZ6R0XvGBeCBjYDtW-pI4MbU7z85WqbaNV1xduY1euCT2STzb7thkwSMtnItNcGJmlsT8yZ0REkpwx7TJRKWN83sbf14dc/s632/heresyoursignblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="632" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kG3OEfqnwuFbC4UpLLXVg23gRqZxmDC1qNAo1sjsifCI2EZHGEUfG0O_dxc684MLOKc2LlNFcUb1nwlCZFi8lzGq3mrJ1BZ6R0XvGBeCBjYDtW-pI4MbU7z85WqbaNV1xduY1euCT2STzb7thkwSMtnItNcGJmlsT8yZ0REkpwx7TJRKWN83sbf14dc/s320/heresyoursignblog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">I feel like it is pretty clear that we should be helping those who are in need. I also feel that it is super cool that when we do help others we get this warm fuzzy feeling in return. It isn’t about us, but because God created us for community and created us for love, when we are living in that and truly ACTING for others, we in turn get peace. He designs us like that for a reason. I believe that if anyone reading this right now is lonely, and they turn their attention towards trying to cure someone else’s loneliness, they in return will be cured.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Many are wondering around this world totally lost because they have forgotten who they truly are, and how loved they are, and what they are commanded to do.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Matthew 22:36-40<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>He said to him, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>This is the greatest and the first commandment.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.”<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">There are loads of problems in the world and so many lonely moments and countless lonely people. You don’t have to look very far to see those.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">But there is also an antidote to loneliness and you don’t have to look too far to find Him either. You do have to go towards Him, however. He won’t force you to turn to Him, because true love is never forced.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Can you imagine what life would be like if we all lived out these two greatest commandments, for real? Isn’t it beautiful to know that you can do this, today? Starting right now?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjr2J_4OzuU9IfMSmxXdTVw7UhsCuGhfaZUIunbF4tSbmldlxbEOp69j3KK1kitglF3eUClheNHSTGzjUr3bdsVgATFQiT-2Nh1NwuT33K9NYgxJ68lltppRQhTKZ5b_mNtljsNtKEGmKD3oiY0UmyNvXOmp3CsgLh93vmjJmK1cyJUk6xm0n82MtnC4/s1376/godisloveverseblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1376" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjr2J_4OzuU9IfMSmxXdTVw7UhsCuGhfaZUIunbF4tSbmldlxbEOp69j3KK1kitglF3eUClheNHSTGzjUr3bdsVgATFQiT-2Nh1NwuT33K9NYgxJ68lltppRQhTKZ5b_mNtljsNtKEGmKD3oiY0UmyNvXOmp3CsgLh93vmjJmK1cyJUk6xm0n82MtnC4/s320/godisloveverseblog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Until next time . . . </div>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-81016670692329608442023-10-30T13:50:00.000-05:002023-10-30T13:50:19.085-05:00A different kind of workout motivation.<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Have you ever googled “workout motivation”?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Oh, I have. I sometimes wish that motivation was something I
could bottle up and take a big gulp of. I want to WANT to work out, but
sometimes I just don’t. Know what I mean?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want all that comes with exercise. I want to feel good, I
want the health benefits and I want to like the way I look in my clothes. I want the stress
relief that it promises. The endorphins. I want to BE fit. But, you know, I don’t
always want to do what it takes to be fit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They say motivation doesn’t last, and that’s true. That is why
exercise has to become a habit in your life. You have to be disciplined. There
is no getting around that. There is no easy button. But, there are some nudges
that can be found if we look for them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am always inspired by the busiest people I know who are
also the most fit. Active moms being one example of this demographic, I wrote
about them a while back during the craziness of 2020 (that blog post can be found
here <a href="http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2020/05/we-do-hard-things-active-moms-share.html">http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2020/05/we-do-hard-things-active-moms-share.html</a>)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They shared some awesome inspiration for what keeps them
going, and I love what each of them had to say. But I feel there may be even more to
this whole physical fitness thing than what we know about it on the surface. Exercise
can be spiritual. If I’m being honest, I think that we were made for more than
hating our bodies for our entire lives. We were made in God’s image - are we
living in this truth? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goodness, I want to
be. Every day. And I have found some motivation to work on being physically fit
in the best book ever. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>1 Corinthians 6:13<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Food for the stomach and the stomach for food, but God
will do away with both the one and the other. The body, however, is not for
immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord is for the body.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* The body is for the Lord! And the Lord is for the body. If you
have an able body and CAN go for a walk right now, recognize what a gift that
is. And then go walk. Or run. Or swim. You get the drift.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>1 Corinthians 6:19-20<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy
Spirit within you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For
you have been purchased at a price. Therefore glorify God in your body.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* Honestly, this one could be it and then mic drop. It’s
enough to remember that we are commanded to glorify God with our bodies. TAKE
CARE OF YOURSELF. This is a commandment of love. He wants for you to be helping
your body and not hurting your body. How are you doing this? Be honest with
yourself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Ephesians 5:29<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>For no one hates his own flesh but rather nourishes and
cherishes it, even as Christ does the church.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* How are you “nourishing and cherishing” your body?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Romans 12:1<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I urge you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to
offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your
spiritual worship.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* "Holy and pleasing to God" – I thought about this after my
little 30 minute You Tube workout today. I am thankful to Him for the ability
to move today. I am choosing to thank Him for the gift of an able body by
moving it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>1 Corinthians 10:31<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>So whatever you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do
everything for the glory of God.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* Everything means everything! Including your physical
fitness. Say a prayer asking for the motivation and opportunity to be healthy
today. Then give Him thanks after. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Psalm 139:14<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I praise you, so wonderfully you made me; wonderful are
your works!<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* He made you so wonderfully. Walk in that truth today and
every day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Isaiah 40:31<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength,
they will soar as with eagles’ wings; they will run and not grow weary, walk
and not grow faint.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* I know that you are tired. I am too. He will give you rest
when you ask for it. He will also give you strength when you ask for it. He
made you to be strong. Don’t let the world tell you otherwise because the world
is a liar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Galatians 5:22-23<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>In contrast, the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace,
patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against
such there is no law.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* Another big lie is that we have no self-control. The truth
is even without motivation you are capable to get up and do hard things. You
can do this because you were gifted self-control. Remember this always!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmU4Kikr1YFJWvRXLbQ_AsBTN6d3PDypki1UtoEUm3zXpJtRXuxeYSGtzIf2mkFrJE6mLpKlncgy6q33_pmlH4JwCN6jcRZajfAiEOu1CkXKpgrk9HvJOgsNTycgEO7sSPg5Y-jXiK9BQnFnv_-P3dMThWWo0bUXjJ_M7TT-X46pvVKGNg5Vr4OpundIM/s1206/blogpostallthings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1206" data-original-width="898" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmU4Kikr1YFJWvRXLbQ_AsBTN6d3PDypki1UtoEUm3zXpJtRXuxeYSGtzIf2mkFrJE6mLpKlncgy6q33_pmlH4JwCN6jcRZajfAiEOu1CkXKpgrk9HvJOgsNTycgEO7sSPg5Y-jXiK9BQnFnv_-P3dMThWWo0bUXjJ_M7TT-X46pvVKGNg5Vr4OpundIM/s320/blogpostallthings.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Being active looks different for everyone, but if you haven’t
been living an active lifestyle I hope this encourages you to do so today. I
haven’t had a gym membership in over a year but I choose to do quick YouTube
workouts on my lunch breaks. Feel free to post in the comments what you like to
do to remain active. You never know who is looking for a new idea. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3K2sfpfJjDZij6IE_0xNmHFmK2wo8AiUfUxYYxV7CW1atAHOohijkDuVQMksY-T90VqvsCmKRuwbNl79V6M-9RmM24DyhjG-UVdYLuWupV0DzDSOJ6OxMWE-zxChIAa31GBAz89htxfqZhyphenhyphen768NunB2pNsdpz7PWQ6BZetkEQSvrSBT9VwzbuFLI1ww/s640/blogpostmatandtv.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3K2sfpfJjDZij6IE_0xNmHFmK2wo8AiUfUxYYxV7CW1atAHOohijkDuVQMksY-T90VqvsCmKRuwbNl79V6M-9RmM24DyhjG-UVdYLuWupV0DzDSOJ6OxMWE-zxChIAa31GBAz89htxfqZhyphenhyphen768NunB2pNsdpz7PWQ6BZetkEQSvrSBT9VwzbuFLI1ww/s320/blogpostmatandtv.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Until next time . . . cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-78593485524534673312023-05-22T08:59:00.000-05:002023-05-22T08:59:33.875-05:00I know you're busy, but this is important<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">We just ended a season of little league baseball and
softball. Well, regular season ended. We just started All Stars for our youngest.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Having multiple kids in sports is B-U-S-Y. We were at the
ball fields every night of the week and most of the day each Saturday. The youngest
had a few different tournaments, and if you know the softball tournament world
you understand that you live at the ball fields those weekends. Games on Friday
night, all day Saturday and all day Sunday.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The baby’s second to last regular season tournament was exhausting.
It was a hot weekend, my husband was working nights the first part so I was
solo with all of the kids at the fields the first night, and then the second
day I was literally at the fields for 9 hours. There was no time for laundry,
no time to get ready for school for the week, no time for the rest I desperately
wanted. Getting home that night we hardly had the energy for showers before it
was time to go to bed. The next day would be a Sunday and another full day of
games- however the first wasn’t an early start and we didn’t need to be at the
fields till after 11am! I hit my pillow that Saturday night and thought to
myself <i>if we skip church this one weekend, God will understand. We need to
sleep in! We are all exhausted. Missing one week won’t hurt.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I seriously wrestled with this thought. But after waking the
next day, I got all of us up for church like every other Sunday. We
packed clothes to change into for after church (we'd have to change in our van because the time in between Mass and
getting to the fields wouldn’t be enough to get home.) We hurried to get ready.
We hurried to pack a cooler and snacks for the field. We hurried out the door
to drive to church.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Kneeling in the pews that morning at our parish, the busy and
the rush and the <i>go go go </i>all slowed down. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been so stressed, and so worn out, but
all of that worry and that weary disappeared. I realized how badly I needed to be
at Mass then. My real rest, my real rejuvenation, comes when I’m grounded in the
Truth of who I am, who we are as a family and what our foundation is. I thanked
God that He didn’t let me listen to the lie that told me I didn’t need to be
there. I would have missed out that day on the only real source of peace there
is in this world.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been listening to the Catechism in a Year podcast and
the other day Fr. Mike talked about how many of us DESIRE Heaven but most of us
don’t CHOOSE Heaven. That resonated with me. How often have I said that I of
course want an eternity in Heaven, but I haven’t really been choosing God now? I’ve
been so bold to assume I have the time to choose Him later. To do better later.
To love my neighbor more later. To ask for forgiveness later, as if that time
is guaranteed to me. I’ve been “too busy” to choose all of that now. But the truth is that I need to put first things first, no matter what my schedule looks like.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So. I know you’re busy. But if you haven’t prayed today,
here is your sign! If you haven’t been to church in a while, maybe there is a big
reason you opened this blog post today. This world will throw all sorts of
distractions your way, but none of them will fulfill you in the way you were
created for. True love really does exist. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You are loved so immensely and you deserve to live in that
love, every single day. But this has to be your choice. You’ll have to give your permission
because true love isn’t forced. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Again, I know you’re busy. But this is important. Like, life
and death importance. For real.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYD0kYGWJ9s6O0fUaL46z7Ueua8IL2zhzSkyDCQ7xrEhj067rv4sX3B1CwwCOOkCWs5YCX26j2NtjzQdNIv8ppwvGMB9gCIc4qrVKOm8JLRS-SA727O32c1-xB2spbVUEH8I65dIyIRhQui9w1s5VBC5fvM-EGqbAr1JaOcbDWCLWfdo7JslnSP6K/s3840/busyblogphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYD0kYGWJ9s6O0fUaL46z7Ueua8IL2zhzSkyDCQ7xrEhj067rv4sX3B1CwwCOOkCWs5YCX26j2NtjzQdNIv8ppwvGMB9gCIc4qrVKOm8JLRS-SA727O32c1-xB2spbVUEH8I65dIyIRhQui9w1s5VBC5fvM-EGqbAr1JaOcbDWCLWfdo7JslnSP6K/s320/busyblogphoto.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If you’ve read this far, please know I have prayed for you!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Until next time . . . <o:p></o:p></p>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-43518137729393636662023-01-08T17:23:00.006-06:002023-01-08T17:56:49.783-06:00Epiphany <p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Epiphany</b> (according to Merrium-Webster)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->January 6 observed as a church festival in commemoration
of the coming of the Magi as the first manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles
or in the Eastern Church in commemoration of the baptism of Christ<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->An appearance or manifestation especially of a
divine being<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->A (1): a usually sudden manifestation or perception
of the essential nature or meaning of something<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(2): an intuitive grasp of reality through something (such as an event)
usually simple and striking<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(3): an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B: a
revealing scene or moment<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">This morning we attended our regular 10 am
Mass at our home parish, St. Patrick’s in Hutto where we celebrated the feast
of the Epiphany. This is known to many as “three kings day”, or the day the star
led the three wise men to baby Jesus. Our pastor is on a well-deserved vacay,
so presiding over Mass was visiting priest Fr. Charles McMillin (also known as
Father Mac) who is always a delight. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">He mentioned in his homily how we were celebrating
the feast of the Epiphany today but that we honestly get to experience an Epiphany
every single week during the consecration. Look again at that second definition
of Epiphany according to Webster. We get to be present, in real time, as our
Lord is made available to us in the Eucharist. (!!!) How quick we are to let distractions
water down the significance of what is on the altar, am I right?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">I couldn’t help but to feel the weight of
this grace as Father Mac reminded me of the miracle of the Mass. I was also
feeling the grace of my surroundings in that church building. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">I was able to experience some other lovely epiphanies
during that Mass and after . . . <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">One was enjoying the charm of the two
babies in my view, one two rows ahead, one four. The blond boy four rows up
looked to be around 8 months old with little teeth coming in and deep dimples
in each of his cheeks. He was grinning at someone behind him and his smile was
contagious. I noticed a sweet floral headband framing the tiny face of a baby girl
two rows ahead as she rested on her mother’s shoulder. I thought of a time another
priest told us that many lack the emotional intelligence to appreciate the
little ones around us. I know the world will shout the burden and inconvenience
of children – how grateful I am to attend a church in which they are welcomed
and cherished. (Father Mac even mentioned how he loved hearing the little ones
after he gave the announcements.) This gratitude for our littlest parishoners illuminated the love that God has for all of us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">Another epiphany was what I felt after
meeting a man right before Mass who sat behind us named Jeff. Jeff told us he
was at Mass for the first time in 50 years. You read that right – 50 years. He
asked for me to pray for the soul of his wife, Shirley, who just passed away. I
told him I would pray for her and for him and that I was glad he was back at
Mass. What a privilege, I thought, to pray for them both. What a gift I’ve been
given to carry these petitions to our Lord! (will you take a quick minute to
pray for Jeff and Shirley, too?) This moment, too, and this feeling illuminated again the love that God has for all of us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">The epiphanies continue, friends. These
moments of “illuminating discoveries, or realizations.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">I’ve started writing this blog post from the bowling alley as
my 11-year-old plays a game with her friends to celebrate her birthday, which was
this past week. I brought a little notebook to jot these thoughts down. What a gift
to celebrate 11 years of my beautiful third child. What a gift she has in her
sweet friends! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">When I dropped off her friends, one of the
friend’s mother’s gifted me this little sign.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTZW-ZhcIv-Yn5sMU4PcIFfxNQD3nbLiyaFslt4kOhBPsAJMv0fAaUU65-gXstIuoLRedsztwVZ8E2QE7-3AcNK4V9TnOUGPuQUL0jSY3ID6tF4QNAd0U9NBPUqqZfMnav0lNhXBFkNXn6zQHv1gG--dhCdk0OsaU9rmq4O1bQbQKQ9GdjZP8zeL6/s853/giftpicture.jfif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTZW-ZhcIv-Yn5sMU4PcIFfxNQD3nbLiyaFslt4kOhBPsAJMv0fAaUU65-gXstIuoLRedsztwVZ8E2QE7-3AcNK4V9TnOUGPuQUL0jSY3ID6tF4QNAd0U9NBPUqqZfMnav0lNhXBFkNXn6zQHv1gG--dhCdk0OsaU9rmq4O1bQbQKQ9GdjZP8zeL6/s320/giftpicture.jfif" width="240" /></a></div><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">She said she saw it and thought of me because of my work. I work for a non-profit and we help families in crisis. It’s hard, and the past few weeks have been especially trying. But she gifted me this today and I couldn’t help but realize this was an answer to my own prayer of being reminded that what I do each day is good, and worth it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">Maybe it's obvious by now but I'm feeling lots of joy today. JOY is a grace and it is freely available through Christ. Pray for it and you will see. I have faith that just as the star brought the wise men to Jesus, there will be an area of your life that illuminates where He is for you. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">I pray you feel it BIG today as I am. I pray that you have a wonderful feast of the Epiphany!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">Until next time . . .</p>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-17323036656813310492022-11-15T13:03:00.000-06:002022-11-15T13:03:38.315-06:00A tale of two mornings<div class="separator"><br /></div><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Morning one<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">5:15 am Alarm goes off. First things first, COFFEE. Strong
coffee. The smell alone motivates me to move. I pour a cup and start scrolling
on my phone. My Facebook feed has some things that make me smile. It also has
some posts that make me cringe. Why all the negativity, Facebook? It’s too
early for politics. A sad news story comes up about a missing child and makes
me wonder why there is so much bad in the world. I don’t understand.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">6:00 comes quick. My quiet alone time with my coffee is
over. Time to get the kids up. We do this every single weekday, yet somehow my children act as if we don’t. I repeatedly go in rooms and start out nicely saying
“it’s time to wake up, and get dressed, and eat breakfast”… but nice doesn’t
cut it, so I morph in to lunatic mom. “I said, WAKE UP! NOW! OUT OF BED! We
CANNOT BE LATE!” It’s too early to yell and now I’m irritated. The mood seeps
out of me and into my kids. I’m snapping at everything. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">7:00 am we need to be out the door now. I’m yelling again.
“WHERE IS YOUR LUNCH BOX? WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE YOUR WATER BOTTLE?” Kids shuffle
out the door and into the van. They are fighting over seats. Why? Why does the simple task of leaving our house feel this stressful? We barely make it on time. I wave
goodbye to my kids and get started on my drive back home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is every driver on the road so rude and on
my tail? Can’t they see I’m going over the speed limit already? Why am I hitting
every red light? I have work to do.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">8:00 am I’m at my desk and I counted, I have 67 unread work
emails. 67. I have a zoom call at 9:00 and 1:00. I won’t have time for a lunch
time workout today. There is no way. I need the workout, but whatever. I need
to get all of these emails tended to as quickly as possible or the weight of
the undone will stress me out too much. I also have laundry that I SHOULD be
able to do, I work from home! Why can’t I get this together? Other moms are so
much better organized than I am. It’s embarrassing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">11:00 am I’ve managed to respond to most of my emails, I
feel a bit caught up! Whew! My zoom call went okay. I could probably squeeze in
a workout if I choose to eat lunch at my desk. But…. Nah. I’ve been stressed
out. I want to just veg out with a quick show while I eat. What reality show
can I catch up on from Hulu while I stuff my face? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">12:00 and it’s time to get back to work. I over ate and I’m
stuffed. I start to regret not working out. I didn’t even enjoy the trash
reality show I just wasted an hour of my life on. What is wrong with me? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Morning two<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">5:15 am alarm goes off. Ahhh – coffee awaits. I sit with the
warm cup of liquid comfort and open the Laudate app on my phone. I read today’s
scripture. I check out the reflections. It's as if they are catered just to me. Wow. I pray.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">6:00 am comes quickly. Time to wake the kids. I notice as I
walk into the big girls’ room that they listened to me after all and cleaned up
their room last night. It looks nice. I look at their sleeping faces before
saying anything – they look so peaceful! I hate to have to wake them. “Time to
wake up, girls. I know waking up isn’t easy but you’ve got this. Come on.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some nudging ensues but before I know it all six kids are up
and I haven’t yelled once. Not once! They are all going through the motions –
getting dressed, getting their bellies full, brushing their teeth. It’s
pleasant around here this morning.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">7:00 am we are out the door. There is some traffic, a little
more than normal today. But the kids like the song that is playing on the radio
and I hear the youngest two singing along – I’m hearing their little voices and
focusing on them rather than the backed up road. Moving slowly now on our way
but the sunrise is so beautiful today. Is it always this beautiful? “Kids, you
have to look at the sky right now. Isn’t it pretty?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah – it looks like cotton candy!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my 12-year-old daughter says. “It does look
like cotton candy,” I say back. It reminds me of the last time we had cotton
candy, at a minor league baseball game on a hot Summer day now three months
back, but goodness the time has flown by. I’m grateful for that memory, and for
the way the sky looks now. I say a prayer of gratitude. I have so much to be
thankful for. I get the kids off to school, making sure to tell each one of them that I love them and hope that they have a great day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">8:15 am and I’m a little late getting to my desk because of
the bad traffic. Normally the traffic would have driven me insane, but today I’m
not letting it bother me. I can still get my work done. I have a lot of emails,
but today they aren’t weighing me down. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am feeling energized by each of them. I am grateful for this work and
understand the responsibility given to me is a privilege. I smile as I see some
of the emails from the co-workers that I genuinely love. What a gift this work
is. What a gift my co-workers are. What a gift it is to serve our clients and to love on them. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">11:00 am comes around. This is my normal lunch break time.
I’m choosing a work out this time, and then will eat at my desk. I no longer
have a gym membership – it was a budgeting decision to cancel the gym back in
the summer. I thought that would be a bigger heartbreak for me than it was . .
. I LOVED my gym. But now, my commute to my gym is a walk outside to my garage.
It’s terribly convenient and I’ve grown to love it. I turn on my music and get
to it – it’s not easy, but it feels good. The endorphins hit and I am reminded
of why working out is a priority. I’m giddy – joyful – and feel so accomplished
when I am done.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">12:00 I finished a forty minute workout, had time for a Navy
shower, heated up some yummy leftovers and am now eating lunch at my desk. I
feel like I have energy to get through the rest of my day. I’m so thankful that
I chose to work out. I say a prayer of gratitude.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>The difference <o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The circumstances of these two mornings are not different. I
have the same schedule and the same responsibilities. Every day I have six
children to mother and a full time job to do.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The difference with these two mornings is the change in my
perspective. This change is all attributed to one thing and it is that I
started out my morning with TRUTH.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF-zpyZA56rl_bmO-iaxXSvqKR-KRuLdk9lc0NvLwDn4mPdzGF3-iYd9zeL4btEjtcY2tV7OBwH1Tt4xPHbwnIvAyr-ORQIT1-OOkjvk9lDHktgtwjwxI1qiXsCDfszwLCA4JKp941r6Sbz00mJeBTWtgYWWk18hXKjRf11L8WskMo-KFg6WcawDK/s261/staugustineblogquote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="261" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF-zpyZA56rl_bmO-iaxXSvqKR-KRuLdk9lc0NvLwDn4mPdzGF3-iYd9zeL4btEjtcY2tV7OBwH1Tt4xPHbwnIvAyr-ORQIT1-OOkjvk9lDHktgtwjwxI1qiXsCDfszwLCA4JKp941r6Sbz00mJeBTWtgYWWk18hXKjRf11L8WskMo-KFg6WcawDK/w400-h296/staugustineblogquote.jpg" width="400" /></a></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">Choosing to begin my day with scripture and prayer rather
than scrolling social media makes a monumental difference. My whole day is made
better when I start it out this way. Not because I am guaranteed less traffic,
less parenting hardships or less emails and work – but because my focus is set
on Him and I can see everything in a clearer light.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We were created by Him and for Him. When we walk in this
truth, every little thing starts to make more sense than before. The world is
big, and loud, and has a lot of influences that will pull you away from this
truth. The world would rather you constantly frustrated, stressed out, angry,
lazy, and negative. But that is not what we were created to be. We were meant
for so much more. Certainly we all WANT to feel fulfilled every day, right? There
is a very simple solution to reach this fulfillment. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want to encourage this small change of beginning your day
by going to God first. For me, this looks like waking up before my kids have to
be up and reading the daily readings and reflections on the Laudate app on my
phone. It also includes prayer. For you, maybe you’d like to begin with worship
music, or by pulling out your bible and just flipping to a random page. Maybe
you just want to start out by talking to God. Venting to Him, even. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know. But I do know you’ll figure out
your way should you really seek a new way of gaining better perspective.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I regret to inform you this is not a one-time task. It has
to be done daily. The reason for that goes back to what the world wants to make
of you. And the fact that you’re living, walking and breathing in this world
every day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKE0JNOmfG8rAAQkRUsbXt_b-eQCvJgO_RKZICrI38ueLRSLVG2wjsYDfUmVOhdJiyuPsqY212TWCXGSDXg5JLoQuAFdy22ZOcTlOnMrPCteMTY8lMDTZ7RAu1PkYfOR8ePm5QrZUJP4NuPxLSv5xoEhk2qFYHSBh5wwJ4m3xmomvNeRE1PLnqqqFZ/s1740/novblogcslewisimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1740" data-original-width="1122" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKE0JNOmfG8rAAQkRUsbXt_b-eQCvJgO_RKZICrI38ueLRSLVG2wjsYDfUmVOhdJiyuPsqY212TWCXGSDXg5JLoQuAFdy22ZOcTlOnMrPCteMTY8lMDTZ7RAu1PkYfOR8ePm5QrZUJP4NuPxLSv5xoEhk2qFYHSBh5wwJ4m3xmomvNeRE1PLnqqqFZ/w258-h400/novblogcslewisimage.jpg" width="258" /></a><br />
<p class="MsoNormal">Going to God is one of those things that YOU have to
initiate. No one else can do it for you, and even God Himself isn’t going to
force you. He loves you too much to take away your free will. But He is always,
always, ALWAYS there when you seek Him. The truth is that He is with you even now, as you
read this. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I dare you to try and seek Him more. And do it every day. I
promise your daily perspective will change too. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnH9Qz8LfMxtHbcxeVtMZ3-bxqnkadaOBYNTjvhUTJI2oAZVcWE7FSQPm8Sn8PUPbt8SZWE_gNl5ZZBs8qYZEPz7Hm7HHbg9p5xpM1QnIsLD5KdSquTfqfEeg0kMRULBzJh-t1qGtTqppp63IXYwHlnVV6m1et6DFg-kpofnjLLMvIuK4tibdE2o6-/s800/seekimageblogpost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="800" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnH9Qz8LfMxtHbcxeVtMZ3-bxqnkadaOBYNTjvhUTJI2oAZVcWE7FSQPm8Sn8PUPbt8SZWE_gNl5ZZBs8qYZEPz7Hm7HHbg9p5xpM1QnIsLD5KdSquTfqfEeg0kMRULBzJh-t1qGtTqppp63IXYwHlnVV6m1et6DFg-kpofnjLLMvIuK4tibdE2o6-/w640-h250/seekimageblogpost.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Until next time . . . </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-78948150201110547062020-11-22T08:32:00.000-06:002020-11-22T08:32:06.177-06:00They don't even realize yet how they save me!<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve blogged about my decision to go alcohol free before ( <a href="http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2019/11/i-dont-drink-anymore-but-nothing-has.html">I don’t drink anymore. But nothing has changed! (Except everything.) (myonedayisnow.blogspot.com)</a> ) and I’m happy to update with the fact that I’m still on that dry road, one year
and four months strong. I’m grateful to be able to say that in a world that is
drowning in alcohol culture. I don’t need to re-visit the science behind what
alcohol does to our bodies and minds, even in “moderate” amounts, because that
information is available to us. I’m just thankful that I acknowledge those
truths now and choose healthy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All that said, I am a human being living in the time of a
pandemic. I’m a parent who has gone in to ‘mama bear’ mode of trying to keep
things as normal and as joyful as possible for my six children despite the
multitude of changes this year brought to them. I’m a police wife who has had many
sleepless nights this year due to my husband’s job. Sometimes the weight of
this world feels heavy. I know that you know what I mean, no matter what your particular
circumstances may be.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One night recently I was feeling this weight more than most
days. I was feeling tired, and tired of being tired, and stressed out.
Frustrated. Overwhelmed. And for the first time in a long time, I became
tempted to drink again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband was
working, my kids were watching a movie and I eyed the same bottle of whiskey
that has been on the top of my fridge since I quit drinking (yes, really. So it’s
been up there with about a quarter amount left since July of 2019.) It belongs
to my husband and I’ve always told him that it doesn’t matter to me that it is
there, that I’m not tempted anymore. I can be around others who drink, too. It
doesn’t tempt me. Honestly. Until this particular night.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was at work. I was counting down the minutes until
bedtime for the kids. There was a part of my brain saying “You’ve had 16 months
alcohol free, you know how much better you feel, you don’t actually want to
drink now.” Another part of my brain said “You’re stressed out. And weak. Just give
in.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If you’re rolling your eyes as you read this and think that
it isn’t a huge deal to drink a little every once in a while (or a lot every
once in a while, who are we kidding) – I get your mentality. I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to be on that side of the fence. For a
long time I was on that side of the fence. So maybe you are thinking that I
could have just had some of my husband’s whiskey that has been sitting there
forever and not turned it in to something blog worthy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Except to me, I do feel strongly that I need to stay away
from alcohol. I like the way that this side feels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Despite that part of my brain telling me that I was weak, I didn’t end up having any whiskey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids were still up as I felt that
temptation and I didn’t want for them to see me drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had reserved the idea that I’d have a
little after they went to bed, but I took a melatonin and said a prayer, and I
went to bed shortly after they did. I can’t fully explain to you now how
grateful I felt the following morning that I did not drink.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It really made me realize after I woke up just how big a
part my kids are in my decision to stay alcohol-free. How they are my saving
grace.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t want to drink around them. I don’t want for them to grow up and
treat their bodies like garbage, so I don’t want for them to see me treat my body like garbage.
I also do not want to be a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ parent. I want to be
exactly who I say I am. I want to be someone they can emulate. I want for them
to remember that Mom chose a healthy lifestyle, and stuck with it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve mentioned to both my husband and some friends recently
that I really sometimes feel that if it weren’t for him and the kids I do think
I’d care less about my health. I'd be smoking Marlboro's and drinking beer pretty regularly. As I type this now I realize that may sound bad-
I don’t want to discredit what a gift I believe life to be. I know God wants
more from me than to treat my body badly. I just also know that more than for
myself, I want to be healthy for my family. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My kids probably don’t realize it yet just how much they do
for me. I gave birth to them and gave them their lives but really, they save
mine. I say <i>save</i> and not <i>saved</i> because clearly, they still save me from my old
unhealthy habits.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m always telling them when they are feeling discouraged
that God created us to be strong, not weak. I believe that with every fiber of
my being, so I need to live that daily. We are all stronger than we often
realize, not on our own accord but because of Him. How could I let myself get
distracted from that truth?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I haven’t blogged in so long, but I was happy to hop on here
and share this realization that my love for my children not only means that I
want what is best for them but that my love for them makes me better, too. They
make me better and they make me want to be my best.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I choose healthy for them and I’ll continue to choose
healthy for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They deserve it. I know
deep down that I do too.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSQSfkN6eDwa3mKJQ67r26A57iyTlIRwE3JToapZtu9osrmaHSndPfjt5-RsfEsb6lp3jkYGBb_L__mhXfCn3-LS1gM9mah55K8ZUYA69-KAM32HjXZy6ZcaPvi_sM5SzAS3pNsVJ3rg/s476/familycampingpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSQSfkN6eDwa3mKJQ67r26A57iyTlIRwE3JToapZtu9osrmaHSndPfjt5-RsfEsb6lp3jkYGBb_L__mhXfCn3-LS1gM9mah55K8ZUYA69-KAM32HjXZy6ZcaPvi_sM5SzAS3pNsVJ3rg/s320/familycampingpic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My family. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Until next time . . . <o:p></o:p></p>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-58869152491040452052020-05-06T14:43:00.000-05:002020-05-06T14:43:15.063-05:00We do hard things! Active moms share their ‘whys’ and 'hows' for their fitness routines.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvPOsXa131molK42BmKNVb80KhJ3YdEycI_Y_0QkMAru0if1GhM8mjp776qasfj6aGbcng9TNedBdZWkJQFs6nEb1P7oWDOZ5f5rTCszpNFsrr5uhIiMkJbAZOs0GEM5mdKrMh-n8E6k/s1600/all5blogpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="841" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvPOsXa131molK42BmKNVb80KhJ3YdEycI_Y_0QkMAru0if1GhM8mjp776qasfj6aGbcng9TNedBdZWkJQFs6nEb1P7oWDOZ5f5rTCszpNFsrr5uhIiMkJbAZOs0GEM5mdKrMh-n8E6k/s400/all5blogpic.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
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“I wish I worked out less.”</div>
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“I wish I wasn’t so fit.”</div>
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“I wish I didn’t like exercise as much as I do.”</div>
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Have you ever heard these statements from anyone? No?
Neither have I.</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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Those who live active lifestyles typically want to remain
active, or get even more active, never less. It isn’t any wonder why. Science
tells us that exercise is highly beneficial not only for our physical health,
but for our mental health as well. </div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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Most of us are fully aware of the multitude of benefits we
can receive from having an active lifestyle. So what is the difference between
those who work out regularly, and those who don’t?</div>
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</div>
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Mindset, of course. You have to want the active lifestyle
more than you want whatever is keeping you from it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Active mothers are an especially interesting group. Moms
tend to be so busy taking care of everyone and everything else around them that
it is hard to understand how they could add fitness routines to their lives.
But talk to any active mom and they will tell you – working out regularly helps
their motherhood. </div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I actually talked to five different mothers and found out
their ‘whys’ and their ‘hows’ for their fitness lives. As an active mom myself,
my goal here was to motivate readers to get moving.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We are living in a stressful time. My sincere hope is that
this blog post motivates you to implement some healthy self-care in to your
life.</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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Meet my active mom friends, and find out what drives them to
be fit!</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Syreeta, homemaker and mother of three, Round Rock, TX</i></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
“When I started, [working out regularly] it was helping with
my mental and emotional health, as I needed an outlet for personal time while
caring for my family. Eventually, I fell in love with pushing my body and the
physical aesthetic that came along with it.”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cnOjgJqOb_fbfG7mHN2cFMyNpqVm7Y2eXQCef5_r_fcbgdYAZKCMPA_u1YqHpL58O1De85h61G-W-ps1Jkl0Ml_W1hD4hYHNUmzDE-LueyCvPzkZEoZxdW7fLdV135KKiT5q05Q6S8s/s1600/syreetaactivepic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cnOjgJqOb_fbfG7mHN2cFMyNpqVm7Y2eXQCef5_r_fcbgdYAZKCMPA_u1YqHpL58O1De85h61G-W-ps1Jkl0Ml_W1hD4hYHNUmzDE-LueyCvPzkZEoZxdW7fLdV135KKiT5q05Q6S8s/s400/syreetaactivepic.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Follow Syreeta on Instagram! @madame_re_re</div>
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“I’m often asked how I found the strength or energy to make
changes to my lifestyle after the babies. And, honestly, it took getting up and
pursuing fitness to give me the strength and energy to keep going. I suffered
from depression after my third child. I needed something just for me that
helped me feel more like myself and improve my appearance that I was less than
enamored with at the time. So for two hours at the gym, I could tune out the
world, turn up my music (not kidz bop or Sesame Street), and burn off some
really good energy. It was the best ever!”</div>
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Syreeta brought up that a part of her motivation was
improving her appearance that she was “less than enamored with” before. There
is a big vanity argument to working out. It would be dishonest to leave it out
of a fitness post. Looks are not everything, of course. But they are a driving
force in the desire to be fit. I don’t know anyone who wants to look in the
mirror and be unhappy with their reflection. When I first met Syreeta, it was
at the gym. She wears crop tops and I told her that maybe one day I would have
abs like hers, if I continue working out like I do! I told her how motivating
it was to see her because she has serious definition in her core and you can
tell just how hard she works by looking at her. Syreeta was gracious enough to share
with me that she didn’t always feel the way that she feels now.</div>
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</div>
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Check out Syreeta’s transformation:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pLWlkHfAQcbdIOyxGPx3YJi2EHJgIOep-5rj7OX_QVDmhQDiv8GQAIKmYGn35qnWJromhQBqm0hjFJUNgi8CgCosSDHUWRfuDCoKCYkArBF5sRHoVg6ugpTa38PkylIvFhVqEkDTa9E/s1600/syreetabeforeandafter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pLWlkHfAQcbdIOyxGPx3YJi2EHJgIOep-5rj7OX_QVDmhQDiv8GQAIKmYGn35qnWJromhQBqm0hjFJUNgi8CgCosSDHUWRfuDCoKCYkArBF5sRHoVg6ugpTa38PkylIvFhVqEkDTa9E/s400/syreetabeforeandafter.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If this isn't motivating, I don't know what is. Syreeta is a force!</td></tr>
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<i>Selina, home-school
teacher and mother of three, Leander, Texas</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnCPRlwsil5KjdmRiyYK09v58GbdAGkGQFgKGpEk3p6jsmxq_DA_xoSLSrbKOGMD3vA4sfXajIuwMrNTiz0-Ct-MKE1BIwwMS3URkT2KXkcO_O6KSwLnoskKLCpwnbvYqYjympMTsPX8/s1600/selinafamilypic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnCPRlwsil5KjdmRiyYK09v58GbdAGkGQFgKGpEk3p6jsmxq_DA_xoSLSrbKOGMD3vA4sfXajIuwMrNTiz0-Ct-MKE1BIwwMS3URkT2KXkcO_O6KSwLnoskKLCpwnbvYqYjympMTsPX8/s400/selinafamilypic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“I know I am more emotionally stable and have increased
peace when I exercise regularly. My mood is always more predictable when I
prioritize time to move my body and elevate my heart rate.”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEn0-1_3fT7arb4m6OMIAw5P9-mSHAUfGNKPlcd6rKP4spPJUTUti4iaNer8aYvpszlFUNzkVXAsvDDcwi86AInU7ScTLjFuBVANoKYYFQhz2oLBN9wy7bGJNvFTDSjmIHcvRcq8DmAyM/s1600/selinaworkoutpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEn0-1_3fT7arb4m6OMIAw5P9-mSHAUfGNKPlcd6rKP4spPJUTUti4iaNer8aYvpszlFUNzkVXAsvDDcwi86AInU7ScTLjFuBVANoKYYFQhz2oLBN9wy7bGJNvFTDSjmIHcvRcq8DmAyM/s400/selinaworkoutpic.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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“When I came to the doctor after the birth of our second
child, he could tell by my symptoms and mental state that I had postpartum
depression. He wrote on a Rx pad that I needed a gym membership to guarantee
regular exercise. He knew that daily
walks with a stroller were not going to be adequate enough to give my body and
mind the healing and care they required. After two weeks of daily workouts, I
felt like a new person. It was life changing. I never stopped training after
that time in my life. Daily exercise is a priority in my calendar.”</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Jill, part-time environmental engineering consultant and
mother of three, Hutto, Texas</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikOB0wmpKqQVf5ugEvFuGy-ktSltHr5rKmC9UVKo8DgGJy0zYXIhDzUBQdblTdd0H1V94yBYZNudt2_y37QDIIbxYEHYKA9eO-yZ8CBXWCEaHO_QAhonExcgancGNxV_SQnZZh7I6PEo/s1600/jillfamilyphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikOB0wmpKqQVf5ugEvFuGy-ktSltHr5rKmC9UVKo8DgGJy0zYXIhDzUBQdblTdd0H1V94yBYZNudt2_y37QDIIbxYEHYKA9eO-yZ8CBXWCEaHO_QAhonExcgancGNxV_SQnZZh7I6PEo/s400/jillfamilyphoto.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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“Exercising is really for my mental health. I notice when I
don’t exercise, I tend to lack motivation to do the things I need to and I just
don’t feel as up beat. The days I manage to exercise (earlier the better) tend
to go much better!”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4oMrYndxdp-yDcWx-hKALnkXp113uJnCeBS0LQ3uBZLzCTrQ7wan-LOLGqKzZ5OumMDoTrd3_Sqpl8CKbArhl-KZn1QszINy-TjRaD-wC_vYhb1rOCfzJxoBZiy5c177HZ9ypUew9xp8/s1600/jillactivewear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4oMrYndxdp-yDcWx-hKALnkXp113uJnCeBS0LQ3uBZLzCTrQ7wan-LOLGqKzZ5OumMDoTrd3_Sqpl8CKbArhl-KZn1QszINy-TjRaD-wC_vYhb1rOCfzJxoBZiy5c177HZ9ypUew9xp8/s400/jillactivewear.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
“I just get up and workout before I can start making
excuses. If I put it off until later in the day, it gets that much harder to
get it done. I know that I will always feel better after I get the workout
done. I’ve never regretted a work out!”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Audrey, partner trainer at Camp Gladiator, CPT and mother
of four, Hutto, Texas</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICcjiDhhCnSEkcqxuCzZp-0WlNWg_nDnVq-XHDmtj-R5Fv3jsFQD_CK8fRE44qVozU9oSogUH5GjjVd91pyS8uU4Qww2DgjB25fuTMi5ra1ett0dZ5m4vKtjLkcxA5Yr8PaX2Q4fOl4w/s1600/audreyandkidspic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="634" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICcjiDhhCnSEkcqxuCzZp-0WlNWg_nDnVq-XHDmtj-R5Fv3jsFQD_CK8fRE44qVozU9oSogUH5GjjVd91pyS8uU4Qww2DgjB25fuTMi5ra1ett0dZ5m4vKtjLkcxA5Yr8PaX2Q4fOl4w/s400/audreyandkidspic.jpg" width="396" /></a></div>
“My family and my friends are my why. Staying fit helps me
with stress and my mental health. I feel happy when I’m in shape and I want to
live a long healthy life for my kids and my spouse.”<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow Audrey on Instagram! @audreyclairefitmom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“Once I get in a few workouts I feel energized by them, I
crave them and I look forward to them as both a break and a stress release. I
also am motivated to be fit and healthy which keeps me eating healthy and
getting in workouts. I like to be happy with what I see in my pictures. My life
can get very stressful and overwhelming – exercise makes me happy and that is
motivating!”</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Rebecca, Ohio Dominican University student (pursuing
master’s) and mother of two, Columbus, Ohio</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWQ6-Zv3h-iQMtt7PZv_QbxeAX9V1KjAgXjQ3LqoUzUGBk4qyyyr5cFWnpNehFkEaEi8f_9zKrbmdKjNbMQuGmNSSpbKgmjM0Or_U_VEY6zM_qcsrIJqcJ3N1qsFNqd8RrP5P-eUrZCQ/s1600/beckyfamilypic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="486" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWQ6-Zv3h-iQMtt7PZv_QbxeAX9V1KjAgXjQ3LqoUzUGBk4qyyyr5cFWnpNehFkEaEi8f_9zKrbmdKjNbMQuGmNSSpbKgmjM0Or_U_VEY6zM_qcsrIJqcJ3N1qsFNqd8RrP5P-eUrZCQ/s400/beckyfamilypic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“I feel that if I didn’t stay active during this time that I
would probably go crazy. I am a very extroverted person and I love being around
people. I am currently in PA school and we were pulled from our clinical
rotations when the stay at home order was put out. I went from hardly ever
being at home, to being home ALL the time. Not to mention our university
decided to give us a bunch of busy work for the time being, plus I found myself
trying to teach a freshman and a fifth grader to do their work. It was an
interesting first few weeks and many frustrating tears were shed from all in
this house. But, I did find that the mornings I would get up and workout it
really put me in a better mood and I felt like I had more patience throughout the
day.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyIkoCrIwjYurG0_XB2kCtzSkdvpxNQuai836h6Ke9lIlr4_zr1XgqshduapVzelXbVkqs5nl4PThr0BmEFrBaMqjWioA13ob1ytn-3PSNE30vksrbRNQFN97RTeiEGXTvEOUXdl6ZhE/s1600/beckyactivepic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="76" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyIkoCrIwjYurG0_XB2kCtzSkdvpxNQuai836h6Ke9lIlr4_zr1XgqshduapVzelXbVkqs5nl4PThr0BmEFrBaMqjWioA13ob1ytn-3PSNE30vksrbRNQFN97RTeiEGXTvEOUXdl6ZhE/s400/beckyactivepic.jpg" width="97" /></a></div>
“I have found a new love for running on my own. There is
something to be said about getting outside and feeling the fresh air in your
face and free time to clear your mind.”<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQrIcpe2FBnmUTvnnmRCbLnZrdedVJKZzRosp8q3cHTaQOIyz6PL7njVVPIkS57MC_X8OcfPICkZ0KXwuIK8kENI-g3hBmb8x34IxwukEfhcqDc4UYaJRn-xfWjiim5SOYbA1hRIXdlA/s1600/fitnessblogpicworkouttherapy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQrIcpe2FBnmUTvnnmRCbLnZrdedVJKZzRosp8q3cHTaQOIyz6PL7njVVPIkS57MC_X8OcfPICkZ0KXwuIK8kENI-g3hBmb8x34IxwukEfhcqDc4UYaJRn-xfWjiim5SOYbA1hRIXdlA/s400/fitnessblogpicworkouttherapy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
It turns out, fitness is not only a crucial form of self-care
for us moms (which in itself trickles down to be a benefit to our children) but
it is also a wonderful example for our kids. Naturally, we want for our children to lead healthy, fulfilling lives not only while they are in our care but beyond the nest as well. How are we teaching them that?</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdcb9mWFK0B_yNOnky_Yy7_os4tbp_iaVYJ2J3_9vNKYwX6x2-Kzc7Dsh1qdO-IndTzJKZSecgau5BcuTo3GZiDZnccy9raUQQUogJQsPFjqfrZcN3lSKCRoZmQ-6QEeH9oDkTzuRwOo/s1600/kidswatchingfitnessblogpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdcb9mWFK0B_yNOnky_Yy7_os4tbp_iaVYJ2J3_9vNKYwX6x2-Kzc7Dsh1qdO-IndTzJKZSecgau5BcuTo3GZiDZnccy9raUQQUogJQsPFjqfrZcN3lSKCRoZmQ-6QEeH9oDkTzuRwOo/s400/kidswatchingfitnessblogpic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
“When I see [my kids] making good food choices, and trying
to join in while I’m exercising, I know I’m going something right. And for
that, for them, and for myself, I’ll continue to make better choices.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> -Syreeta</i></div>
<i><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</i><div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“I love being a good example to my kids. They enjoy working
out with me and they see the importance of fitness – a value I want them to
hold throughout their lives.” </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
–<i> Audrey</i></div>
<i><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</i><div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“I love that my kids see me working hard with my fitness
goals and achieving them. After my knee injuries I had gained quite a bit of
weight. I set a goal after I was healthy to lose the weight I had gained. It
wasn’t easy . . . it was much easier to put on than to get off. But, with a lot
of discipline and hard work I was able to lose 35 pounds! My kids watched as I
went through that journey and they were able to celebrate with me when I hit my
goal. Seeing them excited that I was able to reach my goal only motivated me to
set more! I love that I can show them what hard work can do!”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-<i>Rebecca</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, how do these moms do it? What are their routines? Covid-19 has closed gyms and
changed all of our lives. Here are these fit moms answers to their ‘hows’
before and after this change.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Syreeta</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Before covid-19</b>: “I
went to the gym three days a week for at least an hour.” <b>After covid-19</b>: “Now .
. . I try to do 20-30 minutes of HIIT, [high intensity interval training] three
days a week and add random light weightlifting with dumbbells as often as I
can. I would much rather go to the gym. I love lifting heavy weights! But I
just try to do what I can while we shelter in place. It doesn’t always feel as
productive, but it’s better than nothing.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Selina</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Before covid-19</b>: “I was signed up for a training program
that included HIIT training, cycle classes, and weight lifting.” After
<b>covid-19</b>: “Daily walks, resistance band training, online TKD classes, bike
riding.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Jill</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Before covid-19</b>: “I went to the gym and participated in
group fitness cardio and weight lifting classes. I became part of a core group
of girls that went to the gym together. We took classes together pretty much
5-6 days a week; mostly in the mornings after the kids and husband went to
school and work.” <b>After covid-19</b>: “Now that the gyms have been closed, I’ve
been taking cardio and weight lifting classes online through a streaming
service. I meet with my gym girls about once a week for a social-distance legit
run or cardio routine. I’ve realized how much working out at a gym or with
friends motivated me now that I have to do this on my own. Now I get up really
early to get my workout in before 8 when [my husband] ‘goes to work’ in our
home office and its time to help the kids with school.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Audrey</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Before covid-19</b>: “I would go to Camp Gladiator workouts –
usually in the morning at 8:30 after dropping my older kids off at school. I
would have my two youngest with me. Baby in the stroller and the older one
would exercise next to me or play next to me on the adjacent playground. I
would also go to the gym occasionally and utilize the childcare or go for a jog
with baby in a jogging stroller.” <b>After covid-19</b>: “Now I’m actually working out
a lot more! I don’t have to pack up the kids to go anywhere – I just go out to
my garage and do a virtual Camp Gladiator workout in the morning before kids
are awake or during the day at naptime. I have gone on a few walks and jogs and
also stay active during the day with the kids playing, cleaning, and having fun
in the backyard.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Rebecca</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Before covid-19</b>: "Funny story - I had knee injuries that required surgery that kept me from being too active for almost all of 2019. So, at the beginning of 2020 I was feeling healthy and strong and was finally able to get back to working out. I was involved in a mom's running group where we would meet a few days a week in the morning for a 3-5 mile run and then get coffee afterwards. It was great, you get a good workout in, plus a therapy session with your friends. Finding a group [like that] has made a huge impact on my life. It's a group of women supporting other women. I have met so many wonderful ladies in this group, who have changed my life in so many ways. I am grateful and I hope that others have groups like this in their area and are able to find as much motivation and joy from it as I have. I also had a CrossFit membership where I would go to 5am workouts 3-4 times weekly. I loved the camaraderie that the gym provided, and I also loved the weight lifting aspect of CrossFit." <b>After covid-19</b>: " At first when the stay at home order was put out and the gyms closed, I felt a little defeated. I was just getting back into working out and I was worried that this was going to be a set back. I knew I could still run in my neighborhood, but I was worried about running alone. I had been running with friends for a long time and I was worried I wouldn't have the motivation to run alone. But, after the first few days of quarantine I decided I'd keep a schedule and make sure I made time for me to workout. I get up at 5:30am and I either run or makeup a workout that I can do in my basement with the gym equipment I have at home. Thankfully I was an exercise science major and I had to create several group workout classes during my time in undergrad. I had accumulated quite a bit of workout equipment, like TRX, bands and dumbbells. I've even being doing box jumps, but instead of having a box I jump up on the stairs."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Has this virus given you MORE free time? This may be just what you needed to get started in your own fitness journey. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZw4SfqPo5cG7I7Rh5PZp3OKvUbbM2TUSgXPnbWeO8Yz4nlj-mkSdlEJXDY-t5jDxDi31BgFcWpWpMLT7MCi91y-zFApxD-482jluzOS7Z-SK00mS14jNRtfHqg2935a3HBSMcAS9FCm0/s1600/blogtimeforthatmeme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZw4SfqPo5cG7I7Rh5PZp3OKvUbbM2TUSgXPnbWeO8Yz4nlj-mkSdlEJXDY-t5jDxDi31BgFcWpWpMLT7MCi91y-zFApxD-482jluzOS7Z-SK00mS14jNRtfHqg2935a3HBSMcAS9FCm0/s400/blogtimeforthatmeme.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Misery enjoys company, y’all. But so does happiness. Active
people want others to be active too. This is why you might see people sharing
their walks, virtual workouts or their run routes on your social media feeds. They
want for you to join them. They want for you to share how you are being active,
too. It is a way of connectedness in this new normal of closed gyms and staying
home all of the time. It is solidarity.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If you’ve been looking for a sign that YOU need to start
getting up and moving more, HERE IS YOUR SIGN. Start today. No, seriously. Start
today.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your heart and your mental state will thank you immensely. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tell me, how will you jump-start your active lifestyle? With
a walk/jog? With a YouTube workout? Feel free to comment below and allow us all
to cheer you on. You are about to make yourself so proud!</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Until next time . . .<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9B57-G8kcpdAt2a26JPUA42by-1MLBKAkyl3UIezQEzgdv0CUM2ukkYaxe8p3BV7RCCC4DASvoJHkYa61f8dY4t4xyoWtmVur7CZEGNMW6zps4iGa2z6N2uuIBoL2iJXu21oWwqQXLM/s1600/strongasamotherpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9B57-G8kcpdAt2a26JPUA42by-1MLBKAkyl3UIezQEzgdv0CUM2ukkYaxe8p3BV7RCCC4DASvoJHkYa61f8dY4t4xyoWtmVur7CZEGNMW6zps4iGa2z6N2uuIBoL2iJXu21oWwqQXLM/s320/strongasamotherpic.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">True story - I'm off to work out after hitting POST. Tell me in the comments how you will move your body today. Huge thanks to Syreeta, Selina, Jill, Audrey and Rebecca for sharing with all of us. And thanks to YOU for reading my post today! <3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-60223067523282821122020-03-21T14:37:00.000-05:002020-03-21T14:37:50.052-05:00Life has changed!
<br />
Isn’t it interesting how quickly times can change?<br />
<br />
<br />
At the start of this month I was prepping for our busiest
season of the year. All six of my kids were signed up for Spring season sports.
Baseball, softball and soccer. We would have a practice nearly every evening.
We would be double or triple booked some nights. We also had one night a week
of religious ed and were looking forward to our 8-year-old’s first communion.<br />
<br />
<br />
Every time a friend would ask how I was doing, I’d reply
with “Busy. But it is a good busy.”<br />
<br />
I knew it was a ‘good busy’ because my kids enjoy sports and
I enjoy watching them play. I knew it was a good busy because time is crazy
fast and I’m aware that one day I won’t have littles to take to practices and
games and school science fair nights and friends’ birthday parties and . . .
well, you get it. It is a busy that I wanted. A busy that I appreciated.<br />
<br />
<br />
Now the calendar has been wiped clean of all of that and I’d
be lying if I said it didn’t make me sad. And anxious. And a little afraid of
just how long this all will last.<br />
<br />
<br />
But I have an internal mama bear instinct and I’m thriving
on that currently. It is my job to give my kids a sense of normalcy and a
feeling of security amid all of this chaos. I’m in brainstorm and planning mode
now of a new routine at home.<br />
<br />
<br />
This past week was our school district’s Spring Break – so
we slept in every day, went to the park some, and mostly have been really lazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But next week? The week we were supposed to
return to school and sports and church? Since we can’t, now, I’m planning to homeschool.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am not going to be overly ambitious and try to implement some
rigorous 8-hour schedule of school work. But I also can’t let my kids become
zombies with their faces stuck in devices all day – we<i> need</i> some sort of
routine. So I’m prepping for that. We are fortunate that we are going through
this while we have so many resources available to us – technology is amazing
and the internet has a plethora of information for homeschooling parents. I’m
grateful for that.<br />
<br />
<br />
I already miss my gym, but I’m doing home workouts thanks to
Youtube. If I am going to have my kids with me 100% of the time now I’m going
to especially need the self-care that working out provides, so I am taking that
seriously. I am still staying alcohol-free. I remember in the past when I was
drinking how it made my anxiety worse, so the last thing I need is to fall back
on something unhealthy.<br />
<br />
<br />
I’m really sad about missing out on Mass. But I can read
aloud the daily readings with my kids each day. We can watch Mass being
streamed online. We can pray together just as we always have. <br />
<br />
This is difficult for all of us but in my home I am choosing
optimism and choosing to trust in God’s plan for all of us. I pray you keep
your spirits up as well.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Until next time . . . <br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-1042275479046017062019-11-19T14:12:00.000-06:002019-11-19T19:32:16.785-06:00I don’t drink anymore. But nothing has changed! (Except everything.)Hi, my name is Christy, and I don’t drink. I used to. I used
to drink kinda frequently, actually. But now I don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I didn’t hit some ‘rock bottom’ moment,
like drinking and driving and almost killing myself (or someone else.) I didn’t
stop taking care of my responsibilities while drinking. I still woke up and
took care of my kids every day. I just decided that it was getting to be too
much. I was starting to dislike the way I felt. And I quit.<br />
<br />
<br />
I don’t drink anymore, but nothing has changed. (Except
everything.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntcY5ZNo3xNiPpWC7tiM-d1Hs36Ki8MeQ2Z9rDqOwbg00TYZjB7jbNxyfSM5o3J3Wzefy9V4wrPCZzayqVHMqRfmuK8l0ktYHIOIenfyhi2uUk7ipTTcxpIm9kv9IumhHfpduMC6PcoE/s1600/momalcoholpic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="578" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntcY5ZNo3xNiPpWC7tiM-d1Hs36Ki8MeQ2Z9rDqOwbg00TYZjB7jbNxyfSM5o3J3Wzefy9V4wrPCZzayqVHMqRfmuK8l0ktYHIOIenfyhi2uUk7ipTTcxpIm9kv9IumhHfpduMC6PcoE/s320/momalcoholpic.JPG" width="221" /></a></div>
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I used to be the first to say, with a laugh, “I don’t WANT
to parent without alcohol!” Parenting is hard. My children are gifts that I
thank God for daily, but the work involved with raising them is the hardest
work I’ve ever done. ‘Mommy wine’ culture is a thing, and I was all about it. (well, I wasn’t so much a wine girl as a beer girl, but nonetheless I
bought all of the 'mommy juice' sentiment that came with drinking.) I would tell
myself that I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">deserved </i>to drink because
I did really hard work and alcohol was my reward. Nothing has changed –
parenting is still hard. Nothing has changed – I still need ways to
de-stress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing has changed – I still
reward myself for the work I do. Except everything has changed in the way that
I do that. Turns out, I was self-sabotaging every time I drank to relieve stress.
Alcohol makes stress worse. Alcohol was adding fuel to my anxiety. Using
alcohol to cope with stress actually makes a person’s response to stress worse.
Alcohol is a known depressant, yet I was turning to it to make me feel . . .
better? COUNTER-PRODUCTIVE, to say the very least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living alcohol free has made my anxiety
nearly disappear. My mind is always clear. I still have stress and that will
never change – but to combat that I work out a lot more now. I feel healthy, and I feel
strong. Exercise is the de-stressor that makes me not only feel good but it’s
making me look a whole lot better too. Alcohol was not helping me to relax or
ridding me of my stress – it was making it all much, much worse.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ60YlzbfCUvLEw6myCweOKXMwCRPHAe6G5Zu6hvRvuUEG0e6f-YwZ4omddroJ1hdUiyVXOjoq_45hSpYRUuOiCsMWvIFaTGKaG6KJN1csAnRI7ZKbu33McWxV1BP8ZcJYb-HOimIe5K0/s1600/baseballfamilypic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ60YlzbfCUvLEw6myCweOKXMwCRPHAe6G5Zu6hvRvuUEG0e6f-YwZ4omddroJ1hdUiyVXOjoq_45hSpYRUuOiCsMWvIFaTGKaG6KJN1csAnRI7ZKbu33McWxV1BP8ZcJYb-HOimIe5K0/s320/baseballfamilypic.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> My family on my last birthday, the first birthday in a long while in which I didn't celebrate with alcohol. We celebrated with a baseball game and I was feeling happy and especially blessed on that day!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Nothing has changed! You can still invite me to your party
(or wedding, or house warming, or football watching party, or whatever) and I
can still be around the alcohol though I won’t consume any. I can still have a
great time, too. Nothing has changed. I’ll still two-step with my husband (I
was able to do this only a couple of weeks ago at his cousin’s wedding, and
again this past weekend at an awards gala.) I’ll still enjoy laughter and small
talk. I’ll still watch the game and cheer for my team. Nothing has changed.
These functions were always great because of the people, never because of the
drinks. Nothing has changed – I can still have an amazing time at a party. But
everything has changed in the way I’ll feel after. The old me drank a lot at celebrations. The old me would wake up a little hungover the next day. The old me
would fall asleep quickly after a night of drinking, but wake up feeling as
though I didn’t sleep at all. Turns out there was a reason for that – science tells
us that while alcohol does allow healthy people to fall asleep quicker, it
actually reduces rapid eye movement sleep, and the lack of REM sleep causes
drowsiness and poor concentration that next day. I never experience those
crappy day-after-drinking feelings anymore. Nothing has changed – I still enjoy
all of the outings that I used to drink at. But everything has changed about
how I feel after them. I'll never have a hangover again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYGmvQi_GL6MzRcG5ZOM9fci3aOpvfGWD3AB2GbU8NiFQpGoMbrpYlxlJupMoWZoFdlPmdfqSosSuTQG4ghn6ZDZXDYLA6kjzYJM_glYJIVirhTI9Afuln6Sed8qWY8EISKiT8FOGASE/s1600/datebarpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitYGmvQi_GL6MzRcG5ZOM9fci3aOpvfGWD3AB2GbU8NiFQpGoMbrpYlxlJupMoWZoFdlPmdfqSosSuTQG4ghn6ZDZXDYLA6kjzYJM_glYJIVirhTI9Afuln6Sed8qWY8EISKiT8FOGASE/s320/datebarpic.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
My husband and I on a date last month! Sitting at the back patio of a bar, watching the Astros. He had a Coke, I had a club soda and cranberry. Our bar tab? $4. Can't beat that and we had a great time.</div>
<div>
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My family at the aforementioned wedding. Zero drinks. I danced with my husband and my nephew and my kids. We visited with family members we don't always get to see. Then we woke up the next morning in our hotel feeling great!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9rcFTt9TMFBYue23XeslFlEIlmEILZVZFASKhGTYs3ZCWTzbwxEbU7pwnf69zT6rkaNoWvS5vT6Xzaa7daIpk1eFZ3a26o8MwU0rz7C55etXqDc2zelucddyj0GvnNSNNJ6iN-FGDL4/s1600/apdawardspic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9rcFTt9TMFBYue23XeslFlEIlmEILZVZFASKhGTYs3ZCWTzbwxEbU7pwnf69zT6rkaNoWvS5vT6Xzaa7daIpk1eFZ3a26o8MwU0rz7C55etXqDc2zelucddyj0GvnNSNNJ6iN-FGDL4/s320/apdawardspic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All dressed up for my husband's awards gala. I didn't need alcohol to feel the pride as I watched my husband receive his award, and I didn't need alcohol to have fun that night. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Nothing has changed! I’m still me. Except everything has
changed. I’m healthier than before. I sleep better than before. I’m getting
fitter than I’ve been since my early twenties (maybe even better than then.) I
snap less at my kids. I snap less at my husband (that man deserves an award
for putting up with the drinking me, but more on that another time.) I have
more energy. My skin looks better.<br />
<br />
Nothing has changed! Except my grocery bill is lower. And the recycling bin in our garage no longer smells like stinky beer cans. It's filled with empty sparkling water cans, now.<br />
<br />
Nothing has changed! Except I don't drink my calories anymore, so my body is shrinking.<br />
<br />
<br />
Nothing has changed! I’m still aging a little every day. Except
now with a lower cancer risk of SIX different cancers – mouth and throat,
larynx, esophagus, colon and rectum, liver and breast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And except now with a healthier heart.
Drinking alcohol raises the levels of some fats in the blood, raises blood
pressure and can lead to heart failure. (See sources listed below this post)<br />
<br />
<br />
Nothing has changed! Except everything has changed. For the better.<br />
<br />
<br />
HOW DID I DO IT? Want the honest truth? I prayed about it at Mass. It's funny what happens when we turn to God for help. And I started reading up on alcohol. I can’t recommend “This Naked Mind”
by Annie Grace enough. Seriously, if you’ve ever been even a tiny bit ‘sober
curious’ you should get this book. Right now. I want for you to buy this book
so I’m including the link – <a href="https://www.amazon.com/this-naked-mind-discover-happiness/dp/0996715002">https://www.amazon.com/this-naked-mind-discover-happiness/dp/0996715002</a><br />
<br />
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Here’s the other thing that you may need to be reminded of:
none of us have ever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">needed</i> to drink.
Not to relieve stress. Not to have fun. Not to ‘fit in’, not to celebrate, not
to be more social. We are all ALREADY equipped with what we need sans ethanol
in our bodies. God created us to be so much more than what we often settle for.
It’s a tragedy, really, to see how often we forget that.<br />
<br />
So. I’m a non-drinker now, and it’s awesome. I dare you to
try the alcohol-free life!<br />
<br />
<br />
Until next time . . . <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sources used for this blog post:<br />
<br />
Alcoholism: Clinical & Experimental Research. “Stress
and alcohol ‘feed’ each other.” ScienceDaily. Science-Daily, 19 July 2011. <a href="http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/07/110715163216.htm">www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/07/110715163216.htm</a><br />
<br />
“Alcohol and a Good Night’s Sleep Don’t mix.” Denise Mann.
WebMD, 22 January 2013. <a href="http://www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/news/20130118/alcohol-sleep">www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/news/20130118/alcohol-sleep</a><br />
<br />
“Alcohol and Cancer” CDC.Gov last reviewed 8 July 2019. <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/cancer/alcohol/index.htm">www.cdc.gov/cancer/alcohol/index.htm</a><br />
<br />
“Alcohol and Heart Health” Heart.org last reviewed 15 August
2014. <a href="http://www.heart.org/en/healthy-eating/eat-smart/nutrition-basics/alcohol-and-heart-health">www.heart.org/en/healthy-eating/eat-smart/nutrition-basics/alcohol-and-heart-health</a>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-66529648726051952572019-08-06T16:52:00.000-05:002019-08-06T16:53:29.918-05:00In the aftermath of more mass shootings.El Paso. Dayton. Innocents killed and it's non-sensical. But honestly, it isn't shocking, is it? It's happened too many times now.<br />
Immediately following these tragedies I read news stories of the lives lost and feel heartache for their families. I feel anger for them. And then, I think of my kids and I am fearful. I don't want to take them to the store, where this could happen. Or to school next week, because shootings happen at schools, too. I've seen advertisements for bulletproof backpacks this year. Bulletproof backpacks. This is our reality.<br />
It's all overwhelming and I sometimes think - okay, Jesus. You can come take us all away now. This is too much and I just want for us all to say goodbye to this Earth.<br />
That isn't the way I am supposed to feel though. Life is still a gift, even amid the suffering and amid the hard and amid the unimaginable.<br />
So, I pray. I spend time with my kids. I take them to the movies even though in the back of my mind I have trepidation of being in public. I laugh with them, and play with them, and try to make the most of our day.<br />
Then I scroll Facebook and see the division on every other post. Grown adults hurl insults to relatives and friends over gun control. Or over politicians, or political parties or political platforms that they say are to blame.<br />
I don't understand this. I myself am a police officer's wife. A police officer who is a firearms instructor and a marksmanship team member. A man who likes guns, who is knowledgeable on the subject of guns and who shoots really, really well. Perhaps my husband has had a hand in shaping my perspective, sure. But I don't blame guns for the mass shootings for the same reason I don't blame breweries and distilleries for the 10,874 lives lost in 2018 due to drunk driving.<br />
But you know what else? I also don't blame the people who seek more gun control for their beliefs either. They are not my enemy for having a difference of opinion. We are all hurt over these losses. We all want some sort of solution.<br />
No matter which side you're on, wouldn't it be nice if we could come together and work towards real solutions? Is that wishful thinking? It just seems counterproductive to argue.<br />
But I don't know the answer or solution. I just know that my current role is to mother the six souls entrusted to me to become good adults who love others. I know that my role as a citizen is to vote for politicians who will lead with sound moral character (where ARE they? I pray for better men and women who will lead with humility and compassion and intelligence to step up.)<br />
Mostly, I know to continue to pray and trust God through it all. I will continue to look to Him. I will continue to point my children to Him as well. He is the only peace that I am sure of.<br />
I pray today whoever reading looks to Him as well.<br />
<br />
Until next time . . . <br />
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cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-17022251454228951752019-07-17T15:25:00.000-05:002019-07-17T15:25:45.969-05:00Short blog post coming to you from the splash pad.
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First bit of writing I’ve done in public in a while and it’s
at a busy, kid-filled splash pad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s
partly cloudy out so I’m actually comfortable sitting outside watching my kids
now and that is not a frequent feeling in the middle of July in Texas!</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week has been hard.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Frustrating - over the uphill climb of trying to clean my house, trying
to deal with fighting, needy kids, picking up puppy poop and wanting-a-break-from-being-needed
hard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s normal stuff.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Menial.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I know.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know my puppy will eventually potty train and his messes
are temporary.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know one day it will be easier to keep house.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And I know that my kids are growing fast and that one day I will miss
the chaos and the being needed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But sometimes the weight of my responsibilities is heavy and
I’m feeling it this week.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite my grumpy, feel-sorry-for-myself attitude, I’m able
to move forward. Continue with my responsibilities. Take my kids to places like
– well, here. The splash pad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not
because of my own strength but because of the tug of the Holy Spirit who
whispers “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pssh – hey. Remember to pray.
Remember Whose you are.”</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yeah.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I actually try
to ignore that sometimes because I can be really, really dumb.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ll pray LATER, I think to myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>First I’ll self-wallow.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The tug comes again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, not later. Now. Stop what you’re doing
and pray, right now.</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">*Sigh* FINE. I’ll pray.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But I’m still overwhelmed and frustrated and overwhelmed and frustrated
is where I will stay, dang it!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Reluctantly (this is a bit embarrassing to admit but it’s
true, I was reluctant with my prayer) I started a rosary.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Almost stubbornly, like a kid that was
avoiding broccoli or something.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I
did it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I prayed a full rosary because I
felt like I was being told to.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, surprise, surprise – my attitude changed. Nothing about
my circumstances did. My house is still in dire need of cleaning. My six kids
still need me for big and little things.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>There is still work for me, lots of it, in my day.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But today I’m feeling grateful for it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been occasionally writing, occasionally watching my
kids at this splash pad and you know something? They’re playing really well
right now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Laughing, chasing each other,
even holding hands occasionally.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They
are being sweet to one another and to some other random children they just met
today at this place.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I feel proud of
them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I feel proud to be their mother.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I didn’t even know I’d get a chance to write a blog post
today – this was in no way planned.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But
I’m grateful to get an opportunity to share these thoughts.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks, Jesus, for always having my back even when I am
completely undeserving.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-65310060229906585462019-06-04T20:47:00.000-05:002019-06-04T20:47:24.415-05:00It all fits together
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This past weekend I attended my third annual reunion with my
best Navy friends – girls that I was stationed with fifteen years ago at
Helicopter Mine Countermeasures Squadron 15 (HM-15) which was located at Naval
Air Station Corpus Christi, TX at the time (it has since moved to Norfolk,
VA.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some backstory on my journey to HM-15: I initially joined
the Navy with the hopes of becoming a Navy JO (journalist.) I liked to write
(is it obvious that I still do?) <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I also
was the editor-in-chief of my high school newspaper and loved it, so I wanted
to continue writing in that capacity. I was told by my recruiter that the JO rate was closed,
and I would have to join as something else.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Okay. I still wanted to join the Navy, so I asked the career counselor
assisting me at MEPS (military entrance processing center) if he had any ideas
of something exciting. “Aircrew.” He told me. “Sign me up!” I said. It sounded
VERY exciting. I was game.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Months later
I found myself in boot camp, set to be an aircrewman.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I graduated boot camp and was sent to
Pensacola, Florida immediately following for aircrew training.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Well, JO didn’t work out, and aircrew wouldn’t
either, not for me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d arrived to
Pensacola after boot camp with tendonitis in both feet and was deemed NPQ’d
(not physically qualified) for aircrew training.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Okay. Another setback. No problem. I sat in
front of another career counselor after my NPQ paperwork was received and he
informed me of a couple of aviation rates available.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I could choose one of those, or go into the
fleet undesignated, which he certainly did NOT recommend. It would be wiser to
choose a rate, he said.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I heard what he
was saying, but for some reason I couldn’t identify then, I was unable to
settle on a rate.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I would go to sea duty
as an undesignated airman, I decided. The career counselor shook his head as he
wrote on some paperwork in front of him and just said, “Okay, then.
Undesignated it is.” Then I was instructed to create a wish list with my first
three choices of where I would like to be assigned.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I turned it in, and waited.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can still clearly see the First Class Petty
Officer holding a clipboard as I stood in a muster line a couple of weeks later
yelling out, “Kolster – HM-15.” My orders were in. “Where is HM-15, Petty
Officer?” I asked her. “Corpus Christi, Texas,” she answered.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My third choice. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh well,</i> I thought. I arrived at HM-15 in September of 2003.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can say with certainty now that it was
exactly where I was meant to be.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fast forward to the present.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>These Navy friends of mine – we now live in Austin, Houston, Denver and
Portland.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Two years ago, we met in
Panama City, Florida.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Last year we went
back to where it all began in Corpus Christi, Texas.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And this past weekend we met at the home of
one of the girls in Portland, Oregon. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBR7WbMFw5x2XjCj9PWF3b8PjEYnNAI-Rxq0Gb2nH0fLvp8p-x1mLtxnnZ9OIOiwwOhYqCGHKgtvfXEcYkAw88QC0DXHSoNXoG50g_O1dLLK0jAEjLILWpsODruCFsdXszjDdhjuiTsrU/s1600/blogPCitypic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="640" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBR7WbMFw5x2XjCj9PWF3b8PjEYnNAI-Rxq0Gb2nH0fLvp8p-x1mLtxnnZ9OIOiwwOhYqCGHKgtvfXEcYkAw88QC0DXHSoNXoG50g_O1dLLK0jAEjLILWpsODruCFsdXszjDdhjuiTsrU/s320/blogPCitypic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Panama City, Florida, Summer 2017</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOooMpctxTtsCewAt-OrD5zZ4CZvijnrdM-t3gKAUhD5pY6FixzKYZgXfI-wKqDRUOxCavfFjI4FcYEr9kW3I05m1147DbJoFsiF-ZeDp1CxvdA8EDiSTQz66H1qdR_qBUQtc5yl88l_A/s1600/blogcorpuspic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="640" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOooMpctxTtsCewAt-OrD5zZ4CZvijnrdM-t3gKAUhD5pY6FixzKYZgXfI-wKqDRUOxCavfFjI4FcYEr9kW3I05m1147DbJoFsiF-ZeDp1CxvdA8EDiSTQz66H1qdR_qBUQtc5yl88l_A/s320/blogcorpuspic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
Corpus Christi, TX (in front of the old HM-15 hangar!)Summer 2018</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UQwgIDTBm2TjzeU9cp66L9rl05vKJVlp1n-2nlsFcVFMODCkdfIdU1u3RALRe8OptIdlEtdXSMsPeOwws452dnUksTUWFCI9F91owGqwxjY6jEaMIdsibsxLdzwW1t3ZDlfHZls76rU/s1600/blogoregonpic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3UQwgIDTBm2TjzeU9cp66L9rl05vKJVlp1n-2nlsFcVFMODCkdfIdU1u3RALRe8OptIdlEtdXSMsPeOwws452dnUksTUWFCI9F91owGqwxjY6jEaMIdsibsxLdzwW1t3ZDlfHZls76rU/s320/blogoregonpic.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Multnomah Falls, Oregon June 2019<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was my first time to Oregon and this Texas girl was
nervous it would be too cold for my taste, even in June.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But it was beautiful!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We ended up being blessed with the perfect
weather.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We ate (a LOT of amazing food),
we hiked, we went whale watching and we met up with two other HM-15 girls the
last evening who live near enough by for a drive up. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We reminisced and I thought back to that group of young
sailors we were then.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All in our
twenties, all carefree and mortgage free.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I told one of the girls “can you imagine going back to HM-15, those days
we were there, and having someone tell you that we’d meet up like this all of
these years later?” She laughed, and then said the thought was going to make
her cry.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I pondered that for a while –
what I would have thought then about my life now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And what a relief it would have been to know
that I would stay in touch with these friends who felt like family to me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Friends I not only worked with at HM-15, but
who I lived with in the barracks.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Would the younger me believe who I would become? Wife to a
man I met while serving in Corpus – mom to his six children – a published
author who never did get to become a Navy JO but who would return to writing
anyway? I probably would not have believed that back then.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All of this looking back has me seeing all of these puzzle
pieces fitting together in my life in a way only God could have orchestrated.
He put the military on my heart when I was 18 for a reason.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He put me in Corpus for a reason.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He’s paved this way for me that at times hasn’t
always made sense to me – but looking in the rearview mirror now it is crystal
clear.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was supposed to go to HM-15.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was supposed to build those friendships
that have stood the test of time (and distance!)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was supposed to share those times with them
and am blessed to have the reunions now so we can all be nostalgic together.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was supposed to meet my husband there and begin what has
been the greatest adventure of my life since marrying him and beginning our
family.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am happy to go on these getaways with my Navy girls and
happy to remember who we all were back then and laugh at the memories. Happier
still am I to return home to my family and the life I have today.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m so grateful for it all.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Thank God for the paths placed in front of me (to include the detours) and for the one I walk on
now.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-15135486481773795822019-04-24T18:46:00.000-05:002019-04-24T18:46:12.020-05:00I don’t even know why you might read this. It’s random. Topics include: busyness, sick kids and rainy days . . .
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last night my husband and I were QUADRUPLE-booked for the
evening. One kid had karate. One kid had soccer practice. One kid had a
baseball game, and as parents we were scheduled for concession stand duty for
our other son’s baseball team.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Understandably I was worrying about how we’d get it all done. But
then, our daughter’s soccer coach texted that he had a work conference call
come up unexpectedly so he’d be canceling practice. YES! One less thing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband took my son to his game and then hit up the
concession stand for duty. I took my daughter to karate with all of the other
kids in tow. I was able to get to the fields to watch the last half of my son’s
game and my husband was able to continue working the concession stand as our
kids played outside.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We keep doing this, he and I. We are crazy booked with all
of these kids and their activities but we are making it all happen for them. It
would be a massive lie if I told you it’s always rainbows and butterflies and
we’re always happy to be running them around.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The truth is, I complain a lot. Mostly to my poor husband. But he has
this way of reminding me that WE’VE GOT THIS, and he’s right. We do.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Plus if I’m being truthful it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> worth it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You should see the way my son Thomas smiles
after he gets a nice hit from a coach pitch at his pee-wee game.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He’s adorable.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or if you saw the way my daughter Faith
hustles during soccer, and is focused 100% of the game – you would see why we
are as proud as we are. There are all of these moments amid the craziness in
which I feel a ping of pride and a ping of happiness for my kids’ happiness. It’s
good. Really, really good.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The busy is hard, but it’s a good busy. I want the kids and
all of the busy that comes with raising them.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>So I should really stop complaining about how busy I am.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today, circumstances are forcing us to slow down.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last night I went in each of the kids’ rooms to check on
them before I went to bed. It’s a good thing I did, because when I hit up the
boys’ room, I discovered my youngest son Barrett on the floor. Asleep. I went
to pick him up and move him and found he had thrown up on his bed, the wall,
the floor and on some stuffed toys. We immediately started to clean up the
mess, my husband and I.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was so bad
the mattress had to be taken out and hosed off (I know. It was pretty gross.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This morning at about 5:45 my husband and I went to check on
Barrett again before we had to wake up the big 4 for school and before he had
to head to work . . . this time he had gotten sick again, but the other kind. I
won’t go into details this time but Barrett had to go straight to the bath this
morning.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I still managed to get the big 4 kids up, fed, dressed and
off to catch the bus in time. Barrett was scrubbed clean in the bath, his room
was cleaned up and I started disinfecting EVERYTHING in this house.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My husband headed to work and I survived the
day with a sick 4 year old and an active 3 year old.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCMeIVNwCQImsjQ9jeWvbHoOTBPdKc9mqVWTX-lnwh59skRTlRVZUD1amN7YNxof-dwloE8T4Dtli3NRyhy1uObhRDxlExQ-5uogdxBUlKUZK_SdhFBl95ebTJL0ex4AYRJJcMCDRvh8/s1600/blogpostbear.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCMeIVNwCQImsjQ9jeWvbHoOTBPdKc9mqVWTX-lnwh59skRTlRVZUD1amN7YNxof-dwloE8T4Dtli3NRyhy1uObhRDxlExQ-5uogdxBUlKUZK_SdhFBl95ebTJL0ex4AYRJJcMCDRvh8/s1600/blogpostbear.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My baby boy. With a bowl, because he can't always make it to the toilet to vomit. :(</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My sick baby was supposed to go to pre-school in the morning
and have his tee-ball game tomorrow evening, but now he’ll be staying home and
avoiding spreading these tummy bug germs to his classmates and teammates.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So we will have a little less to do tomorrow,
and that’s okay.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I am typing this, we are experiencing storms. Usual for
this time of year, but they always kind of bum me out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I prefer the sun and weather nice enough to
let the kids go play in.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sick kids + bad weather? Usually the combo would have me
stressed, anxious and just bummed out. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My
husband is probably guessing that he will come home to the complaining wife
that I can (too often) be. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XklnCXdgrED4g49Ym-pPz-xnfWtcWBQKk8x5Zo26miMsVAhtgGPfUiUb5BvV4qM0RBbL4Mm2i6sZIl6ZrHPOi076BsKk0K7i83s4Fcpp67oiMAC_n-2_sLNX6__DD7RmlRpekb1liGg/s1600/blogpostrain.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XklnCXdgrED4g49Ym-pPz-xnfWtcWBQKk8x5Zo26miMsVAhtgGPfUiUb5BvV4qM0RBbL4Mm2i6sZIl6ZrHPOi076BsKk0K7i83s4Fcpp67oiMAC_n-2_sLNX6__DD7RmlRpekb1liGg/s1600/blogpostrain.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dark, rainy skies outside my window.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I’m not complaining today. I have felt an odd peace all
day even after my son threw up (for the fourth time since last night, maybe?
Fifth?) in my living room this afternoon. Weird, right?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No, I haven’t been day drinking, though I understand why you
might wonder if I have been. Oh, it’s tempting sometimes. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s just God. And coffee.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Sweet, sweet coffee . .<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>.but mostly
God. I’ve been praying that He will give me the grace to be the mother my
children deserve and the wife my husband deserves.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Funny how He pulls through and listens to my
prayers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Funny how all of these HARD things
can be thrown my way and I’m able to handle it all though I feel completely
inadequate on my own.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He gave me these children and He is giving me the strength
it requires to parent them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s all
Him. None of it is me. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I didn’t plan to blog today, obviously . . . but for some
reason I felt the need to share these thoughts swarming in my mind today.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I wanted to share the gratitude I feel today
for our God and the ways He answers our prayers. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe someone out there needed a reminder to
pray. I don’t know.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But as I end this I will pray everyone who reads it is
blessed in some way today.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . .<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-38116980168925877242019-04-01T20:27:00.000-05:002019-04-01T20:32:09.379-05:00I guess I'm not quitting. (subtitle: The writing life is a terrible one. Do not recommend.)
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I received a rejection today. Not my first, and I'm certain
it will not be my last. No rejections feel great, but this one in particular
stung because I really believed that this project was a good one. I thought I
did well, and the one receiving it thought otherwise.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So this grown 35-year-old woman cried. Big, fat tears. And
whined to her husband about it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
thought that maybe she should just quit because what is the point of all of
these hours spent writing if they aren’t paying our bills, and if they aren’t
even appreciated?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today felt a little more like being punched in the gut than
a simple rejection. It hurt and I wallowed in it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I let myself sit and roll around in self-pity
and I’m embarrassed now and am only sharing because transparency feels like the
best policy if I’m writing, you know?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Briefly I felt like giving all of this up.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Quitting. I’m not good enough.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve shared that with friends before, my
feelings on my writing talent, or lack thereof. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s not there – yet.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the desire hasn’t left me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It started out as tiny embers stirring around
in the juvenile version of me and I know as I write these words just how corny
they are, maybe, but it’s a fire now.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And it’s funny that it’s grown into that because I have journals in my
closet – old journals – dating from age 9 to age 30 (not kidding) and there is
a recurring theme among the years . . . </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Can you guess what that is? My younger self always said in
those journals that she would grow up to be a writer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My 9-year-old self.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My 17-year-old self.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beyond . . . </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So. As hard as this is, I guess I will keep trying.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I still want this if I’m being honest.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I want to write more- be published more- and
get better with each word that I write.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Sigh) I’m also trying my best to be an example to my kids.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My 8-year-old shared with me today after school that there is
a girl in her class who doesn’t like her. I wanted to get through to her – so I
actually told her “Do you know that some people don’t like Taylor Swift?” (she
thinks that Taylor Swift is the coolest ever.) And she was shocked by this. “It’s
true,” I told her. “No matter what you do, there will still be people who don’t
like you. But you don’t focus on them. You focus on the people who DO like you,
and I know you have plenty of good friends who care about you.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She was content and smiled at this, but at the same time I
was still secretly trying to wallow in my rejection.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But . . . God. He has His ways, doesn’t He?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was clear as I was trying to encourage my daughter that
God was trying to encourage me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So I’m
here stubbornly admitting publicly that I’m not quitting writing. Not yet.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have dreams to pursue and children to motivate and a God
who loves me despite all of my failings and He has my back.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here’s to the first blog post in a long while, and here’s
to me finishing book 4 and here’s to me continuing on this writing life path
with the unknown future.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Oh.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And to hoping the next submission fares
better!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . .<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br /></div>
cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-20738795499105067582018-11-21T17:33:00.000-06:002018-11-21T17:33:28.847-06:00My thankful post<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thanksgiving is tomorrow . . . WHAT?! Time continues to get
weirder as I age.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(It sounds as if I’m
calling myself old in that last sentence. I’m not. 35 is still totally young.
Right?)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Time is moving so quickly I feel
I can hardly keep up. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But here we are, and as I was reflecting earlier on what I’m
thankful for this year, I decided I wanted to share it. I’m thankful for a
whole lot, but I’ll break down the big things here:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">First – The number one spot always has to go to God, my
creator and the one whose grace sustains me even on the worst of days. My life
is His, my hope rests in Him and He is so, so good.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjUmV0PFG50C-XZw9SC9qAXB-AV7K8IKfFJT6ZZteyepqnF1jHX1IEkaYX6l-uWmoxqa8GYXT0FTpSWmD7gHyLljdm8B35hGaPTZO7f50Dt-MUD6fzWRAXvARkmvgfxWxx-aPq7vFE-E/s1600/give-thanks-to-the-lord-615x570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="615" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjUmV0PFG50C-XZw9SC9qAXB-AV7K8IKfFJT6ZZteyepqnF1jHX1IEkaYX6l-uWmoxqa8GYXT0FTpSWmD7gHyLljdm8B35hGaPTZO7f50Dt-MUD6fzWRAXvARkmvgfxWxx-aPq7vFE-E/s200/give-thanks-to-the-lord-615x570.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"></span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Second – my husband, Michael, of course! We started dating
in 2004, were married in 2008, had our first baby in 2009 and five more by
2015.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He is the hardest worker that I
know (literally as I type this- he is working a double overtime shift for our
family.) He is still my favorite person.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He is the best Dad – I keep saying I’m going to write about that,
actually . . . I need to . . . I could not have dreamt up a better father for
my children than him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He still makes me
laugh, and he is still the person I want to spend time with more than anyone
else. He puts up with me, and that is sometimes a very hard job – but he does
it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>To say that I love him doesn't feel like enough. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I thank God for him.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwX_hIrAZ02ON7Al3SEC1U7q6Kq9_0mKdR3PtHQLq4ga60uPRhK5gKha1jfCZK9zNlN8gOjfpgyvSGwcYk2TlMh_ssdxj_4LwT09TbaRnp6SCyVA6EoHYFLv9UQKBMG7yVktQMMf9UwKY/s1600/blogpic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwX_hIrAZ02ON7Al3SEC1U7q6Kq9_0mKdR3PtHQLq4ga60uPRhK5gKha1jfCZK9zNlN8gOjfpgyvSGwcYk2TlMh_ssdxj_4LwT09TbaRnp6SCyVA6EoHYFLv9UQKBMG7yVktQMMf9UwKY/s200/blogpic2.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 12, 2008</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3huousSTx37xrL6gGXZzo60sQ4rOT9e-s0IxjxMzEnC41hWuPpdA1VfIEFMtwVbPm0OeEDO9nrTnbGjPb7qOiYJnMrwxu8TVI-N37th7BxLUUlucMnznuoz0Yr9t3SE5W4O922kfSnQ/s1600/us2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3huousSTx37xrL6gGXZzo60sQ4rOT9e-s0IxjxMzEnC41hWuPpdA1VfIEFMtwVbPm0OeEDO9nrTnbGjPb7qOiYJnMrwxu8TVI-N37th7BxLUUlucMnznuoz0Yr9t3SE5W4O922kfSnQ/s200/us2018.jpg" width="188" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last Friday night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Third – you knew I was going to say the kids, right? I don’t
know why I’ve been given six healthy children.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I don’t understand it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I do know
and understand the weight of the blessing and there is not a day that goes by in which I
do not thank Jesus for this life with them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> They are beautiful, and smart, and kind, and mine.</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3hgMEDLbrxClMArP0H4wKo-eA9IeNvhw7ZFlcOLf00o6BSMxjI1_6W1USZB5cDc04QumCb9Co7KCEassCq7B9vsFbsi3htl73N53EwVeJ3DKl8Bh_qLTfsq0ei0hc8qfrigHMclpQeQ/s1600/campfire2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3hgMEDLbrxClMArP0H4wKo-eA9IeNvhw7ZFlcOLf00o6BSMxjI1_6W1USZB5cDc04QumCb9Co7KCEassCq7B9vsFbsi3htl73N53EwVeJ3DKl8Bh_qLTfsq0ei0hc8qfrigHMclpQeQ/s200/campfire2018.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our most recent camping trip</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Fourth – our families. Michael’s family all lives
nearby.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His parents just had the kids
this past weekend –giving us two kid-free nights.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His parents do this willingly and joyfully,
and I know this isn’t the case with every set of grandparents! Not only is his
family a blessing to us but they are a blessing to our children.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My family is not so close, but my heart is still
with them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The times that I do see my
siblings or my nieces and nephews is so, so sweet. I am thankful for each and
every one of our family members.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NlK_YaQDqbAaN5iGRf2g5ScNguQUKOfdmzNDfrnrm9nN3A5JzBGT0DXzupSYglY9u_vE_mwABLiqfkDLjNBbuzqBm-ukcU8Onf1pw4YU8asJMUNVG7W5MTgjtcAGhUdAWaAuG_vosOg/s1600/cousinsjake2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NlK_YaQDqbAaN5iGRf2g5ScNguQUKOfdmzNDfrnrm9nN3A5JzBGT0DXzupSYglY9u_vE_mwABLiqfkDLjNBbuzqBm-ukcU8Onf1pw4YU8asJMUNVG7W5MTgjtcAGhUdAWaAuG_vosOg/s200/cousinsjake2018.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins from Michael's side</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJny8mpxiaw_balhY7TJ3sN7pSnsbYxOBWjM-yNFi2IToY_XhRRO0kGiOesWydo-0NUiq9AH9NtmuVMTaM5-GFqSHG9NBLvEiiJTcrqmvybcaxC6rZsxX0NpNRIEvjWmupsH2L7PCMZ0/s1600/cousins2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJny8mpxiaw_balhY7TJ3sN7pSnsbYxOBWjM-yNFi2IToY_XhRRO0kGiOesWydo-0NUiq9AH9NtmuVMTaM5-GFqSHG9NBLvEiiJTcrqmvybcaxC6rZsxX0NpNRIEvjWmupsH2L7PCMZ0/s200/cousins2018.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins from my side</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Fifth – my friends. I almost feel this should be higher on
my list. I have the best friends, and I’m not kidding. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have the kind of friends who have dropped
diapers AND beer off on my doorstep when I’ve had a newborn. I have the kind of
friends who have helped me travel to a Navy reunion when I didn’t have the
funds.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have the kind of friends who
have encouraged me on the 7<sup>th</sup> mile of a long run to finish strong,
as our toddlers are being pushed in running strollers. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have the kind of friends who have texted me
to let me know they’re praying for me. Yeah.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I could go on with this one for a while, actually.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe this needs to be a later blog
post.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Suffice it to say for now – I’m
beyond thankful for my friends.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuWpP_KKHlr-HQ0aYDeQ4LqvO1ztKAfgTGjPjE0_ew3ZSIXIbnioUSzQrphSCE5eNx-iuXTxa1BusPuATASLHc1jRox56iyKhyphenhyphen_A46gv5xo7_6At9ThBf9T0MGeKoCa0_oKzgVv9puwA/s1600/friends2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1044" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuWpP_KKHlr-HQ0aYDeQ4LqvO1ztKAfgTGjPjE0_ew3ZSIXIbnioUSzQrphSCE5eNx-iuXTxa1BusPuATASLHc1jRox56iyKhyphenhyphen_A46gv5xo7_6At9ThBf9T0MGeKoCa0_oKzgVv9puwA/s200/friends2018.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A dinner with friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My last one might sound a little strange – but I’m thankful
for the struggles in my life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Okay.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not always.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Sometimes I wish things could be easier.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Like when it takes 20 minutes to get out the door once I thought my kids
were dressed and ready – because of a missing shoe, or because a kid has to go
to the bathroom last minute, or a few of them are fighting and by the time I
get all six in the van and buckled I’m EXHAUSTED and do not know how I’ll actually
run the errand we just got in the vehicle to do.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Yeah. I do it anyway. And I feel strong.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sometimes I wish it could be easier when I’m
dealing with all of these crazy hard feelings that come with my relationship
with my mother (not going to re-hash all of that here. Too long of a story.
Revert back to the blog post before this, if you’re curious.) It’s hard on me,
and I want it to be easier.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I want a
normal, healthy relationship with her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But it isn’t there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It may never be there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Despite this hurt and void I feel from that,
I get by.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I try to turn the negative
energy into good and focus on my own kids.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And I feel strong. I was about to conclude this paragraph – but I can’t
help but share with you that my five-year-old son just came in my room to
complain about one of his sisters. He tried to stand on the bottom of my
computer chair, slipped (of course) and cut his neck on the edge of my
desk.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m not making this up! (He is
fine, in case you’re wondering.) This added to the struggle of finishing a blog
post! But I helped him out, and I’m back to finish what I started.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I feel strong.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
could make this particular part of my thankful list longer and explain in
detail other struggles I have, but I really don’t need to, do I? To be human is
to struggle.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We all have our sad stories
and we all have our daily obstacles to tackle. But if I’m being completely
honest about it all – I feel the hard stuff, the hard times – they make me so
much stronger than before.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So, as crazy
as it sounds, I’m thankful for the hard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> Romans 5:3-5 is a favorite of mine these days. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ll end this with saying that I’m thankful for YOU for
making it this far in reading my blog post, and I hope that today or tomorrow
you make your own list of what you’re thankful for. I pray you have a very
Happy Thanksgiving and wonderful Christmas season. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8P9MBxdpxUvR6je4cpubVtMjTsrq2NyqsXDQDbvkfsuWW3dxAT33M6IVm9mpz9Sx9_Pfv8zzs5E2-ecS5fMsgbdMGBEgl0RQ3-y-yZvpCpnWpAIzmj_JB_VkOE7Q_EHYppkMe_rLmQQ/s1600/thankful.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="494" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8P9MBxdpxUvR6je4cpubVtMjTsrq2NyqsXDQDbvkfsuWW3dxAT33M6IVm9mpz9Sx9_Pfv8zzs5E2-ecS5fMsgbdMGBEgl0RQ3-y-yZvpCpnWpAIzmj_JB_VkOE7Q_EHYppkMe_rLmQQ/s320/thankful.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-29363926726655384232018-10-30T18:24:00.000-05:002018-10-30T18:24:48.691-05:00I’ll just be vulnerable for a minute.
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because writing can be therapeutic.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because Anne Lamott told me I could.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7jITs3LutWrl6lq3IMJUcphibbY_yuB3e6K1O1b7qjVioiCfIsIYm5VoYdEiZ_DHWa8n-fllzN3qEOfNT3oXaD-ZaklLurFDCyCqYCCXz0gCMVOrVQpQHtcIMKQI5d86n6Q1Xsj17bI/s1600/annelamottquote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="570" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7jITs3LutWrl6lq3IMJUcphibbY_yuB3e6K1O1b7qjVioiCfIsIYm5VoYdEiZ_DHWa8n-fllzN3qEOfNT3oXaD-ZaklLurFDCyCqYCCXz0gCMVOrVQpQHtcIMKQI5d86n6Q1Xsj17bI/s320/annelamottquote.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because I’m equal parts sad and angry right now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No, more angry than sad.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m also a little envious, and I know that envy is bad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Really bad.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But if you have a mother that you have a good or even decent
relationship with, I’m a little jealous right now.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m also frustrated.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And at a loss.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And sharing this
if I get brave enough because WHY? I don’t know yet. I can find solidarity with
others, maybe? Someone will have a magic answer on what to do?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I AM THE DAUGHTER OF AN ADDICT.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I said it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I never wish to share
this.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I never wish to say negative
things about the woman who birthed me.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And here we are . . . </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This addict had open-heart surgery on October 11<sup>th</sup>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Oh, she nearly died.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She had to be care-flighted from one hospital
in Fort Worth to another in Dallas after a torn aorta was discovered.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was rough, and she ended up having a second
surgery, but she survived.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the withdrawals began.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I knew my mother had a problem.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
did not know to what extent.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I still do
not know everything – what I do know is this: she was hallucinating,
experiencing tremors and had to be restrained because she became too
combative.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My mom.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Restrained at a hospital.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Because why?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Her addictions.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Guess who gets to experience the hurt from all of this? Her daughters. Yeah. I'm the eldest of four girls.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2IWZyYYKin7wXPtdbCBYFmch11x8z24PCE1NHNvkBncpd8psmF3WuLluHeuLhsI0O-F7SlZbBJWcODF86JpO-z6iffXQtzZ7-WVk-nLvmH1E0sVYvCiWj-kCna5uEis4eVvt-rZnQFY/s1600/oldsisterspic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="403" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2IWZyYYKin7wXPtdbCBYFmch11x8z24PCE1NHNvkBncpd8psmF3WuLluHeuLhsI0O-F7SlZbBJWcODF86JpO-z6iffXQtzZ7-WVk-nLvmH1E0sVYvCiWj-kCna5uEis4eVvt-rZnQFY/s320/oldsisterspic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sisters and I, circa 1990, 91?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She detoxed, finally.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But she’s still very confused. Mentally lost.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
just spoke with her on the phone today – she is not all there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I do not recognize this person.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But to be honest, I haven’t for years.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I haven’t had a good relationship with my mom
for YEARS.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Because why?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her addictions.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And now? The hospital plans to release her soon.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>WHERE TO? A homeless shelter, if a family member
does not take her in.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Because she was
unemployed, with no insurance, and has nothing.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Nothing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My mom does not have a
home. Because why? Her addictions.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will not allow my mother to go to a homeless shelter and
neither will my sisters.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We are
currently working something out, which looks like her coming to my home.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I am raising six children, so have NO IDEA
how this will work, but I am also still her daughter.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And she is still my mother.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I will not send her to a homeless shelter
after open-heart surgery and withdrawals.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She can’t walk or bathe without assistance, and she’s still
out of her mind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her neurologist is
unsure if she will ever be in the right mind again or not.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You know what caused this?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Her addictions.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m angry with her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m
the child in this scenario, not the parent – yet I am going to have to take
care of her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This is not the order of
things. This is not fair.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is this wrong – all I’ve said thus far?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m praying a lot – I know God is asking me
to put aside my pride.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know that. I’m
working on that. Pray for me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I also know He is helping me because I have the very best
friends checking in on me, making sure I’m okay, and He gave me a husband who
looked me in the eyes just today and said “I’m with you. Whatever you need to
do for your Mom, I’m on board,” FULLY knowing the burden it will be on him as
well.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know God is with me when He shows me what I have with my
children – oh, my, how I’ve been blessed in that department. My children can be
trying at times, don’t get me wrong. But they are one of the biggest sources of
the joy I experience daily.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And speaking
of my children - <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I AM GIVING MY CHILDREN
WHAT I BELIEVE EVERY CHILD DESERVES. A mother who is committed to putting them
first, not me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I am not my mother. I
will never be my mother.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I am still a daughter.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I still have to be there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I still
love her because she birthed me, raised me, comforted me when I was a child.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unless disability kicks in before next week, which is highly
unlikely, I’ll soon be caring for my mother.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>An addict and post open-heart surgery patient.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you’ve read up to this point, thanks. I appreciate you
letting me vent to you in a sense.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Also, pray for us?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>All of us? My mom – my sisters and their families – my family . . . we
can use them like crazy right now. Please. Just take one second and pray for
us.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am angry, yes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But
more than ever – God’s grace is present. I still feel it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I will never deny that.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This too will pass – right? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-10370328080168440272018-09-10T17:42:00.000-05:002018-09-10T17:42:42.925-05:00On death and what matters<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This past Saturday my family and I drove from Austin to
Lubbock for my husband’s paternal grandfather’s funeral.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEW8qWSitzT7LuMyDtAMRuntkwFL4AKnWJbexUxsDWmUl-d-gPWWEuRTEcvEXMzlNxLZfD1ZNVcbMO5yxGtp_V9Bz3cYMvbAYgq0ju5Te4KgzP3VRhAalqtSWoHwMmDDc6qZkQXtOmTk/s1600/greatgrandmagreatgrandpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOEW8qWSitzT7LuMyDtAMRuntkwFL4AKnWJbexUxsDWmUl-d-gPWWEuRTEcvEXMzlNxLZfD1ZNVcbMO5yxGtp_V9Bz3cYMvbAYgq0ju5Te4KgzP3VRhAalqtSWoHwMmDDc6qZkQXtOmTk/s320/greatgrandmagreatgrandpa.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Jerry and Henrietta Decker</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, what I personally knew of Grandpa Decker is that he
gave big, strong bear hugs every single time I saw him, and that he had a kind
smile on his face when he would watch my children – his great-grandchildren –
run around and play.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What I knew of him
from my husband, is that he was a hard-working man who found the time and
energy to play with my husband and his siblings when they would come and visit
him as children, even after a long day of farming.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This hard work I mentioned – Grandpa Decker farmed
cotton.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was undeniably hard work and
he had a work ethic that has been inherited by his children and his grandchildren.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve always said that one of the first traits
I was attracted to upon meeting my husband was his drive.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My husband is still the most hard-working man
I know, but more than that – he is grateful for his work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He will regularly work overtime to provide
for our family, and he never complains.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The only thing you’ll ever hear him say about his overtime is that he is
grateful to God for the opportunity to provide for his family.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This tenacity and willingness to work can be
seen in my husband and his siblings, who first saw it in their parents, who
first saw it in their parents. I pray to reflect that onto our children now as
well.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62qcJPXbhhiAsRzKeEyz5f5NsiZKef90qkuuJO-YX2vrE05f-qY1c5wMIUdBDKTGfDKDpKiOINM9mGwAWKFm4D1MyHqYg8_gwhnh6OWCZ4t2BIyTkBUp_At3osx3XyLyNunvFNy8F08M/s1600/colossians-3-23-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="378" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62qcJPXbhhiAsRzKeEyz5f5NsiZKef90qkuuJO-YX2vrE05f-qY1c5wMIUdBDKTGfDKDpKiOINM9mGwAWKFm4D1MyHqYg8_gwhnh6OWCZ4t2BIyTkBUp_At3osx3XyLyNunvFNy8F08M/s320/colossians-3-23-24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grandma and Grandpa Decker were married 57 years at the time
of his death and she lives in the same house they moved into when the youngest
of their six children was in the third grade.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>We went to the house after the funeral reception – my children jumped on
the very same trampoline that my father-in-law (the eldest of the Decker six)
jumped on when HE was a child! I watched them as I sat on the back porch and
said a prayer of gratitude for these roots my children are so blessed to have.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwT4KPyAGv5nZceQdaKs6XRsD47c5SNfAFN7ATDloFEbyIpCnsUh0XRSbvuWl9AnCZO1c5auTb6mt8gbGUU7VWBxi29l0daJI4x02zMGOMFaZE5SYsq22Vdcguxf3y9A_8_7_xkSjtclE/s1600/deckersix.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwT4KPyAGv5nZceQdaKs6XRsD47c5SNfAFN7ATDloFEbyIpCnsUh0XRSbvuWl9AnCZO1c5auTb6mt8gbGUU7VWBxi29l0daJI4x02zMGOMFaZE5SYsq22Vdcguxf3y9A_8_7_xkSjtclE/s320/deckersix.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Decker and her six children, at Grandpa's funeral reception</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There were several difficult moments during this past
weekend, of course. It was heartbreaking to see the pain and tears of Grandpa’s
children and his grand-children as they mourned his death.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Even one of my children cried at his viewing –
death is never easy to acknowledge and yet here we all were, saying goodbye to
this man who was dearly loved and will be sorely missed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was something more though, and something bigger than
the difficult moments.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There were
moments of peace.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The kind priest who
led us in the rosary the night before the funeral reminded us of who Grandpa
Decker was – yes, he was a husband, a father, a grandfather, a
great-grandfather. Yes, he was a farmer.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The priest reminded us, however, that first he was a baptized member of
the Body of Christ – and now would be joined with Him in Heaven.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>HOME.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He is home.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He reminded us of our own mortality and that this world we
are living in is temporary.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What Grandpa
Decker has now is eternal.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What he has
now is what we all long for at the end of our lives – true rest in peace. Our
faith in this promise makes us unafraid.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcr1duC7KrLvFhMwcq4fmujSNfk_4wk9byC9APUYcLyFEMoFjBV-J3mIdGceQDakXfluxjuXd8DGEfPWpNPBSZxjORKTmONnc9uyE1z7j8VG43w745NwLTS1Cj8_-p_qwcgrg-sJ78Hg/s1600/1corinth1555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="500" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcr1duC7KrLvFhMwcq4fmujSNfk_4wk9byC9APUYcLyFEMoFjBV-J3mIdGceQDakXfluxjuXd8DGEfPWpNPBSZxjORKTmONnc9uyE1z7j8VG43w745NwLTS1Cj8_-p_qwcgrg-sJ78Hg/s320/1corinth1555.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though it is sad that we no longer have Grandpa Decker with
us on this Earth, it is comforting to know where he is now, and that we have
the intercession of his prayers on our behalf.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>We have the memories of his life, and the legacy he left behind, and
those gifts are immeasurable. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What a
blessing Grandpa Decker was, and still is, even in his death.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-15777102216933287682018-08-16T14:05:00.000-05:002018-08-16T14:23:32.679-05:00On Turning 35 <br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My birthday is next week and something about turning 35
feels different enough to warrant a blog post, so here we are.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2qSfNbzSaUQV_8aq0vdofkMJAq_akBjbRzswl3VJj8P5U8Mq5-VqxdzV-KwoV4WQco303JDvpcxS5oUiv-fnZlYOwWCyfFRAL520gtniXfPfH6zbk_y1wX51Apg93Rzc3WwwcjXOgfM/s1600/35birthdaypost.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2qSfNbzSaUQV_8aq0vdofkMJAq_akBjbRzswl3VJj8P5U8Mq5-VqxdzV-KwoV4WQco303JDvpcxS5oUiv-fnZlYOwWCyfFRAL520gtniXfPfH6zbk_y1wX51Apg93Rzc3WwwcjXOgfM/s1600/35birthdaypost.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The much younger me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I have to start with saying how excited I am.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know each year is a gift and to have
(nearly) 35 so far – wow! I feel incredibly grateful.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t mind aging.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Really! (It turns out, however, that I don’t
necessarily love all of the effects of aging, so for the time being I’ll
continue covering my grays with highlights.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve loved my 30’s so far.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I love them much more than my 20’s.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Don’t get me wrong – my 20’s hold some of my greatest
memories and I’m thankful for that decade too.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I served in the Navy, joined the
Catholic Church, married my husband, and became a mother.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I also ran the first of what has now been
five half-marathons and began writing the book that would make me a published
author.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That decade was pretty sweet to
me, come to think of it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But in my 20’s I wasn’t always so good to myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I let the fear of other’s opinions stop me
from even telling anyone I was working on a book.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I wasted time fearing what people would think.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I made all of the things I was accomplishing
smaller than they were, because of my own insecurity.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My 30’s have helped me in finding my voice, and being more
honest about how I feel and what I want.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Proof of that is here in that I’M SHARING THIS POST.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I started this blog, I didn’t even
share it on any social media platform, or with a single friend or family
member.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I let it sit published in
blogger, read only by me, until I had a publishing contract.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It seems silly, now. Writing a book is
exciting, and I kept it to myself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
shouldn’t have.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve come a long way but I would be lying if I said my 30’s
have made me totally unafraid.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m still
terrified when I go to a book signing and am standing there, feeling vulnerable-as-heck,
trying to convince strangers on why they should buy my books.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I do it scared.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I show up, and I smile, and that is a lot
more than the 20-something-year-old version of myself would do. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now that next week I’ll be half-way to 70 (funny way to think
of 35, yes?) my plans are to continue to grow in my faith, work hard on being
the wife and mother my family deserves, and nurture the writing desire that has
grown from embers to a fire inside of me.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I’m going to be less quiet about who I am and what my goals are.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The writing goals? They are to improve my writing with each
book.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And they are to have more written books.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I used to say that I wanted
as many published books as babies birthed – but now that I’m halfway there, and still young, the number is higher.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ll say ten . . . for now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But should I leave this Earth tomorrow, and not complete that goal,
all would still be well with my soul.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I’ve been given (nearly) 35 years by my creator, and for that all I can
say is thank you, God.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-83227250211738001972018-07-05T19:24:00.000-05:002018-07-05T19:34:13.347-05:00A day in the life of this writing mom (in summer)<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s July, and of course this means that all of my children
are home with me every day due to summer break from school.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I actually love summer.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I really do.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m a Native Texan,
and I’m accustomed to the heat (it’s crazy but I honestly prefer our hot
summers to winter, any day) and I also really enjoy the quality time with my
kids.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Oh, don’t get me wrong, it isn’t
all rainbows and butterflies, of course.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>My kids do their fair share (and then some) of fighting, whining and
pressing on my nerves.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>BUT there are
times that feel like pure magic, too.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Like when they all line up at the pool and jump in together, laughing
after coming up from the water.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or when
I watch them all play duck-duck-goose on the trampoline.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or when I hear them telling jokes to one
another, and hear the belly laughs that come with each (the boys are always
joking about poop. And more poop. These jokes never get old to them.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So. How do I fit my writing life into this busy summer life
with my kids?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This morning, like every other these days, began with a
child asking for breakfast.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Crawl into
bed with me, Marian, and snuggle a while,” I said to my nearly-3-year-old,
hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. She wasn’t having it. “Mommy, look
outside, it’s morning and we need breakfast,” she said.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sigh. Up I got, and right away I began
helping my half-dozen to their choice of either cereal or oatmeal.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Coffee is always my next priority (who am I kidding - first
priority) after feeding kids breakfast.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I can’t even begin to think about writing, or housework, or taking my
kids to play before I’ve had my fill of caffeine.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So this morning, after breakfast, and after two cups of
delicious, ever-satisfying coffee, I decided I was going to get some writing
in.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, here is a truth I have no shame in – sometimes I let
Netflix help me out with my kids so I can write. (Or just so I can get a dang
break every once in a while.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>SO, this
morning, Netflix was on, kids were fed, and I escaped to my desk.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I put on some Pandora, opened up the blinds
to the windows behind my desk and pulled up my current work-in-progress.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This absolutely is NOT the norm, but words
started to flow immediately.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One new
paragraph led to two.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Two new paragraphs
led to finishing a chapter.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was
nice!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Until, of course, an inevitable
interruption came in the form of “MOMMY! Barrett won’t play with me,” my daughter
Marian said, walking up with her arms crossed and lips pouted out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Said sibling followed shortly behind her. “Mommy,
I will play, but she doesn’t want to play sharks and I do!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sigh. Hands off keyboard.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Resolve this silly issue. Swivel my chair back to my computer, re-read what
I just wrote, try to get in the groove again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And then.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Another
stop.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This time, my 5-year-old. “Mom, I’m
hungry.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Seriously?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You just ate breakfast, buddy. Give it a
little while and then I’ll come out and give you all a snack.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This continued on.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d
write two sentences, get interrupted.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Write another paragraph, stop because the two year old needed help
wiping after the potty (parenting is oh-so-glamourous, you know?)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You might be thinking that at this point I would be very
frustrated, but the truth is, today I wasn’t.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I expect the interruptions now.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s unrealistic to think I could seriously have a couple of quiet
writing hours to myself with six kids at home.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I’ve become more and more patient with each day of parenting and
writing, that’s for sure. I still need lessons in patience though.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I’m still receiving them, and predict I
will for the remainder of my parenting life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The interruptions today, they didn’t annoy me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They amused me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I couldn’t help but laugh when I finally
decided I was finished with book 4 for the day, saved my work and got up from my desk.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was amused enough to write a blog post about
it, so here I am.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Fun fact and another example of how I write with my kids – I
wrote the majority of this blog post while at the pool today.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>After my husband came home from work we took
the half-dozen to our neighborhood pool.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I sat in a lounge chair with my notebook and scribbled the majority of
these thoughts down.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m blessed – my husband
has no problem being in the pool with all of the kids. He is a SuperDad, for
sure.</span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyAlKQVsbbOHZ8xyF0VFkcVTeJTvjrZgG2GjiAsfu0rD5r5clmXbUpBCBvLmmldFl_OabH8hFSgAjifTZ5YOLGWjZxksyilDZfXXLc_S23_uz3YXBVdL4L0yzbGipXkHcyqNvV99o1Ek/s1600/poolpicforblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyAlKQVsbbOHZ8xyF0VFkcVTeJTvjrZgG2GjiAsfu0rD5r5clmXbUpBCBvLmmldFl_OabH8hFSgAjifTZ5YOLGWjZxksyilDZfXXLc_S23_uz3YXBVdL4L0yzbGipXkHcyqNvV99o1Ek/s320/poolpicforblog.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Writing at the pool today</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I didn’t spend all of my pool time writing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I got in the water and played with my
kids.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then, upon returning home from
swimming, I immediately sat down to transfer my words from notebook to computer
as my husband started dinner (did I tell you he’s a SuperDad? He’s a
SuperHusband, too. I don’t take for granted what a good man he is.) <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Marian came and sat on my lap.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Of course.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I can’t have an easy writing time, not yet, anyway.</span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTePylZJikkPridLul3Ie8RXmDJUQRhpr6FQtEBR8zFKFWndZPPXknhcrKL7Gpw4YLZy_w9I9XTZP0yb7RM5dPiGuQ4DMvi6Hx6CK_qV5VdpqnaqBZN618ZDWC-LcrviqTzVdznhB7Lo/s1600/marisittingonmeblogpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTePylZJikkPridLul3Ie8RXmDJUQRhpr6FQtEBR8zFKFWndZPPXknhcrKL7Gpw4YLZy_w9I9XTZP0yb7RM5dPiGuQ4DMvi6Hx6CK_qV5VdpqnaqBZN618ZDWC-LcrviqTzVdznhB7Lo/s320/marisittingonmeblogpic.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marian, on my lap as I'm typing, of course</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But it’s all good with me.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>This is how I’m getting it done, even in summer, with all of my kids
home.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">School begins next month (!!!) and I’ll have FOUR in school,
one in pre-school two days a week half a day, and one at home full time with
me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It will be easier to get writing in,
for sure.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But for now, this is how I’m doing it, and I’m soaking it
all in.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All of it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If there is anything I’ve learned so far in 9
years of parenting it’s that it all goes at lightning speed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One day I’ll have plenty of quiet writing
time and I KNOW I will miss this.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know
I will.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So, no complaints, not for the moment anyway.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>God gave me this life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The kids, the desire to write, all of it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I only hope to glorify Him with all of it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-81527231064147595132018-03-05T15:39:00.000-06:002018-03-05T15:39:27.525-06:00How my kids HELP my writing productivity <br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This blog post is not a joke.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I’m going to explain the ways my children actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">help </i>me with my writing endeavors.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sure, I could write about all of the ways my children hinder
the process – my youngest daughter is literally sitting on my lap as I type –
but I don’t really need to tell you that, do I? It’s common knowledge that even
one child takes up a lot of time.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And I have six.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Free time is a
thing of my past.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_bU10IXCgwoStMCHHrmpypEGH68fnHswErQ1GrxplcbKSAgXqCCVoqJvWCBa_Fzew2OFemrwTtNALHOtZ92HhE1AmDpUfgCqxxdgePh0v0qtdP1RheDBjz63kqPQA3clSdJ0ZEYDk4k/s1600/blogpicwritemari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_bU10IXCgwoStMCHHrmpypEGH68fnHswErQ1GrxplcbKSAgXqCCVoqJvWCBa_Fzew2OFemrwTtNALHOtZ92HhE1AmDpUfgCqxxdgePh0v0qtdP1RheDBjz63kqPQA3clSdJ0ZEYDk4k/s320/blogpicwritemari.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My view while typing today. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I have a shocking revelation, however, that I wish to share
now – my children have actually helped me with my writing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s true.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Here’s how:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<u><span style="font-family: "calibri";">They have taught me (and are teaching me daily) about
patience.</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And let me tell you, writing a book takes a lot of patience.
My biggest teacher of patience by far has been parenting.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve found that the wearisome moments of
putting a toddler back to bed after she’s gotten out for the ninth time, or
watching my kindergartner spend ten minutes trying to tie one shoe when we have
a school bus to catch, or repeating myself twenty times before I am HEARD by one
of my children, only help me to persevere the hard writing moments.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Writing a book isn’t something you do in a
day, or even in a month (unless you are one of my writing buddies who wins NANOWRIMO
every year and you are a writing superhero).<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s taken me over a year each time.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It surely takes a lot of patience, returning time and time again to a
project that you know will take a lot of work and a lot of time to finish.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But
thanks to my kids – I’m getting better with patience every day.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><u>They inspire me</u>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I write my best when I am happy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I just do.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I know many writers who are the opposite and plug into negative emotions
and turn it into amazing art.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I just
feel my most inspired on my good days – and it’s mushy, I know . . . perhaps a
little corny as well . . . but nothing sparks the creative impulse in me like
the heart-swelling pride I get from being a mother.<span style="margin: 0px;"> Fellow</span> parents reading this understand exactly this pride and love that is unlike anything else.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That big, crazy
love that comes with having children really inspires me to write.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<u><span style="font-family: "calibri";">They motivate me to be my best.</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Having children has given me a more profound reason to
succeed than ever before – they are my audience.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They are watching what I do and who I
am.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m trying my best to teach them the
value of hard work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In my parenting, in
my writing – I believe the harder I work, the greater the reward – and I want
them to learn these lessons from me, so that they can be motivated to work hard in the pursuance of their own goals. I've told them that as a child I hoped to grow up and write books, and see them in print. They are watching me do this now and I hope in turn they are getting the confidence to chase their own dreams.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1quhIKfIRzaK9d_FdhPLIo5qgqagWhmM8vcvWXUXXUEGRDbXAmuA7vE1rDmv57mgZTfA-h79w9iUWBUzaUWKQhzesKpFs_QTeNoIv8-YOHFYMuw2ZKqsMJsjtid_uBkgVIZYXTN3JfE/s1600/kidwriteblogpic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1quhIKfIRzaK9d_FdhPLIo5qgqagWhmM8vcvWXUXXUEGRDbXAmuA7vE1rDmv57mgZTfA-h79w9iUWBUzaUWKQhzesKpFs_QTeNoIv8-YOHFYMuw2ZKqsMJsjtid_uBkgVIZYXTN3JfE/s320/kidwriteblogpic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh yes, I did start writing this blog at a McDonald's today. No shame.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I haven’t written a blog post in a while.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was one of my kids who gave me the idea to write this. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Last week my third book was released.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My oldest daughter, Faith, asked me “Mom, if
you didn’t have us kids, how many books do you think you’d have written by now? More than three?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I thought about it, and told her, “You know,
Faith, maybe none. You guys honestly help me to write. You inspire me.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> I'm not sure she believed me, but</span> that’s the truth.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It's proven in this blog post. I hadn't planned to post a blog in a while, and because of her, here I am . . .</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-6647472349103424292017-12-18T12:27:00.000-06:002017-12-18T12:27:51.443-06:00Meet the married members of the Bravo 400’s – Officer Hayes, Officer Jackson, Officer Janacek, Officer Morgan and Officer Zavala
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before the release of my next book, I hope to share just a
little bit about the characters. I’m quite fond of these fictional people and
can’t wait for you to read their story.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I began last month with an intro of the two shift
supervisors, in case you missed it, here is the link: http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2017/11/meet-supervisors-sergeant-torres-and.html</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last time around I told you a bit about the single members
of the shift, you can re-acquaint yourself with them here: http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2017/12/meet-single-members-of-bravo-400s.html</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And now, meet the marrieds:</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Hayes</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Corey Hayes is a man who loves his family, loves his job,
loves his life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He grew up with law enforcement in his blood.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His father retired after 30 years with the
Dallas Police Department.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>An excerpt from
the book of Corey speaking to a shift-mate about his father:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I always thought
growing up that my dad was the coolest dad I knew because he carried a gun to
work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I wanted to be cool like
him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My mom tried to talk me out of this
job – she’s a worrier, you know, like most moms I guess. She wanted for me to
get a desk job, something safe.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I
wanted to be like my dad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I’ve never
regretted following in his footsteps.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He’s a good man.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Good dad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And was a good cop.”</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Corey has indeed followed in his father’s footsteps, and is
a good cop too.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He’s also a family
man.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He and his wife Cassie have three
children – Jacob-10, Mackenzie-8 and Noah-5.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>They are debating a fourth child throughout this story.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Jackson</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Robbie Jackson is not the only military veteran on his
shift, but he is the only one who came from Special Forces.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Robbie is a former Army Ranger. Robbie is
also a very attractive man, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Soon after he transferred from another sector
to the Bravo 400’s, he took a DUI call.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The drunken woman he arrested kept calling him ‘Officer Denzel
Washington’ in the patrol car on the way to the city jail.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Since that call, the shift calls him ‘Denzel’
more than anything else. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Robbie is happily married to another Army veteran,
Natasha.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Natasha now works for Veteran’s
Affairs.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Robbie and Natasha desperately
want children, but are unable to have their own.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They opt for adoption and you can read about
their journey to become parents when you get your copy of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Final 42</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Janacek</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chris Janacek is the field training officer on the shift. At
the start of this story he is training the rookie you met while reading my last
blog post, Danny Perales.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chris is well-liked on the shift and on the streets as well.
He’s the cop that is always out there smiling, cracking corny jokes with people
and handing out CCPD badge stickers to kids any time he sees them.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chris is a husband of 13 years to his homeschooling wife
Kristin, a former school teacher turned police spouse and mother of five.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Their big brood includes Elizabeth-10,
Nicholas-8, Matthew-7, Rose-4 and Benjamin-2.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Morgan</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Brandon Morgan didn’t always plan to be a cop, like many of his work buddies did, but after he began walking down that path he couldn’t
turn back.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He loves the job and loves
his shift.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Brandon is married to his high school sweetheart, Leah.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Brandon sometimes gets in trouble with her
for omitting information about work and the calls he goes on – but in his mind
he is simply protecting her from worry. In the start of this story Leah is
newly pregnant with their third child.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>They’re already parents to two girls, Grace-5 and Ruby-3.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Zavala</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Joe Zavala is the man on shift that you can hear coming from
a mile away. He’s loud, and is always laughing.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He’s a big guy who dances to no music and always has a great big smile
on his face.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Joe is a former Marine.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>During his early corps days he married and had a son, who is now
24-years-old.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His first marriage didn’t
work out, however.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Neither did his
second.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Now Joe is on his third marriage
(“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Third time is the charm</i>”, he says)
to a woman named Gloria.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Gloria is as
loud and as happy as he is.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They’re two
peas in a pod, their loud voices and vivacious laughs demanding attention
wherever they go.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And with that, you know a little about each member of the
Bravo 400’s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m excited for you to read
the story of these police officers and see how they interact at work and at
play. You’ll find that they are each seemingly ordinary individuals who have extraordinary
hearts for serving.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Final 42</i> will be available on FEBRUARY 27<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> on Amazon,
Barnes & Noble Online, and eLectiopublishing.com.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJzFGg-ikWLKuM8NhihGwpJ2nFeXWhk94tNSDnwtCIxNn2OgiJ0-PZOIj7sqif7LZJ-f3QKdKR_zod7iaYHeykmg0K5H_XJjSBn0ta8tYqLSrt2yKKxsCXYYvnf5oyZ1dQVaeNgBvhRw/s1600/Promo+Image+%2528flat+-+RGB%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJzFGg-ikWLKuM8NhihGwpJ2nFeXWhk94tNSDnwtCIxNn2OgiJ0-PZOIj7sqif7LZJ-f3QKdKR_zod7iaYHeykmg0K5H_XJjSBn0ta8tYqLSrt2yKKxsCXYYvnf5oyZ1dQVaeNgBvhRw/s320/Promo+Image+%2528flat+-+RGB%2529.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-54207462042714477692017-12-01T19:03:00.000-06:002017-12-01T19:03:57.709-06:00Meet the single members of the Bravo 400’s – Officer Jacobs, Officer Mang, Officer Perales, Officer Rodriguez, and Officer White
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Bravo 400’s shift is split evenly between single and
married officers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Today I want for you
to get acquainted with the singles:</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Jacobs</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amanda Jacobs, or ‘Mandy’ as her friends call her, is the
lone female on the shift.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mandy’s
fondest childhood memories of are those in which she’d curl up on her father’s
lap and watch old reruns of “Chips”.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
decided at a young age as she watched Erik Estrada and Larry Wilcox that she
wanted to be a police officer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her
father told her she would make a great police officer, and she believed
him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She never lost sight of that as she
pursued a criminal justice degree from Texas State University.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One day a recruiter from the Corpus Christi Police
Department was on campus and he sold her the city of Corpus Christi.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She has never regretted moving there and
loves working for the CCPD.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She does have a boyfriend, Ryan, whom she met at Texas
State.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She loves him, but he remained in
San Marcos as she began her life in Corpus Christi.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The distance is hard, and her job doesn’t make
it any easier.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He often voices his
distaste for her chosen profession.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not
because it is a dangerous job – but because it is a male-dominated field and he
doesn’t like that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He is jealous and
untrusting of Mandy, though she has never given him reason to be.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mandy believes the answer to their problems
would be a move for Ryan.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He could
easily re-locate to Corpus, meet her co-workers, and realize he has nothing to
worry about.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They could move forward
with their lives. You'll see as you read how that plays out.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mandy loves being a member of the Bravo 400’s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She never had siblings, but now works 40+
hours a week with men she calls brothers.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Mang</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alex Mang is arguably the most intelligent member of the
Bravo 400’s, and easily the most professional.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He grew up in a strict household and was groomed to grow up and become a
surgeon, just like his father.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As a boy
he always admired police officers and dreamed of becoming one.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But he kept it quiet as he feared the
disapproval of his parents.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He began to
walk the path that was set out for him, and started pre-med, but his heart was
never in it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Much to the shock and
disappointment of his parents, he quit the program and joined the police
academy instead.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He loves the work, and
is good at it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alex is the only member of the shift to have been in a
police-involved shooting, at the start of our story.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He actually killed a man, a fact no one would ever guess upon knowing him (but you’ll have to read the book to hear more about that
incident.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Alex is truly single.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>No girlfriend, no desire for one . . . yet.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His age is creeping up on him, however, and
he is starting to think about seeking out a relationship.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Perales</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Danny Perales is the youngest guy on the shift, the rookie
fresh out of the academy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>At the start
of our story he is actually still a probationary officer with a field training
officer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He remains on the Bravo 400’s
after his FTO period ends, as they had an opening on shift and he was a
well-liked rookie.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sarge wanted him, and
made sure he stayed on shift.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Danny is happy to remain on the Bravo 400’s and especially
appreciates the closeness of the shift as it is something he craved and never
had.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His parents divorced when he was a
young boy, and his mother blamed the failure of her marriage on his very
existence.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She never wanted him, she
told him time and time again. At the start of this story Danny’s closest
relationship is that with his mutt, Lexi.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His story begins to look up, though.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Danny meets a pretty A&M Corpus Christi
Senior, Sierra, on a vehicle burglary call one evening. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her car is broken into.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s obvious on the call that there is a
mutual attraction, but Danny doesn’t act on it, being a rookie who is a
stickler for the rules.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He runs into her
later at her part-time job at Starbucks.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>They begin a relationship that is a sweet love story between two very
sweet characters.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer Rodriguez<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adrian Rodriguez is another young member of the shift, only
24-years-old.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He’s attractive, knows it,
and flaunts it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He does have a touch of
cockiness but is still well-liked.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
has a good sense of humor and a good work ethic.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He can be depended on.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adrian plays the field.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Everyone knows it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It isn’t
anywhere on his radar to settle down, and he seems to be dating a new girl just
about every week.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adrian gets along with everyone on the Bravo 400’s, but is
especially close to Mandy Jacobs, as they attended the police academy
together.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He gives her a hard time about
her boyfriend Ryan, calling him ‘make-believe’, but it’s all in good fun and
they have a close relationship.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mandy
and Adrian are like brother and sister.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His ‘player’ days are threatened as he meets a girl along
the way named Chantel who he may want to keep around for more than a week….</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Officer White</span></u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Brian White is the only member of the Bravo 400’s who is NOT
missed at the shift gatherings he chooses to skip out on.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">White has a reputation of being a call-dodging, lazy,
arrogant dirt bag, and he seems to be okay with that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He sits in the back away from his shift-mates
at show-up, speaking only to criticize something said or to complain.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He does the minimum asked of him, sometimes even
less.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Brian is divorced, and he will be the first to tell you he
left his wife because she “got too fat”, in his own words.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is more to Brian’s story though.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ll let you find out what that is as you
read the book.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next time around I am going to introduce you to the five
married members of the Bravo 400’s, so be on the lookout for that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m getting excited for this release and hope
you are too.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Final 42” will be
available on FEBRUARY 27<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> on Amazon, Barnes & Noble Online, and
eLectiopublishing.com.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-12742708631581630062017-11-13T19:07:00.000-06:002017-11-13T19:07:52.956-06:00Meet the supervisors – Sergeant Torres and Corporal Harris
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhommzoD5uMbEIpqI1TtIi8ialYqvKReqUdSB9wnx2uDIIr2kgqT6wDEDs03WeVkdST0elN1wT3oZ1blgiQMNI-rDgeYhnKguFng9aJMXbsH28_DV90I-nOSJvnLZgO1shS1iT67-iPlFc/s1600/CCPD+badge.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="360" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhommzoD5uMbEIpqI1TtIi8ialYqvKReqUdSB9wnx2uDIIr2kgqT6wDEDs03WeVkdST0elN1wT3oZ1blgiQMNI-rDgeYhnKguFng9aJMXbsH28_DV90I-nOSJvnLZgO1shS1iT67-iPlFc/s320/CCPD+badge.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What you will learn about the Bravo 400’s shift as you read “Final
42” is that they are a close-knit shift. A big contributing factor as to why
they’re so tight is because they are led by two men who are not only good
leaders, but who respect and genuinely like one another.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sergeant Gabe Torres is the man in charge. Sarge is a
retired Navy Gunner’s Mate, ‘an old salty dog’, some may call him. He retired
just before 9/11/2001 and joined the Corpus Christi Police Department because
he wasn’t finished serving. Sarge is a serious man, an intimidating man, but
his kind eyes give hints to the integrity behind them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He and his wife, Eva, are parents to two
adopted daughters – Victoria and Veronica, now college students attending the same university.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sarge leads his shift in the same manner he did as a supervisor in his Navy
days, trusting the man below him, never micro-managing or looking over his
officer’s shoulders.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sarge is often quiet and sometimes unreadable, but the shift respects him and likes working for him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Corporal Jared Harris is jokingly called ‘The Cool Corporal’,
because of his ‘cool as a cucumber’ approach to police work and calls. He never
loses his composure, never shows emotion even on the worst of calls he has to
deal with. He loves his job, but sometimes imagines a different life as his
wife, Becca, hates his chosen profession.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He and Becca, an elementary school teacher, share one son – Max, who is
seven-years-old and in the 2<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">nd</span></sup> grade.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For a short-lived time, the Bravo 400’s shift was near
perfect, under the supervision of these two.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Of course, things change. Learn what happens to Sarge and Corporal when
you get your copy of “Final 42”, set to be released on February 27<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Be on the lookout for my next character intros. I’ll be
telling you all about the single members of the Bravo 400’s. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-13419490019760725792017-07-17T15:53:00.000-05:002017-07-17T15:53:06.717-05:00More than can be measured
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s already July, 2017. WOW.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I said at the beginning of the year that I’d
blog more about what I am grateful for and I haven’t done enough blogging.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not because I lack things to be grateful for,
or the gratitude itself . . . </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m going to remedy my lack of blogging with a post about
what I thank God for<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> every</i> day,
without fail.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My kids, of course.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>My offspring.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My crazies.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My half-dozen.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Faith Ann, Caroline Mae, Scarlett Clare, Thomas Michael,
Barrett Gabriel, Marian Grace. </span></div>
<br />
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</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAx98Uwo8nbaG5gvcQt3zwSkHWhfj0OPkj-lOBp9N0KncG_W8LC0iqLUxrMks9qldn6zV25WBr09_cg2pYsvWqJEcFSGmrxU7r-QsPU5oV7PzLTYrSGlH0m_Z9_LjmffSWYJDH6v-SqNY/s1600/all6mckinneyfalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAx98Uwo8nbaG5gvcQt3zwSkHWhfj0OPkj-lOBp9N0KncG_W8LC0iqLUxrMks9qldn6zV25WBr09_cg2pYsvWqJEcFSGmrxU7r-QsPU5oV7PzLTYrSGlH0m_Z9_LjmffSWYJDH6v-SqNY/s320/all6mckinneyfalls.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxxv9ncrkEmw1OeeVXQHtEY9hyyjn1lQ68mBZKeBqpaAr4t73ygpeUll1MNB8dQ9873ouPllUMDrP7l7zf8uSgqjrVGOaTD3TIK_XEWhR48sSo7WfIJ4x6c-7dRpwv34rcej3sL4anxo/s1600/6patriotic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="720" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxxv9ncrkEmw1OeeVXQHtEY9hyyjn1lQ68mBZKeBqpaAr4t73ygpeUll1MNB8dQ9873ouPllUMDrP7l7zf8uSgqjrVGOaTD3TIK_XEWhR48sSo7WfIJ4x6c-7dRpwv34rcej3sL4anxo/s320/6patriotic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some reading now are totally thinking, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">yikes, six is a lot</i>! And that is correct.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Six is a lot. No doubt about that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I really couldn’t have guessed that I would
have a large family.<span style="margin: 0px;"> My husband and I both</span> hoped for at least
four, and were blessed with super fertility.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Now I can’t imagine anything else.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t have to tell you that it’s hard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Everyone knows kids are hard. One kid, twelve
kids, whatever your number, you know how trying parenting can be.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From the very start, little ones come out demanding a
lot.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nourishment.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Attention.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Cleaning up after. Those are the just basics.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And each one is different, so you may think
you kind of have it down after the first, and the next will come out with a
totally different personality.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They grow out of the baby stage in one blink and become
toddlers. Oh. Toddlers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Toddlers are
cute.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And terrifying.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ticking time-bombs that can throw tantrums
over the color of a sippy cup, and then fall asleep on you within the hour,
suddenly looking like angels, melting your heart.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Terrorists.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I may be getting off track here – I suppose I could blog all
about the hardships of kids, but this was originally about gratitude, correct? <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Yes, the hard is real, the hard is
H-A-R-D.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I mean, 100% honest, most
difficult job I’ve ever had.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But that’s
not what I’m blogging about today. Moving on.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let me tell you what I'm grateful for.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m grateful for the laughs.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The laughs I get when I’m tickling them, or when their Daddy is chasing
them around the house.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The belly laughs I hear
when they’re playing together.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Oh, I
really love those.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Seeing your kids
loving on each other, that sweet sibling love, is the best.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_ToTrD45UdU8HqJ1cBEnTgSypUQCAQms3tJL4iZlR-4cUfsKK9dpBkODPNMr_jKTQGorMOzLeiyMGWDBdiR2yQSY5fCC4APupHaYoeMoKs6uFr54K0J6XffvtU8RFSVR46K8o8VqY5Q/s1600/cbeartickle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_ToTrD45UdU8HqJ1cBEnTgSypUQCAQms3tJL4iZlR-4cUfsKK9dpBkODPNMr_jKTQGorMOzLeiyMGWDBdiR2yQSY5fCC4APupHaYoeMoKs6uFr54K0J6XffvtU8RFSVR46K8o8VqY5Q/s320/cbeartickle.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m grateful for the snuggles.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The weight of a baby when they fall asleep
after nursing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The weight of a toddler
who crashed after playing too hard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
weight of a six-year-old, who fell asleep watching a movie on the couch, while
transferring her to bed.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9rNp3sE2bmgSCv3b5CrxB4_hFMgHJcNefwcJHaehoyAE7ddGzEjd64tcRtfiCoCXZB7USmLrDjrufTteIR1yFhWNAjwC-N4V_Eh3NhZFtI3Json6Vc1k4dX9MhyphenhyphenbXDr8bRcYvhbd9IU/s1600/csleeping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="720" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9rNp3sE2bmgSCv3b5CrxB4_hFMgHJcNefwcJHaehoyAE7ddGzEjd64tcRtfiCoCXZB7USmLrDjrufTteIR1yFhWNAjwC-N4V_Eh3NhZFtI3Json6Vc1k4dX9MhyphenhyphenbXDr8bRcYvhbd9IU/s320/csleeping.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m grateful for the kisses.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The early baby kisses that are way too slobbery but adorable.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The “Mommy, you didn’t kiss me goodnight,”
second kiss from a 4-year-old who is just prolonging bedtime.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The kiss you see your baby give your husband
out of the blue, just because.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
kisses never get old.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46AEqKiwKw68vu1q-678LkL_moJhomuc_vaETGzXsj38YFR6TVOl3oGSAAebvNHzDVLcZQRI5YNR5vpWuck2oekhBcN1CfaAqJISE30HB3uJH9DmhPMNZw9dxDsFHbIvo-Pil-S8fUKQ/s1600/scardaddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="720" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46AEqKiwKw68vu1q-678LkL_moJhomuc_vaETGzXsj38YFR6TVOl3oGSAAebvNHzDVLcZQRI5YNR5vpWuck2oekhBcN1CfaAqJISE30HB3uJH9DmhPMNZw9dxDsFHbIvo-Pil-S8fUKQ/s320/scardaddy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m grateful for the moments I feel proud.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I remember when my oldest first started
recognizing letters.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I remember my
second baby being sent home with a letter from her teacher explaining that she was reading at almost a second-grade level, while she was still in
Kinder.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I remember watching my son hit
the ball with all of his might off a tee, his very first time.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I remember my sixth baby’s first steps
towards me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I laughed, and cried, at the
same time.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My heart swelled with pride.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMX3EGFwcIoQ9DG4FwwTa-qSfxKUV69qULXooifSyKbAWT-6Ub-M4oO0nmD7ZBnYyeHPALpsA-ithWynWFQ88jcYlP9oXmDJEzgLRQTDXvbpJIxBZi3klbSstTqMpbHZRFHPeca8ViBtE/s1600/tomtball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMX3EGFwcIoQ9DG4FwwTa-qSfxKUV69qULXooifSyKbAWT-6Ub-M4oO0nmD7ZBnYyeHPALpsA-ithWynWFQ88jcYlP9oXmDJEzgLRQTDXvbpJIxBZi3klbSstTqMpbHZRFHPeca8ViBtE/s320/tomtball.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">These kids.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m telling you, they have me on my knees asking God for the
grace and patience to parent them well.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Then they have me on my knees thanking Him for the blessing that they
truly are.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He tells me time and time
again – “This is exactly where I want you, taking care of these
children I’ve entrusted to you.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I feel
it, with my whole heart.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, simply to say that I’m grateful for these children, it
just doesn’t feel like enough.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I always tell each of my kids “I love you more than can be
measured.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And it’s true.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“To the moon and back”, is cute, but there is
a stopping point to that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My love doesn’t
fit on a scale.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“More than can be Measured” is the title of a book I’d like
to write one day, about my parenting adventures.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I’m only eight years in, so . . . many,
MANY more parenting adventures await me.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For now, suffice it to say – I am oh so grateful to God for
my half-dozen.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Almost too grateful for
words.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkubHt0GCnALMJxic8iIcGjYZGmu4An2dz1PnemPrODTo8LFyb0LeBp-3hujlL6HlRz_scnHg7sNLR5nsCQVMHTGc0AAGQrWjW0rL-t2TM7xVOOvMBp5DSH9KGlAuGMqcLdPtr6e3Gss8/s1600/mommyplus6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkubHt0GCnALMJxic8iIcGjYZGmu4An2dz1PnemPrODTo8LFyb0LeBp-3hujlL6HlRz_scnHg7sNLR5nsCQVMHTGc0AAGQrWjW0rL-t2TM7xVOOvMBp5DSH9KGlAuGMqcLdPtr6e3Gss8/s320/mommyplus6.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7677587972031750565.post-46534105176391010602017-05-24T09:32:00.000-05:002017-05-24T09:32:31.840-05:00On Going Back
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This particular blogpost requires some backstory.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In September of 2003, I arrived at my first duty station –
Helicopter Mine Countermeasures Fifteen (HM-15) which was located at the time
onboard Naval Air Station Corpus Christi (it has since moved to Norfolk.)</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCy-VTWjNx22EphGSaCvBb6tBn5hgNKJiTDvrnmfpOCerb6yV6_X3cep7re1lZA1Cr2shLs3ITYe-aZ_sQPOShblcgzoqfVg48JMXMnFzjhtk4ABEx4gl5Qyj3YlSfJ2ZTozVNUjujME/s1600/hm15admin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCy-VTWjNx22EphGSaCvBb6tBn5hgNKJiTDvrnmfpOCerb6yV6_X3cep7re1lZA1Cr2shLs3ITYe-aZ_sQPOShblcgzoqfVg48JMXMnFzjhtk4ABEx4gl5Qyj3YlSfJ2ZTozVNUjujME/s320/hm15admin.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is when I was a Yeoman Third Class. HM-15 admin office.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would spend a total of three years at this squadron.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first two, I resided in the barracks on
NAS. The last year I spent in an apartment alone off-base.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those three years were the most formative of my life.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll explain. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For one, I met my husband while I was there. He was not
assigned to HM-15, but to base security there on NAS.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I blogged about our beginning earlier this
year. You can find that story here. http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2017/02/a-love-story.html</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I also joined the Catholic Church while I was there. (Again,
I’ve blogged about this experience before too. Link for that one is here. </span><a href="http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2016/04/its-been-lesson-in-love.html"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Calibri;">http://myonedayisnow.blogspot.com/2016/04/its-been-lesson-in-love.html</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I worked with and for the best Sailors one could ask to work
with.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The friends that I worked with,
and shared barracks with, became like my family – there was a bond, and a
trust, there that was unparalleled to any other friendships I’d known.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those friendships were like something out of
a corny coming-to-age movie or something. A mix-up of 'Real World' meets ‘Friends’
on steroids, Navy style.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We were all in
our early twenties . . . well, almost all of us (calling you out now, Dennis)
and we could have fun doing anything.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVG5Dynri85zUnMbrZQH2uUBriXqbX5QyT_xoYBh9iX1EEtPPRGmQSEqcaRLtLSX2-dNGKN9GApGrg_LHxGFE5IJlh8h5-JToBDnZTjEgWl6npEq8ZIAGQHJBbnSADV9O4xzqncVMnFno/s1600/corpusbeach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVG5Dynri85zUnMbrZQH2uUBriXqbX5QyT_xoYBh9iX1EEtPPRGmQSEqcaRLtLSX2-dNGKN9GApGrg_LHxGFE5IJlh8h5-JToBDnZTjEgWl6npEq8ZIAGQHJBbnSADV9O4xzqncVMnFno/s320/corpusbeach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Navy girls. We're at the beach in Corpus here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We often spent weekends at country bars in Corpus (I even
sang some pretty terrible karaoke a few times), organized occasional bonfire
parties at the beach, but most frequently – we just sat outside of our barracks
rooms, joking all night about our work and the Navy, our pasts and our
relationships.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We drank beer together,
ate the unhealthiest foods, played Twister.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We laughed.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A LOT.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">More than normal people, I think.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogaTVMxxHrvcrOH88Q8PQ9oqfoGsoK-etL5Ar_DV32StAA7129IyV6kjcIHUOjSe9osyoayWmXR0ye0R58CQZCGBoj78PcFu2soHpAni4q0j6rrH29GszRxoTEc3WS5YF1-A1vZElSC4/s1600/halloweenbarracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogaTVMxxHrvcrOH88Q8PQ9oqfoGsoK-etL5Ar_DV32StAA7129IyV6kjcIHUOjSe9osyoayWmXR0ye0R58CQZCGBoj78PcFu2soHpAni4q0j6rrH29GszRxoTEc3WS5YF1-A1vZElSC4/s320/halloweenbarracks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 2004. We're outside of our barracks here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We knew then, as it was happening, that it was good.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We also knew that it was temporary.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We knew we would all eventually transfer and
be separated.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I’m not sure we
allowed ourselves to process that thought at the time.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can speak for myself, anyway, when I say
that I’m glad I didn’t. If I focused too much on the temporary, perhaps then I
would have held back a bit, shielded myself from becoming too close to those I’d
have to say good-bye to.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m truly glad
that I allowed this group of Sailors to become my family.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I’m being honest – when I allow myself to look back at
that time, looking through old photos and such – it’s bittersweet.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes it aches a bit because I know I can’t
have that magical time back.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I kind of did go back. Well, not exactly. I wasn’t in the
physical location.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">However . . . there
was an Airborne Mine Countermeasures (AMCM) reunion this past weekend in Panama
City Beach, Florida.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I attended with
three of my best Navy girls.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We all live
in different areas now, but met up in Houston and road-tripped it all the way
there.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We hadn’t all been together in a decade. Yep. A decade.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And you know the honest truth? It was as if
we hadn’t skipped a beat.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, you should
have seen us at first, all four crying tears of joy as we saw each other.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m smiling thinking of it now.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfJWGHCqzdz3pQMpdjE4_gUzp5vaYbccunYrA3JngztTb9RBV2D4kHQYm0IKHtWn4lv0T_FHkcUJa4bWRFr37WuX0fYifQ9Ywe-8h_nE0fRHtYujocVsEXt_xkqJfMhe28wOQ1qBZtJw/s1600/girlsatpcitybar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfJWGHCqzdz3pQMpdjE4_gUzp5vaYbccunYrA3JngztTb9RBV2D4kHQYm0IKHtWn4lv0T_FHkcUJa4bWRFr37WuX0fYifQ9Ywe-8h_nE0fRHtYujocVsEXt_xkqJfMhe28wOQ1qBZtJw/s320/girlsatpcitybar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Navy girls, together and acting as if no time had passed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We went on our trip and met up with past Sailors of the AMCM
community and it felt just like the old days.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The laughter, the reminiscing, the drinking (as Sailors do, of course) –
in a strange way it felt like I was back in 2004 again. It really did.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had a blast, we all did.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was incredible. I’ll remember this weekend
forever.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ATizM4hrC7kP8Sku4OXhPMwnMGOvvLNYYcRpfPHujbCTUGYaopP0Q2mlgDPYlf1C3X_DR2niG7n8hdy8lKB8wWKzLLt54zhpV0EcDu6i_GQZ9fFLQetVn_7Io2fAO-vVr2pX7KgFvXI/s1600/amcmreunion2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ATizM4hrC7kP8Sku4OXhPMwnMGOvvLNYYcRpfPHujbCTUGYaopP0Q2mlgDPYlf1C3X_DR2niG7n8hdy8lKB8wWKzLLt54zhpV0EcDu6i_GQZ9fFLQetVn_7Io2fAO-vVr2pX7KgFvXI/s320/amcmreunion2017.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The full group from the AMCM reunion, 2017</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In a flash the reunion was over and we parted ways again.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was sad to leave my girls but happy, and
ready, to get home to my husband and kids.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This life of wife+mom is my adventure now. It’s one I know is fleeing
fast as well, as all of our time does.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All I can say after this weekend is that I’m filled with
gratitude for those times. And I’m filled with gratitude for my current times.
Life is a gift, such a sweet gift.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you can go back and revisit some of those
sweet times.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until next time . . . </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>cdeckerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09709984939439535704noreply@blogger.com0