tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38152244923306534732024-02-07T12:51:37.576-06:00Backwards, Forwards, and EdwardsA look back at our past, forward to our future, and updates on the day-to-day events of our lives.Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.comBlogger438125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-76335968380670124852018-11-09T08:12:00.001-06:002018-11-09T08:12:15.731-06:0012 Months Happy birthday, baby!<br />
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We’ve had one whole trip around the sun with this precious baby girl and have loved every minute. This girl is the sweetest, happiest baby I’ve ever known. Her smile makes me smile, her laugh makes me laugh, and she is more beautiful every day. I love that she got her blue eyes from her daddy. I love how she giggles when her brothers act silly for her. Her birthday party tomorrow will be “sugar and spice” themed because she truly is everything nice!<br />
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Sweet girl, you light up my life. This first year with you has been better than I could’ve imagined. You are one of my life’s greatest blessings. Having a daughter has changed my world for the better. I can’t wait to keep watching you grow. Love you, baby. Happy 9th.<br />
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“So lets climb every tree/and drink imaginary tea/and speak a language only we can understand/and I will fight back the tears/as we fly through the years/and I’ll keep you as close as I can/cause I love you more than you will ever know.” -imaginary tea, Jon McLaughlin<br />
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<br />Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-48433289721387117932018-10-09T08:33:00.001-05:002018-10-09T08:33:34.334-05:0011 MonthsOur picture this month shows a new trick! Baby girl can walk. It's only a few steps at a time right now, but I know that soon enough she'll be running to keep up with the big brothers. She's talking more now, still mostly nonsense sounds, but a few recognizable words here and there. Holland wants every book to be a touch-and-feel book, and runs her fingers along plain pages with a confused look. She feels she's outgrown baby food entirely and wants to share any and all food with the adults and big kids. (She has created an effective diet plan for me by my getting the food I want to eat and then having her eat half of all my portions.) <br />
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Happy 9th, baby. I love you with my whole heart. Now let's start practicing holding up one tiny little finger, because the next ninth of the month, you'll be an entire year old!<br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-27783033789329066472018-09-09T20:29:00.001-05:002018-09-09T20:29:39.859-05:0010 MonthsDouble digits now, baby!<br />
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You continue to be the sweetest, happiest baby. I think you could walk if you tried, but although your little legs are strong enough, your confidence isn't quite ready yet, so we'll wait patiently. This month you've started trying to talk to us, no doubt trying to make you voice heard above the din that is your older brothers. I am going to officially declare your first word (besides mama and dada) to be "book," even though it sounds a little more like "buh." I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. You're a doll, Holland Elizabeth. Every day with you is a good day, and we've already gotten 10 months full of good days. <br />
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Happy 9th, love bug.<br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-74068051751208358982018-08-09T09:18:00.001-05:002018-08-09T09:18:42.230-05:009 MonthsA round of applause for this 9 month old girl!<br />
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Holland learned to clap this month and she uses her new skill all the time. Out of the twenty-five frames I shot for this picture, about twenty of them had motion blur on her little hands, like trying to catch hummingbird wings. She loves to eat whatever we're having rather than baby food puree (who could blame her?), so she's enjoyed trying lots of new foods this month. She can pull up to standing and walk a little bit if you hold both of her hands, but she's still content to army crawl when she really needs to get somewhere quickly.<br />
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This baby girl continues to be as sweet as pie. She's all sugar and (true to third child lore) seems to know that her job is to roll with whatever crazy schedule the rest of us are operating on. She wins the best sleeper award, too!<br />
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Happy ninth, my little love. I'm so glad I'm your mommy.<br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-4671677138447899902018-07-09T00:00:00.001-05:002018-07-09T00:00:05.473-05:008 MonthsHappy ninth, baby girl.<br />
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On a technicality (because it's after midnight on the 8th as I post this), you are 8 months old today. I can't believe it. I'm up late tonight thinking of some things that are not important (building a new house) some things that are very important (praying for a sweet friend who just came out of the hospital) and you. Precious girl, I want everything for you. At 8 months old you are the happiest, easiest, best sleeping baby I've ever had. Your very first tooth just poked through the gums, which is always a fun moment for your mommy/dentist. Your new favorite game is practicing pulling up to standing, and then sitting down with a plop. It's my fault, really, because I cheer for you every time you do either one. It's a win-win situation at Casa Edwards. This month it was especially hard to take your picture because you are always on the move, so this side-swipe pic was the best I could manage, but I do declare you're still adorable, even crunched over sideways.<br />
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Happy 9th, little lady. I love you to pieces.<br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-14963724995287158032018-06-17T20:39:00.002-05:002018-06-17T20:39:37.095-05:00The Best Medicine<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">There is a narrative that exists in our society in which the healthcare field has been overtaken with caricatures of good and evil. Hospitals, pharmaceutical companies, insurers, and physicians are cast as greedy villains, who care little or not at all about the well-being of the patient, but thoughtlessly follow charts and doctrines of Western medicine and then go home to swim in piles of golden coins like Scrooge McDuck. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">While I would admit that there are some greedy folks in the healthcare field (just as in every other field) and that there is room for improvement in the treatment of patients, I also believe that there are very few true villains in this life, both in the healthcare field or in any other. In fact, I even believe there are heroes who are doctors, hospital administrators, pharmaceutical researchers, and many other healthcare-related positions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">The problem is, we often don’t hear their stories of victory, partly because patient privacy is of paramount importance, and partly because they simply tend to be humble folks. But I happen to be married to a doctor, and sometimes I find myself compelled to share a story that flies in the face of the more negative perspective that seems so pervasive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">One such story is this one. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">A woman was in the hospital due to breathing complications stemming from a problem in her lungs. The situation was quite grave—her doctors had warned her that while she needed the assistance of a ventilator to breathe during this moment of acute lung malfunction, they could not guarantee she would be able to come off the ventilator afterward. Happily, a while later she was able to move from the ventilator to a tracheotomy, but dealing with the stress of the situation had taken a toll on her mentally, physically, and emotionally. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">Being unsure of her future ability or inability to breathe on her own had left her feeling anxious, afraid, and weak. Upon entering her hospital room very early one morning while rounding, Jeffrey found her sitting up in bed, struggling for air and looking terrified. He came over to her bed and watched as she wrote on her whiteboard (as patients who are trached cannot speak) “I can’t breathe. I know you can’t give me any more medicine right now, but I can’t breathe.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">Jeffrey rightly diagnosed that the patient’s feeling of breathlessness was related to her anxiety rather than her lungs, however he also knew that giving her more medicine to treat the anxiety was not an option as it might depress her breathing even more. (The patient knew this, too—that is why she stated “I know you can’t give me more medicine”.) So what’s a doctor to do who is denied his ability to prescribe? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">He motioned for her to hand him the dry erase marker. Quietly he drew a series of lines and then handed the marker back to her so she could make her first guess in their impromptu game of hangman. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">Quietly there, in the early morning hours under harsh fluorescent hospital light, the room became calm and the patient’s breathing slowed, not by medical intervention per se, but by her doctor, sitting on the foot of her bed for a while to play a silly game. Sometimes medicine means pills and prescriptions, and other times medicine means distractions and kindness and time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">Don’t let the narratives you hear fool you. Our healthcare system is not made of one dimensional caricatures. There are exceedingly few villains and while there are occasionally heroes, more often good medicine is simply good work done by attentive doctors (nurses/administrators/lab techs/etc...), responsive and resilient patients, and the miraculous biological process of healing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">Yes, your doctor really does care about you and your health—and if you’re lucky, he might even care to play you in hangman. </span></div>
Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-2708530298914331902018-06-09T09:29:00.001-05:002018-06-09T09:29:30.968-05:007 MonthsSeven sweet months with Holland Elizabeth and another magnolia blossom added to her first year's bouquet. What a lovely month it has been. Baby girl has developed the most awkwardly adorable roly-poly army crawl, giving her forward motion to grab big brothers' toys. Still a lightweight on the scales but eating like a champ...even with no teeth at all. We're all in love with those blue eyes (that look just like her daddy's) and her gummy little smile. <br />
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We're so glad you're in our family, sweet pea. Happy 9th, love bug.<br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-74841057813163908322018-05-09T08:59:00.003-05:002018-05-09T08:59:48.577-05:006 MonthsThis day marks the halfway point of a first trip around the sun for my littlest sunshine. She's squealed through the month with the highest pitched glee, earning her the not-very-catchy but very appropriate nickname "Squeaky Baby." She sits up with just a little bit of help and started eating some baby food puree. Typically, when I pick her up from work, she grabs my face with both hands and gives me a slobbery kiss that only 6 month olds and puppies are best known for. (But I don't mind it.) This month's flower is a ranunculus--which means "radiant charm." Well, my sweet baby, you are radiantly charming to me and to everyone you meet. You're a light. I love watching you shine.<br />
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Happy 9th, Holland.<br />
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Oh, and one more thing, just for fun--I put together the pictures from each baby's 6 month photo shoot. It's a good thing you all weren't triplets...I never would have been able to tell you apart!<br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-27934213629258961572018-04-09T08:38:00.000-05:002018-04-09T08:38:04.277-05:00Five MonthsHappy ninth, little girl!<br />
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At five months old you are an absolute delight. You've found your voice and often use it to squeak with joy or displeasure. (I remember your oldest brother doing the same thing around this age, but you, my dear, are in a register all your own!) You can roll from back to front or front to back, but you much prefer to turn left. We will have to work on moving to the right so you don't turn out lopsided. If I'm really honest, though, your biggest preference is to be in someone's arms. That little thumbkin is still in your mouth about 90% of the time, but if we're able to pull it away, we get rewarded with your darling little smile. This month's flower is a white orchid, signifying beauty and innocence. You are a lovely little lady, indeed. <br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-81278145895758697342018-03-09T09:41:00.001-06:002018-03-09T09:41:47.228-06:00Four MonthsAnother month has passed us by, and another 9th means another flower for my girl. This month we're using the calla lily. This flower officially stands for faithfulness, purity, and hope because it blooms around the time of Easter every year. To us, though, the calla lily will always represent our wedding day, as it was one of only a few special flowers chosen to adorn my bridal bouquet. Yes, today is the ninth and thus Holland's "monthday," but yesterday Jeffrey and I celebrated our ten year anniversary. I've been deep in thought about the last decade and all the many choices, decisions, accidents, divine plans, and happenstance that lead to me sitting here today, typing a four month celebration post for my third sweet baby. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have dared to imagine that one day I would have so much love in my life.<br />
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Holland, at four months old you are as precious as ever. My favorite thing right now is to have a little conversation with you--you, cooing imaginary baby words at me with a furrowed and serious brow, and me, grinning like a fool, hanging on your every word. You've rolled over a time or two and your big brothers are so proud of you for every milestone you achieve. You have an impressive list of folks wrapped around your tiny little finger. You are a joy and we all love you so much. Happy 9th, love bug. <br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-41915905390903755352018-02-09T10:31:00.001-06:002018-02-09T10:31:09.244-06:00Three MonthsThis month's flower is a bit of a mystery--I think it may be of the imaginary variety...but it sure looks pretty. We'll call it a purple wisteria. Wisteria is used to signify good luck in new beginnings, and I think that's a perfect description for where we are with this girl. This month she is beginning to do many new things like reaching for toys and cooing and lying on her tummy without crying crocodile tears. Holland is still a solid sleeper and a pleasant little lady when she's awake. She still likes to keep her little fingers close to or in her mouth...her dentist/mommy is already dreading the day we have to try and break that habit. She smiles for almost everyone, and if the last picture I post today doesn't make you smile right back, I don't know what will.<br />
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Three beautiful months with my beautiful girl. I don't need any wisteria, thank you. I'm feeling lucky already. Happy 9th, baby doll.<br />
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<br />Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-50584434108153994062018-01-09T15:21:00.000-06:002018-01-09T15:21:16.036-06:00Two MonthsAnother month has flown by with my girl. This month's flower is the red hydrangea. Google tells me that hydrangeas represent heartfelt sentiment, which seems appropriate because I love this baby with my whole heart. <br />
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This month she's gotten to spend some time with family over the holidays, my mom during my first week back at work, and now a precious babysitter who daily sends me text messages about how cute she is. (I never tire of receiving those messages!) Even with all of the changes, she has remained our sweet and soft little lady, her fuzzy hair always sticking straight up, and her little thumb or fingers constantly trying to find their way into her mouth. As a dentist, I suppose I was destined to have at least one child who sucks her thumb.<br />
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Happy 9th, baby doll. I love you from the bottom of my heart. <br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-85523958186660783732017-12-24T14:23:00.001-06:002017-12-24T14:23:33.155-06:00Gold, Frankincense, and Her<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3815224492330653473" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>As you probably realized, we did not send a Christmas card last year. There were many reasons—busy work schedules, two crazy and rambunctious boys, family commitments, etc. But most of all we think it was just burn out from years of coming up with awesome ideas for Christmas cards. However, after piles of fan mail and requests, we have decided to come out of retirement and send a Christmas card again this year. We’re sure you’re all dying to know what we’ve been up to, so here goes...<br />
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NO (BATH)ROOM IN THE INN<br />
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We’re still living in the college house on “The Hill” that we rent from my (Lauren’s) parents. (Yes, we have Sub-T boys across the street and next door—pray for us.) We actually feel really festive living here this time of year since it was built roughly around the time Jesus was born. And evidently Jesus was born around 1956, because the guest bathroom had that beautiful, multi-geometric, pink-and-Black tiled look. Notice the past tense in the sentence above—we say “had” because a few months ago it was renovated and transformed into a lovely, pristine, white bathroom (at least until the boys use it a few more times). That bathroom is probably the nicest room in the house now, so that is where we have chosen to have Christmas dinner. Cheers!<br />
<br />
SHEPHERDS IN THE FIELDS<br />
<br />
Last year we bought some land in Tuscola, Texas, that we plan to build on...someday. Right now it’s just a 40-acre barren tract of grass and mesquites and cedars, but we love going out there to care for the pine trees we planted, dream about the house that will one day stand on that dirt, and admire those Texas sunsets. Lauren keeps making plans and drawing blueprints, Jeffrey keeps the place mowed and tidy, and the boys keep wondering where we are going to put the giraffe (because evidently if you own 40 acres in West Texas, you NEED to put a giraffe on it). If you have any suggestions on what to name the place, drop us a line. Also, if you have suggestions on how to keep Jeffrey from passing out when he discovers how much new furniture for the house is going to cost, please let Lauren know.<br />
<br />
STAYING IN THE STABLE<br />
<br />
In case life with two little boys and a dog wasn’t already frighteningly close to being raised in the muck and chaos of a barn, we decided to get a puppy. Our new dog, Ranger, is a German Shorthaired Pointer and Blue Lacy mix. After some early miscues and lots of training, he is now in 2nd place as the most well-behaved child in the home. (We won’t say who’s holding down last place in that contest...but you can probably guess.) Having a baby puppy was a nice refresher for us though...(hint, hint: see below)<br />
<br />
WISE MEN (OR WISE GUYS?)<br />
<br />
Not to brag or anything, but our boys are really getting smart! Carter and Harrison turned 5 and 3 yeas old, respectively, this year. Both are now attending full time pre-school classes and loving every minute. Carter is enameled with his teacher, friendly with his classmates, and truly enjoys learning each day at Abilene Christian School—GO PANTHERS! (We can’t say that without thinking of Coach Taylor and Buddy Garrity.) Harrison is the littlest “Big Man on Campus” at Long Elementary. He loves his school because he knows every student and teacher, and EVERYONE knows him. Walking him to his classroom sometimes feels like standing next to a tiny celebrity. He also loves his school because he gets to eat breakfast there every day, even though he eats breakfast at home before he leaves for school, too. #puttingtheBIGinbigmanoncampus<br />
<br />
THE CHRISTMAS STAR (WARS)<br />
<br />
This Halloween the boys went as Darth Vader (Carter) and Luke Skywalker (Harrison) for Trick-or-Treat. Lauren, being 36 weeks pregnant at the time, wore a black shirt and was a very slowly expanding black hole (or whatever space reference works there to describe a tired and grouchy pregnant lady). She tried to convince Jeffrey to wear a shirt that said “I am your father” and stand behind the boys all night, but he said he doesn’t dress up. Here’s a fond memory from that night: Do you remember those old commercials where the pitcher of Kool-Aid bursts through the wall and says Oh, yeah!”? Well, Harrison basically did that at some random lady’s house when he reached directly into her bin of candy and came out double-fisting Skittles and Snickers. As Kevin McAllister would say, “Yikes!!”<br />
<br />
GOLD<br />
<br />
We worked hard this year at our respective jobs and tried to save as much money as possible, which we then promptly shipped off to the U.S. Department of Education in large quantities until lo and behold...(drumroll)...we paid off Jeffrey’s loans from medical school in their entirety! We were elated to have that yoke off our backs and almost threw a party...but then remembered that we didn’t have the money for it. Thanks a lot, Obama (or Trump). 😉<br />
<br />
FRANKINCENSE<br />
<br />
Siri, what is Frankincense? [weird robot voice] “Frankincense is the aromatic dried sap of an ancient tree used for its healing powers.” In case you didn’t know, it’s also kinda sticky and stinky...and so were a few things about this year. Carter’s feet are stinky because he’s a full-fledged boy. Harrison’s diapers are stinky because he’s a 3-year-old with man-sized BMs (we cannot manage to get that kid completely potty trained). Lauren’s car was repeatedly stinky—3 flat tires in a span of 12 weeks and 2 broken front windshields. Jeffrey is on-call one day a week and one weekend a month—super stinky. But all the not-so-good things about 2017 faded away as the calendar turned to November.<br />
<br />
AND HER<br />
<br />
Near the beginning of this year we found out that we were (unexpectedly) expecting a baby. Early blood testing told us it was a healthy baby girl. Then a few long months later, Holland Elizabeth was born on November 9. We are asked often about her name, as it’s a bit uncommon. Before she was born we painstakingly pores through baby name books looking for the perfectly one, but couldn’t quite land on one we both liked. We wanted something pretty and unique, and a name that would honor both sides of our family. Her middle name was decided first: Elizabeth, after her paternal great-grandmother, Beth, who is named for several Elizabeths before her. Then, rather than reuse a name from Lauren’s side of the family, we decided to borrow the name of a place. Holland is the town in which my (Lauren’s) grandfather’s farm resides, and it will always be a very special place to us. Just like the people and places she’s named after, she brings us such happiness. She is a sweet girl with dark blue eyes and her smile lights up the room. We didn’t know it, but we needed her in our lives, and we are blessed to have her.<br />
<br />
We are overwhelmed with joy at the gifts we have been entrusted with and the love we have shared this year. We hope you have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.<br />
<br />
-Jeffrey, Lauren, Carter, Harrison, and Holland Edwards (and Dixie and Ranger, too)<br />
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<img src="webkit-fake-url://3c21beb5-9524-4be1-9e90-8288bcc6a931/imagejpeg" />Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-74910397829663773462017-12-09T21:10:00.002-06:002017-12-09T21:10:52.764-06:00One MonthIt's been a long while since I dusted off this old blog to write anything worth reading, but the birth of my daughter compels me to start again. She's been with us for a month now and I just love her to pieces. Of course, the fact that she's been here for an entire month and I haven't even managed to write down the story of the day she was born is simply embarrassing (and perhaps a foreseeable complication of being the third-born child), but baby girl, don't ever mistake my tardiness for a lack of dedication to you.<br />
<br />
Holland Elizabeth, you light up my life. You are named after a tiny town in Texas where my grandfather lives among the tall pecan and oak trees. It's a beautiful patch of land where we lived once upon a time when our house in Temple sold too early. Grampy is a great man who loves God and Country, but especially that little farm in Holland, Texas. Saying your name reminds me of all of those beautiful things--my family, those trees, that great man. Your middle name is from your daddy's side of the family, going back many generations, but the Elizabeth I know the best is "Beth," your paternal great grandmother. She and your daddy have always been close--I call them soul mates. And perhaps it's no surprise that she loves him so much because he's her first grandchild, but to her credit, when I came into the family she immediately loved me purely, earnestly, and as her own. I know she does the same for you, and will continue to, no matter what. <br />
<br />
After an entire month, in some ways it still feels like you're brand new, and in another way it feels old--like we always knew you were meant to be here. You fit right in with this family and certainly make it a lot prettier! So happy 9th to you, sweetheart. A single flower for your picture today, a magnolia. We'll add another one each month to make a bouquet of your first year.<br />
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-74532203687128716182017-03-16T09:53:00.004-05:002017-03-20T20:07:02.364-05:00We Carry Each Other<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A tiny child grows in a mother’s womb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She carries him within her, keeping him warm
and protected wrapped in her skin, within arm’s reach of her heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She runs her hands over the swelling curve
and dreams of the life he will have, the life she will help make for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her body grows slow and unwieldy as it
expands to accommodate the sweet child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She considers him in every breath she takes, every food she eats, and
every drink she drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She holds him in
her mind until she can hold him in her arms. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is life—we carry each other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A big, brawny toddler wakes in the middle of the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His forehead is warm against the cool of his
mother’s hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lifts him out of his
crib and carries his weight, heavy and sleeping, down the long hallway to her
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His legs hang down below her waist—in
the daylight he will refuse to be carried, enjoying instead his newfound
independence, but in the dark of the night he is her baby once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tonight he will sleep with his head against
her chest, and she will wake often to evaluate the ebb and flow of his fever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is life—we carry each other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A bride, still in white, is whisked away from the wedding by
her groom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He carries her across the
threshold and into their future together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His arms feel strong around her, and although hers are not as firm, they
circle around his neck in a reassuring embrace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They look into each other’s eyes and silently repeat the promises
made:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will…I promise…I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They do not know what challenges they will
face, but they have promised to face them together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is life—we carry each other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A group of six friends gather around a coffin, and each one
takes hold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They carry their friend to
his resting place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coffin is terribly
heavy, but the grief is heavier; it settles over the heart like a thick, grey fog.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Intermittently the fog lifts as the
funeral party retells familiar stories of the departed, laughing together over
their favorites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The women carry tissues
in one hand, ever-ready to wipe the tears that flow at increments like
clockwork when the bell tolls and one suddenly remembers: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he’s really gone</i>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is life—we carry each other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">A widow carries on with her life, with motions slowed like
someone moving through water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
daughters visit, her friends bring her food, and her village carries her to the
Lord in prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They carefully watch her
countenance and try to protect her heart as she wanders on a long walk with
sadness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all carry the memories of
the departed, but she will always carry the most.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is life—we carry each other.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Carry each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><em>“Carry each other’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of
Christ.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Galations 6:2<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-78417067661975343692017-01-09T10:23:00.005-06:002017-01-09T10:23:54.855-06:00Children's Book Recommendations
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love getting books from the library to read to my
kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I go about once a week to turn
some in or pick up a handful more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
case anybody else out there is looking for a great children’s book to check out
or even buy for a baby shower, I’ll publish my list of top notch literature for
kiddos under 5 here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In no particular order, my favorite children’s books we read
in 2016:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Bill in a China Shop—Katie McAllaster Weaver<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A rhyming book (I’m partial to those) about a bull who loves
fancy china plates and cups, but faces the wrath of a snooty china shop owner
and battles the impossibility of an animal his size trying to navigate the
delicate world of fine tableware.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>EIEIO: How Old McDonald got his Farm—Judy Sierra<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A modern spin on an old tale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this version McDonald is a novice urban
farmer who’s looking for a way to use his backyard for something besides mowing
grass…because he can’t stand mowing grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ugly Fish—Kara LaReau and Scott Magoon<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ugly fish doesn’t want to share his tank or his food or his
toys, but he’s about to learn that being ugly won’t get you far in life…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WARNING!! (and spoiler alert) Ugly fish eats
other fish and is ultimately eaten himself—this book could be upsetting to more
sensitive children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids…well…they
laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So there’s that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The Gruffalo—Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s no such thing as a Gruffalo…or is there? A tiny
mouse with a big imagination and an uncanny ability to think on his feet is the
hero of this story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Waiting—Kevin Henkes<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Waiting is a quiet story, with soft pastel illustrations,
but don’t mistake its softness for a lack of substance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It uses sweet toys sitting on a shelf to
softly explore concepts like seasons of the year, loss, introduction of new
things, and patience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A beautiful book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1LSocUCB21gngKW_U_AoGO47lG5_Q7TfFiW9sWxwFOPLB7Ui6XzlcIF-EXXVLBrdfTzAci3GpuXMuNnznGaJDPUxkN0aaQwOzCBj6DJ5Oe_310QnKcrqfgIWX7ZoWUAVzIkgvBplyaay/s1600/stick.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1LSocUCB21gngKW_U_AoGO47lG5_Q7TfFiW9sWxwFOPLB7Ui6XzlcIF-EXXVLBrdfTzAci3GpuXMuNnznGaJDPUxkN0aaQwOzCBj6DJ5Oe_310QnKcrqfgIWX7ZoWUAVzIkgvBplyaay/s320/stick.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Stick and Stone—Beth Ferry and Tim Lightenfeld<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stick and Stone are very different, but together their
friendship can weather any storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A great
book on the power of working together and using one’s strengths for good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhloW9v32E4u8e-QYGS8pLrp-wP_nseFjm99qa070rdTdQJGeWz6whF2ZHlCFIwmeFPgDPMMuA9ZGFr4TaPq9BD0DGbnvsYVhgSxpwHOHYJXbWMY4JRnNYSG-Vpt-avLK4vCzDByzxErjla/s1600/blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhloW9v32E4u8e-QYGS8pLrp-wP_nseFjm99qa070rdTdQJGeWz6whF2ZHlCFIwmeFPgDPMMuA9ZGFr4TaPq9BD0DGbnvsYVhgSxpwHOHYJXbWMY4JRnNYSG-Vpt-avLK4vCzDByzxErjla/s320/blue.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Blue Chicken—Deborah Freedman<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The mischievous little chicken doesn’t start out blue, but
after an accident with some unattended paint, lots of things turn blue around the
farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gorgeous watercolor illustrations
help to tell this story—an ideal book for a little person who’s working on
learning his/her colors!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpHDLsVKLBVNoedEF10PspY-eb8n4tWiLNP3FP9vaPwVGWlqsKi_CnDdvMKEpY6a49BGZB_RqsjgTHH3PUn26yPSpKK-CeSPJ1nJV3fbSru95F3dVczrK_1xgSRllvH7bvn582u40WUcS/s1600/nice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpHDLsVKLBVNoedEF10PspY-eb8n4tWiLNP3FP9vaPwVGWlqsKi_CnDdvMKEpY6a49BGZB_RqsjgTHH3PUn26yPSpKK-CeSPJ1nJV3fbSru95F3dVczrK_1xgSRllvH7bvn582u40WUcS/s1600/nice.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The Nice Book—David Ezra Stein<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Very few words in this book, probably most suited for
children under three years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nice
book offers easy-to-understand illustrations of sharing and caring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7hJDPAUqmYujguDMQiPb87_9v1q2jwRbr60lU1vJqtGTRgESb4Pqj1DMXnBOUUbe15iveuVkTkFI7-BMMipvXGlvoQ3tHNr4yhb4MmrcCXzr7P-YoFsKYt-vyZLOcpQ99oWN30rdG6D8/s1600/treehouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7hJDPAUqmYujguDMQiPb87_9v1q2jwRbr60lU1vJqtGTRgESb4Pqj1DMXnBOUUbe15iveuVkTkFI7-BMMipvXGlvoQ3tHNr4yhb4MmrcCXzr7P-YoFsKYt-vyZLOcpQ99oWN30rdG6D8/s320/treehouse.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>The Tree House that Jack Built—Bonnie Verburg and Mark
Teague<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jack is imaginative, creative, constructive, and a lover of
animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His treehouse is a masterpiece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The story feels both adventurous and
safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This book ends with a ‘goodnight’
and would be a great book before bed—it would inspire wonderful dreams.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now go read!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-22942596511202037592016-11-17T11:01:00.002-06:002016-11-17T11:01:26.846-06:00For Ms. Penick
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Dear Ms.
Penick-</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As you
may know, I have returned to Abilene (not unlike a bad penny), and as a good
Abilenian and Wylie graduate, I read the Wylie Growl Magazine to keep up with
all the Purple and Gold news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
utterly unsurprised to read that you had been named into the Hall of Honor and
hope you can find time in your retirement to read one more of my long-winded
essays. This one’s about you—knowing your humble nature, I wonder if the
subject makes this one harder or easier for you to read? (I suspect the
former.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It feels
like just yesterday that I was sitting in your classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember it so clearly—in fact even down to
the position of the desk where I sat during my freshman and junior years
(except for that one odious day when I was banished to the principal’s office
for my disgracefully troublesome jeans with the threadbare knees).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More importantly than my physical location in
the classroom, though, I remember the most profound lesson you taught us: words
matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Novelists
and readers alike know that words matter, but high school students, generally,
do not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is just as evident
listening to the way they speak to each other in the hallways during passing
periods as it is when you ask them to expound on a passage from a well-written
piece of prose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet somewhat like a
writer crafting a novel, as you edited and corrected our papers and our speech,
you managed to convince so many of us that words indeed do matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">They
matter on a page, certainly, even worn Shakespearean pages, because they
describe and decode the mysteries of life and love and lust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They matter when spoken in a presidential
debate for all the world to hear or when whispered quietly between a mother and
her son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They matter when painted on
billboards and used to convince us to buy material things, and they matter when
smashed together after a hashtag in the name of a social movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They matter when they provide a welcome
escape for a mind too frequently assaulted by the facts and figures of the
didactic portions of dental school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
matter when they are ancient and grounding words that speak to our souls of
things unseen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps most of all, they
matter because they outlive us now, more than ever before, these words we write
down on paper or online.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Your
lesson gave me an understanding of the weight that words carry, and that
understanding has helped me in my interpersonal relationships, my marriage, and
my parenting of two beautiful and frighteningly impressionable little
boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has given me an outlet for my
emotions and an escape for my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your
lesson provided me with an introduction to two of the greatest loves in my
life: reading and writing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Is it
any surprise that I have rambled on and on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seems I may have been in the principal’s office during your lesson on
being concise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is the thesis
statement, Ms. Penick: You taught me that words matter, and your legacy of
teaching that lesson matters very much to me and to so many of your
protégés.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please accept my most
heartfelt congratulations on your honors and your retirement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Sincerely
and ever-indebted to you,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Lauren
Oglesby Edwards<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-43518775071745579212016-11-07T15:54:00.004-06:002016-11-07T16:00:03.348-06:00The Things You Leaf Behind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wGA_MYzbmWp4tuSjmdVRezJUzfz4FrblyViMtYIXjXq3b3kANrZPEy7zw06SJhhYETgKWcq1F-5xVoc6WiFUEHlVOmkx97wqHb1QDEJbBJDP9cCT-Mdwz93t8FjI2VbTBlG9xqiFrRdg/s1600/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wGA_MYzbmWp4tuSjmdVRezJUzfz4FrblyViMtYIXjXq3b3kANrZPEy7zw06SJhhYETgKWcq1F-5xVoc6WiFUEHlVOmkx97wqHb1QDEJbBJDP9cCT-Mdwz93t8FjI2VbTBlG9xqiFrRdg/s320/tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The weather finally turned a bit cooler, and over the next
few weeks the trees will respond by gently releasing their leaves to fall to
the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we watch them float in
the West Texas wind, rake them together, and crunch them beneath our feet, we
hear the wise words they whisper: Nothing lasts forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a message that sounds ominous or
hopeful, depending on the season of life your heart is weathering when you hear
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Abilene has been renowned for many things, but never for its
trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our mesquites lack the authority
of the stately California redwoods, our scrubby red oaks lack the fortitude of
the pines of Colorado, and our tallest elms are dwarfed by the heights of the sycamores
in East Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless, the trees
in Abilene grow strong and true, not unlike the people who grow alongside them in
this dusty Texas town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">For over 100 years now, Abilene soil has produced generation
upon generation of tree, and generation upon generation of families, each one
slowly unfurling new branches of possibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For some, Abilene is simply a starting point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These folks soak up all the good this town
has to offer, and then when a big enough breeze blows by, they fly like a
dandelion seed in the West Texas wind to more hospitable soil (but a little bit
of Abilene goes with them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others put
down deep roots, stretching into the cool water tables that run below and drink
steadily and deeply of all the quiet treasures Abilene has to offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These family trees become synonymous with
Abilene, as much a part of the city itself as the skyline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some are like myself, leaves that have blown
away for a time, only to return in a different season, bearing the fruit of new
knowledge and new skills honed to improve our hometown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It is this idea of generations past and generations to come
that has spurred the Abilene Cultural Affairs Council and friends to dream up a
new park and sculpture garden, slated to open next summer near the Abilene
Civic Center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be vibrant and
green and alive with sculptures from classic storybook tales like Charlotte’s
Web.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Close to the center of this garden
will stand a large metal tree, its tallest branches reaching up 15 feet to the
sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On these branches, large oak-like
metal leaves of green, silver, and gold will move with the breeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tree represents all that is good and
alive in Abilene, a town that knows how to grow happy and healthy families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each limb is a family’s journey to find its
perfect place in the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And each leaf,
Abilenians, can represent you or someone you love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">For a nominal price, you can be a part of Abilene’s past and
a part of its future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A donation of
$100, $125, or $150 buys you a leaf of a certain color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be a plaque next to the tree in a
corresponding color, etched with the name of a person or couple you choose to
honor through your donation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For my
part, I have chosen to honor my two children with a gold leaf each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagine us going to play under this tree
while they are young, watching as the metal of the sculpture grows cold and hot
with the passing seasons, until their future children come to run their fingers
along the names etched in the plaque.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is Abilene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
town that grows greatness humbly, each generation embracing the next like rings
of a tree encircling new growth to provide support and nourishment until it can
stand alone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Please consider donating to this project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consider whether you’d like to etch your name
on this tree in this town that grew you and so many of the people you love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps you would like to honor someone who
gave keeps you rooted firmly in the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps you’d like to honor someone who taught you how to let go of the
safety of the branches and fly in the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe you simply want to be a part of something that beautifies this
city and gives children wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
nothing else, please take a moment to consider what you will “leaf” behind for
the next generations in your town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because nothing lasts forever, except that which you give the next
generation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><strong><em>Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't
deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,'
replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.” <br />
― </em></strong></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/988142.E_B_White"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "lato"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><strong><em>E.B.
White</em></strong></span></a><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><strong><em>, </em></strong></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/987048"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "lato"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><strong><em>Charlotte's Web</em></strong></span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "lato"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">For more information, visit </span><a href="http://storybookcapitaloftexas.com/garden/"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">http://storybookcapitaloftexas.com/garden/</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
or comment on this link.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-90543919434767078982016-06-14T11:36:00.003-05:002016-06-14T11:36:32.330-05:00That time we got locked in the zoo<span style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A few weeks ago, Hendrick Hospital sponsored a 'Zoo Night' for all of its employees. The hospital paid for all employees and their families to visit the Abilene Zoo after hours. Being the zoo-lovers that we are, of course I knew that we had to go. </span><br />
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
We loaded up the boys and arrived just as it started. Skipping the train ride (the lines were just too long), we went directly to the nocturnal animal exhibit. As we passed through the doors I noticed a politely worded sign asking visitors not to use flash photography or bright lights in this particular building since all the nocturnal animals are very sensitive to light. Three feet away from this sign, I saw a grown man using his iPhone to see (and incidentally, blind) the ringtail raccoon. I shook my head and have a disapproving look, which neither the man nor the now-blinded raccoon saw, and went on my way. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
At the giraffe exhibit, the sweet zookeeper spent a minute going over instructions with Carter on how to feed the giraffe. He gave Carter the same spiel he gave everyone else: 'Hold the lettuce leaf out and the giraffe will take it from you. He might lick your hand even, and that's ok, but we ask that you please not pet the giraffes.'</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
Carter walked over and followed the instructions to the letter, as did most of the other children. However, suddenly I heard the zookeeper say sternly, 'Ma'am, please don't pet the giraffes.' I looked over to see a grown woman, nearing headlock closeness with one of the biggest giraffes, one arm around its neck and the other stroking its elongated face from top to nose. The zookeeper literally had to walk over to her and gently remove her from the giraffe to get her to quit. </div>
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After those two instances of adult misbehavior, I wasn't terribly surprised at what happened next...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
Jeffrey was holding Harrison and I was walking with Carter as we moved toward the exit to leave. Jeffrey and Harrison were a short distance ahead of us, as I was being forced to walk at 3-year-old speed, subject to the distraction of butterflies, gusts of wind, and random thoughts. I saw them exit ahead of us, but then as we arrived at the exit gate, a zoo employee hastily closed it in front of us. Confused, I went over to the zoo store, where I assumed we were now supposed to exit. An employee blocked my way into the store. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
I said, 'Can we get out through here?'</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
'No,' she responded, 'The zoo is on lockdown until further notice. We believe a bird has been stolen.'</div>
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The visitors had now been put into a situation uncomfortably similar to that of the zoo animals...literally caged in. The human animals, of course, did not take this forced incarceration well. I watched as patron after patron walked up to the gate and then were refused exit. Some paced angrily, like the leopards. Some looked despondent and tired, like the lion. Some chattered nervously, like the twittering birds. And adding insult to injury, we all watched as storm clouds began to roll in toward our makeshift, open-air cage. </div>
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Carter, for his part, handled the delay quite well. As was the theme for the night, the children behaved much better than the adults. And after about 25 minutes of waiting, the lockdown was lifted and we made it to the car just as the first raindrops fell on the wild plains of Abilene. </div>
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I never heard of the missing bird was found, if it was actually stolen or simply missing in action, or if they simply gave up looking. All I knew was that when they opened that gate, I had to get out of there before someone tried to stuff a rhino in their SUV. </div>
Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-66631147802238104612016-05-16T11:30:00.002-05:002016-05-16T11:30:13.243-05:00Mother's Day 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 17px;">Last weekend was Mother's Day, and we decided to host the family at our house for lunch rather than fight the crowds at a restaurant. Around the table sat 4 mothers: Beth (my grandmother-in-law), Melinda (my mother-in-law), my mom, and me, as well as my dad, brother and sister-in-law, sister, and Jeffrey and the boys. </span><br />
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Hosting a dinner comes with both pros and cons--for me, the prep work is somewhat difficult but still part of the fun. The only real downside in my opinion is the dishes afterward. But among the pros are getting to set the table with your finest china, arranging your favorite flowers, and being in charge of the organized activities. For my guests on Sunday, this meant that each one was obliged to share a funny or happy memory of his/her mom. </div>
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Beth told about a time after she and her mom had picked her wedding veil. After what must have been a very proper afternoon in a bridal shop, her mom took a big drink of scalding hot coffee, and spit it right back out all over, saying (uncharacteristically and without apology), "Well some fools would've swallowed it!"</div>
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Leslie told about shopping for work clothes for her first 'real' job and also about one of the times she got a kidney stone on a previous Mother's Day. Leslie was feeling guilty for her health concern ruining what should have been a day to celebrate Mom. As they drove to the ER together, Leslie apologized for spoiling the day, and Mom just looked at her and said, "Leslie, this is great. This is me getting to be a mom!"</div>
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My brother, always the joker, told about the time in grade school when he was being picked on by another boy at school. After many days of enduring these insults and Mom recommending that he turn the other cheek, one day she said (uncharacteristically and without apology), "Well tell him he's a fat tub of lard." Bullying problem solved. </div>
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Of course, I tried to take to heart the lesson learned from Beth and Greg's stories: a mother can spend her entire life saying and doing the right things, and her children will most vividly remember the single moment they slip!</div>
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Courtney admired her mom's commitment to consistency in parenting her and her twin sister, even to the point of fishing them out from underneath the bed with a yardstick to mete out (well-deserved) punishments. </div>
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Jeffrey said that he didn't realize what a big deal it was at the time, but his mom was always present at his sporting events. In all weather, she drug herself and her two other children (one of whom has special needs) to cheer for Jeffrey as he competed. </div>
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I told about the time Mom and I drove to my dental school interview in Houston together, Dad's directions getting us lost deep in a shady part of town at night. When the low fuel light turned on and we were forced to stop, Mom looked over at me and said, "If you hear gunshots, just go on without me. Even if you have to speed bump over my body, you get to that interview." (We both made it out alive.)</div>
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Mom talked about the special effort her mother made for her preferences with food and drink, making special arrangements for my moms likes and dislikes. She also shared how her mom literally ran to her rescue once when mom was injured. She could even recall what her mom was wearing that day as she sprinted up to the house to help her. </div>
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Dad laughed as he recalled how his mom has always found slapstick comedy the most laugh-inducing, so one day when they were snow skiing, Dad noticed a particularly icy area around a curve where people were continually falling down. He called his mom over and they both watched as the next dozen or so people wiped out, and laughed and laughed together. </div>
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Melinda said that she always felt like the 'favorite' child, although now she suspects that all three of Beth's children felt that way. One of the things that always made her feel special was that her mom always left her 15 cents in her office for Melinda to use to buy a coke and candy bar (amazing that 15 cents had that kind of purchasing power not too long ago!). </div>
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It was a lovely lunch and a sweet time to talk about memories made with our mothers. I was honored to be a part of it. </div>
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(And my mom even did the dishes!)</div>
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-31394058822466643792016-04-01T11:10:00.002-05:002016-04-01T11:11:29.672-05:00Everyday greatnessParenting is hard. I currently have a 1.5 year old and a 3.5 year old, so many of my days begin with a baseline level of frustration that comes from years of sleep deficit and the monotony of knowing that today, just like every day before it since I had children, I will complete the same menial tasks and answer the same unstoppable flow of questions.<br />
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But some magical days are like today, when you are able to wake up energized, happy, and ready to enjoy every bit of that beautiful monotony.<br />
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I think that a good portion of my good mood today started with my gentle wake up call from Carter. (Also, the wake up call didn't happen until 7:30...that doesn't hurt!) Jeffrey had already gone to work, but someone was in my bed. I heard the telltale sound of a cereal bar wrapper rustling and knew that my big boy was awake. "Mommy, it's a beautiful sunrise," he said (because I own a 3 year old who talks just like an 80 year old), "Can you please open my cereal bar?"<br />
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Following my wake up call, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and found that carter had already put it on the counter and squeezed a very appropriate amount of toothpaste on it for me. We've worked at length on perfecting the pea sized dollop through much trial and error, but bless his heart, he loves helping mommy and that is one of the ways that his little hands can do so. You can't even get service like that at The Ritz.<br />
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Mr. Independent also decided to dress himself today. The outfit he picked (sort of) matches, but he forgot to take off his pajamas, so he's got long sleeved, long pants pajamas under his sweatpants and long sleeved shirt. He was so proud that he did it all himself that I didn't have the heart to point out his mistake. We'll just try to avoid going out in public today, I guess.<br />
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We went together to get baby brother, who was having a serious discussion with his stuffed puppy, Hot Dog. He greeted us happily as we came in, "Oh, heeeey, mama! Get out? Have sandwich?" If you've ever seen Harrison in person, you will not be surprised to hear that he would be thinking of having a very heavy meal first thing in the morning.<br />
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We ate breakfast together and they played while I got ready for the day, listening to some streaming music on my iPhone. When the song 'You give love a bad name' came on, Carter had lots of questions for me. "Why is that boy calling people bad names? We aren't supposed to say bad names."<br />
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"No, we aren't, buddy," I said, "But I think I think he's just saying that there was a girl he liked and she wasn't nice to him."<br />
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"So she was ugly to him? So we can call her bad names if she's ugly to us?" He asked.<br />
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By this point I was pretty much collapsed in laughter as I realized that I was attempting to use Bon Jovi lyrics to teach life lessons, so please someone tell Carter that we never call people bad names the next time you see him.<br />
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Yes, parenting is hard. Kids are crazy. Bon Jovi is probably a bad role model for a 3 year old, which is disappointing since his music is pretty great. But some mornings around here are really hilarious, and I'm so glad that this is my life.<br />
<br />Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-1452511027931473222016-01-14T13:30:00.001-06:002016-01-14T13:32:24.168-06:00Watching Boys Bloom<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I mentioned in our Christmas letter about our time living on
Grampy’s farm, but I must write down a little more, if only for my own personal
record keeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was such a special
time for all of us but my memory is liable to throw out those precious moments
along with last week’s grocery list and the lyrics to Britney Spears’ earliest
hits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When we arrived at the farm, all of us were unsure of what
this new normal would look like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grampy,
being a widower of over 20 years, certainly had his own methods and routines
established, and I was certain that the arrival of two young adults and two
very young boys would disrupt most, if not all, of life as he knew it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same went for Cindy, who had been living
on the farm for some time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But I had underestimated a farmer’s ability to adapt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, farmers are the kings of
adaptation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They carefully watch every
stalk of corn as it grows and learn to act just like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The corn stalk and the farmer brace against
strong winds by having deep roots, attached to the land with a firm
affection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They weather the rains
together, and raise their sun-wrinkled hands in a plea for more in the dry
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And always, always, the farmer
and the corn stalk look straight up to the sky for their guiding light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So Grampy adjusted and adapted to life on the
farm with his rag-tag Brady Bunch, gently bending to the whims of my boys and
showing them the beauty of Texas farmland, as well as what it takes to be its
caretaker.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I had also underestimated what fertile, Texas dirt can grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you ever seen boys bloom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being on the farm was like watching a time
lapse film of a flower opening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although
time seemed to tick by more slowly due to the leisurely pace of living we
adopted in Rogers, Texas, somehow the boys developed faster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The country air filled their lungs and filled
their minds with imaginative games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sticks turned into swords and musical instruments, pecans were an
impromptu snack or a grenade to throw in battle, and the old, old oak trees
provided enough supervision for me to stay inside for a while and allow Carter
to experience the freedoms afforded to country boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The soothing green of the grass and the
dappled shade seemed to mollify whatever internal chaos was causing Harrison’s
colic fits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His crying became less
frequent, and he settled into our routine of life on the farm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Does it sound magical?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where else can you learn how to plant black
eyed peas and then watch as they sprout?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What better way to show how quickly crops grow than to stand next to
them daily and witness the very moment when they outpace you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can you understand symbiosis if you’ve
not felt the tickle of a ladybug crawl from your arm to the raised garden, and
then tasted the crisp, fresh lettuce from the garden that was protected by the
ladybug?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an education for all of
us, and also an example, because one cannot help but to grow as a person when
surrounded by so many other things that are growing tall and strong and true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As they say, all good things must come to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our time under the ancient branches of the
oaks was over in a few short months, but not before a few new ideas had been
sown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I blame Grampy, of course, for
this ruin of our former ideas of the perfect homestead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We used to dream of a big house in the city,
close to a grocery store and near the good schools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But after just a few months on the farm the
dream shifted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now we can’t imagine
putting down roots anywhere without enough space to unfurl our branches, and I
hope it can be green, and I wish for nearby water for fishing, and ladybugs,
and sticks, and blue skies, and an old man to teach us the old ways, and young
boys to show us the pleasure of new things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can only hope that some of the things planted in us in that time will
find a place to grow here in Abilene, strong and straight up to the sky, and
always, always able to adapt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So we're looking for a little bit of land...</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-79661689988588964062016-01-11T23:06:00.004-06:002016-01-11T23:06:44.065-06:00Post Holiday HangoverNo, Mom, this post isn't about drinking. It's about how hard it is to go back to work after a long holiday break. I know, I know...all of the people out there who DIDN'T get a long holiday break are like, do you want some cheese with that wine? And I totally get your point. But the post-holiday hangover is pretty awful, no matter which way you slice it.<br />
<br />
Here's how it went for me this year:<br />
<br />
I woke up on Monday morning feeling rested and ready to tackle a new year. Jeffrey was already at work because his post-holiday hangover involved rounding on all his patients in the hospital and being greeted by 2 solid hours of paperwork, drug refills, signing lab orders, and returning phone calls. What a dream.<br />
<br />
Back on the homestead, I fixed both boys breakfast and shuffled them into the living room for our ritual 'let's see how many toys we can get out while she's cleaning up breakfast' game. As I grabbed their clothes from their room and prepared to argue with my 3 year old (again) over why he cannot wear shorts in the dead of winter, I heard Carter yell from the living room, "Mommy! Throw up!" This falls squarely into my top 5 least favorite things to hear yelled at me.<br />
<br />
I got into the living room just in time to see the dog heave one last bit of dog vomit on the (formerly) cream-colored carpet. I quickly ushered her outside and cleaned up her mess. Dressed the boys, then went to my room to get myself dressed...which is where I found the second mound of dog vomit. It turns out that her tummy had felt a little questionable in that room prior to her little show in the living room. So I cleaned up vomit. Again.<br />
<br />
Got myself dressed and went back into the living room to check on the boys. Everybody was playing happily until the moment that Harrison started to throw up (you guessed it) on the living room carpet. He up chucked every last bit of the oatmeal I made for him only 30 minutes prior. I was completely flabbergasted as to why my child, who had no fever nor any other signs of malady should suddenly fall ill and barf of my oh-so-recently cleaned carpet. As I stripped his clothes off and wiped his face and hands, I noticed a peculiar color and consistency of disgusting that I had run into before. Harrison had found a tiny bit of dog barf on a chair in the living room, picked it up, ate it, found it disagreeable, and thrown it up with his breakfast.<br />
<br />
So I cleaned him up, dressed him again, cleaned up his vomit, cleaned up the errant bit of Dixie's vomit, cleaned the carpet, cleaned the chair, and went to work to REST!<br />
<br />
Post-holiday hangover is no joke.Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-4540451453240627452015-12-25T10:38:00.005-06:002015-12-25T10:38:51.852-06:00Christmas Card 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfMeCviMs-ZlmT7WRsivM2QSSZso0xw1P3jmufIVd8bqhjuqpbH9e5cdhsgilqlDhr9TADUfezf-Q_DcYfWyAwnt65y82n2wfpOxTPu7l183MLe4jW183hPEKR7hGw4wWb1IxX_hEubWq/s1600/FullSizeRender2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfMeCviMs-ZlmT7WRsivM2QSSZso0xw1P3jmufIVd8bqhjuqpbH9e5cdhsgilqlDhr9TADUfezf-Q_DcYfWyAwnt65y82n2wfpOxTPu7l183MLe4jW183hPEKR7hGw4wWb1IxX_hEubWq/s1600/FullSizeRender2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfMeCviMs-ZlmT7WRsivM2QSSZso0xw1P3jmufIVd8bqhjuqpbH9e5cdhsgilqlDhr9TADUfezf-Q_DcYfWyAwnt65y82n2wfpOxTPu7l183MLe4jW183hPEKR7hGw4wWb1IxX_hEubWq/s1600/FullSizeRender2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfMeCviMs-ZlmT7WRsivM2QSSZso0xw1P3jmufIVd8bqhjuqpbH9e5cdhsgilqlDhr9TADUfezf-Q_DcYfWyAwnt65y82n2wfpOxTPu7l183MLe4jW183hPEKR7hGw4wWb1IxX_hEubWq/s1600/FullSizeRender2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfMeCviMs-ZlmT7WRsivM2QSSZso0xw1P3jmufIVd8bqhjuqpbH9e5cdhsgilqlDhr9TADUfezf-Q_DcYfWyAwnt65y82n2wfpOxTPu7l183MLe4jW183hPEKR7hGw4wWb1IxX_hEubWq/s1600/FullSizeRender2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfMeCviMs-ZlmT7WRsivM2QSSZso0xw1P3jmufIVd8bqhjuqpbH9e5cdhsgilqlDhr9TADUfezf-Q_DcYfWyAwnt65y82n2wfpOxTPu7l183MLe4jW183hPEKR7hGw4wWb1IxX_hEubWq/s1600/FullSizeRender2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6F4nDS4J-k1n-8RXsalovkWiXlr5jY05LTvAY01VOWstAoqMLdOIgG-1VgdAyVmGbLxXCp60kJtlZ1YOTqKmJdePyRZLIUm8G_U214rnDUnpwR-lkJBPHQJ4kVm3ZXNJUVc3bu23yrVeE/s1600/FullSizeRender1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6F4nDS4J-k1n-8RXsalovkWiXlr5jY05LTvAY01VOWstAoqMLdOIgG-1VgdAyVmGbLxXCp60kJtlZ1YOTqKmJdePyRZLIUm8G_U214rnDUnpwR-lkJBPHQJ4kVm3ZXNJUVc3bu23yrVeE/s1600/FullSizeRender1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Merry Christmas, everyone! This year has been jam-packed with change for
the Edwards family. Here’s a quick
update—Home alone style.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN";">Kevin McCallister:
This is it. Don’t get scared now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">In January we began making preparations to
sell our house in Temple. We worked with
a realtor who made very minimal suggestions on improving the house prior to
putting it on the market. Except for
that suggestion that we keep all of the kids’ toys picked up at all times. That was not a minimal suggestion. I basically became a Houdini, ‘disappearing’
toys into every laundry basket, crevice in a closet, or hole in the wall every
day before leaving for work in case we had a last minute showing. All this preparation made it even more real
that we were really leaving Temple and moving to Abilene. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000346/"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "AR JULIAN"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Kevin McCallister</span></a><span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN";">:
No offense, aren't you too old to be afraid? <br />
</span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0089348/"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "AR JULIAN"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Marley</span></a><span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN";">: You can be too old for a lot of things, but
you're never too old to be afraid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">In February Harrison gave us quite a
scare. One day I noticed that the soft
spot on his head was swollen out instead of sunken in like it’s supposed to
be. An ER visit, MRI, CT scan, lumbar
puncture, and several doctor’s visits later, we found out that he was
completely fine. Harrison handled it all
like a champ. His mommy and daddy, not
so much. (To be fair, Harrison got doped
up every time he had a test run, the parents got nothing.) We’re happy to report that this was only a
minor bump in the road, and he’s now a completely happy, walking, babbling,
mischievous 1 year old.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000346/"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Kevin McCallister</span></a><span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">: [to Santa's helper]
This is extremely important. Will you please tell Santa that instead of
presents this year, I just want my family back. No toys. Nothing but Peter,
Kate, Buzz, Megan, Linnie, and Jeff. And my aunt and my cousins. And if he has
time, my Uncle Frank. Okay?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">All we wanted for Christmas (in March) was an
offer on our house. It was on the market
about 5 weeks when we got a call from our realtor one morning while we were
eating breakfast with Grampy and Cindy on the farm. He said, “We got an offer, and it’s asking
price.” I asked him why he sounded
disappointed and he said, “Because you have to be out in 30 days.” Our realtor knew that Jeffrey had to keep
working until June 30, so he was afraid we’d say no to that offer. I went back into the kitchen to discuss it
with Jeffrey and talk about whether we could afford to live in a hotel for a
while, but as soon as I said that we had a full priced offer and had to get out
early, Grampy cut in and said, “Well, why don’t you live here?” Right there around the breakfast table the
plans were made. We accepted the offer
and planned to move to Grampy’s house the following month.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0324462/?ref_=tt_trv_qu"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Linnie McCallister</span></a><span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">: Listen, Kevin, what
are you so worried about? You know Mom's gonna pack your stuff anyway. You're
what the French call "les incompetents".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So we started packing in three piles: stuff
to go into storage, stuff to Grampy’s, and (because we like to be complicated)
stuff to go to Minnesota. Jeffrey was honored
to compete in a national case competition called Clarion following their
regional win in Lubbock. The national
meeting was in Minneapolis, so we shuffled the kids off on their grandparents
and took a long weekend by ourselves.
The Minnesota trip could not have come at a more inconvenient time (just
a week after closing on the house and moving to Grampy’s) but it was so worth it. We came home refreshed and sporting a second
place medal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Kevin McCallister: This house is
so full of people it makes me sick. When
I grow up and get married, I’m living alone.
I’m living alone!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
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So there we were, my grandfather, my aunt, my family of
four, and our dog, all living under one roof in Rogers, Texas. And then it started to rain. And it rained and it rained for almost all of
May. We spent a lot of time under that
roof together, the six of us, and we might have gotten on each other’s nerves
if we didn’t love each other so much.
But somehow between walks among the giant oak and pecan trees, tractor
rides with little boys, and cooking meals together (because there are no fast
food restaurants in Rogers!) four generations coexisted and thrived. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Kevin: This is my house. I have to
protect it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The little boys and I left Grampy’s in early June to head to
Abilene. I had long before given my
notice at work and while we were having a blast on the farm, I felt there were
projects waiting for me, namely a house that my parents had purchased intending
to rent to college students. The house
was built in 1956 near ACU, and the minute Jeffrey and I saw the pink and black
tiled bathroom, we knew we had to live there.
(That decision may have also been influenced by our financial
state.) The house has since gotten new
flooring, crown molding, and many other updates, all courtesy of its DIY-crazy
renters. Jeffrey said his final goodbyes
to Temple after graduation at the end of June and brought the last car load of
stuff to Abilene to join us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Kevin: [after patting a healthy amount of aftershave on his
freshly-shaven face] AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "AR JULIAN"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
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Once we all got to Abilene, life really seemed to speed
up. Jeffrey spent the first few months
of his time in his new hometown studying feverishly for his board exam, taking
his board exam, and then worrying about whether or not he passed the board
exam. (Spoiler alert: he did.) Carter watched fireworks for the first time
and went to his first candlelight devotional at ACU. We went on family vacations to Ruidoso and
Fort Worth. Harrison learned to walk and
turned one at the end of August. We
hired a full time babysitter for the kids who has become an indispensable part
of our family. I started working for my
Uncle Gary at his dental office and Jeffrey started his medical practice with
Hendrick Hospital. Carter turned three
in September and decided that he and Harrison would be lions for
Halloween. We tried (unsuccessfully) to
convince Carter that the people who came over on the Mayflower were pilgrims,
not pirates. We tried (unsuccessfully)
to convince Harrison that Christmas ornaments are to be looked at, not thrown
across the room like basketballs. We
tried (unsuccessfully) to install our 9 foot tall artificial Christmas tree
below the 8 foot ceilings of our living room.
And yet among all this chaos and change and pastel bathroom tile, we
feel supremely blessed have had a home at all times, friends in every city
where we’ve lived, and that to date, we have never left either of our children
home alone for any significant amount of time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Merry Christmas to you all, and keep the change, ya filthy
animals.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3815224492330653473.post-45685779233123717142015-10-16T10:23:00.002-05:002015-10-16T10:23:57.359-05:00'Barrages' and Bible VersesA few mornings ago I was sitting in the living room with Carter while Harrison took a little cat nap. Carter had asked me to help him build yet another 'barrage' (that's 'garage' in three year old language). This is the only type of structure he ever wants to build. No houses, no towers, no restaurants, only garages. If he becomes and engineer we better hope that the automobile industry stays robust. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I told him that I wasn't going to help him right now, but that I would love for him to build a big garage all by himself and then show me. (We're working on independence.) He ended up building a great garage completely on his own, and suddenly I had a lightbulb moment: I could teach him a bible verse about this!<br />
<br />
I praised his garage and said, "I'm so proud that you built that all by yourself, and I love that you worked so hard. Did you know that God likes you to work hard? He says that no matter what you're doing, you should work very, very hard, like you're working for God (Colossians 3:23, Mommy Paraphrase Version)." Carter nodded receptively and I gave myself a big, fat pat on the back for being such a purposeful parent. <br />
<br />
He continued to build, putting up a two tall pieces with a sharp cornered triangle on top. Excited to continue our bonding moment, I asked him what that part was for.<br />
<br />
"It's for hitting people." he said matter-of-factly.<br />
<br />
Aaaand....here's a verse for mommy: Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. (Proverbs 16:18, KJV)Lauren Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15970649759299825836noreply@blogger.com0