tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27805681222876075982024-03-13T06:51:43.594-04:00K.MAC CreationsMommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.comBlogger398125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-41381686917983897452013-08-26T16:10:00.000-04:002013-08-27T09:39:01.604-04:00So long, farewell.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N4gPI-clcg0/UhtJBWdKlMI/AAAAAAAAJJA/iRF4d2c68PA/s1600/goodbye+collage+old+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="550" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N4gPI-clcg0/UhtJBWdKlMI/AAAAAAAAJJA/iRF4d2c68PA/s800/goodbye+collage+old+blog.jpg" width="550" /></a></div>
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<i>Telling the stories of life is a good thing. </i> It's the cake & ice cream of sensory thought. It's a commitment to the collective. It's comprehensive to the timeline of you. It's the <i><span style="font-size: large;">not forgetting</span></i> with fervor for the collected memory of now. <b>Stories are worth it.</b> <i>Pictures captured, too.</i> For 5 1/2 years, I have authored my life and the life of my family. This space has been a place where <i>a whole lotta happy</i> has folded in with a sprinkling of <i>what the heck just happened </i>on any given day. In between the<i><span style="font-size: large;"> www</span></i> of this address, my tears and my smiles have made more of me. </div>
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Thank you to all of you who have had this blog bookmarked over the years. Writing is for me, moreover, for the memoir of my family. <i>But, my stories exist for you, too.</i> It is my hope that my journey of words has made you laugh, encouraged you and perhaps, even made you feel like you weren't the only one two-steppin' with a little <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=cray%20cray">cray-cray</a> in this life we've all been given to rock out. </div>
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2013 has been my year to <a href="http://kmaccreations.com/blog/2013/01/connect/">{connect}</a>. I have worked this year on connections quite differently than my <a href="http://kmaccreations.com/blog/category/rhythm-nation-2012/">2012 Year of Rhythm</a>. I am pushing myself in new ways. Priorities are continually assessed as well as my motives for why I do just what I do. To do all of this <i>internal grade-carding</i>, I needed a break from story at least in the public sense. My words needed space inside my quiet journals; they needed to harvest in my heart where they most belonged. The hiatus from this space has been so productive. I have gained so much insight on pace and family and faith, too. It was just what I needed to catapult me into a new space for my cake & ice cream. Sure hope you have your spoons ready. </div>
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Without further ado, I give you my<a href="http://kmaccreations.com/blog/"> new place</a>! This newly designed blog is where you can find me from here on out. <i>It has bells. It has whistles.</i> It has avenues in which I will travel to be more effective in organization. It has great upgraded user-friendly ways for me to connect with you and for you to connect with me as well. Simply put, this new blog is a scratch off my 2013 {connect} bucket list. I do hope you will re-set your <a href="http://kmaccreations.com/blog/">k.Mac</a> bookmark to this new address. If you aren't following my blog in any specific format, there are options to follow me on <a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/10451853/kmac-creations-blog">bloglovin'</a> as well as subscribing to my blog to receive posts via email. My cake is audaciously iced and I'm all kinds of excited for the fresh scoops of Neapolitan I have ready to share with you. </div>
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Love, </div>
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.mac :)</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-18966941045980020982013-06-16T18:50:00.000-04:002013-06-16T19:49:20.965-04:00There's a story.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ta-BcgZtTzU/Ub24e-N6q2I/AAAAAAAAJIc/AyGgjqR93Rw/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="433" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ta-BcgZtTzU/Ub24e-N6q2I/AAAAAAAAJIc/AyGgjqR93Rw/s800/dad.jpg" width="530" /></a></div>
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I've waited all day to give life to these words. Physically, my fingers spent most of my early morning alone with the weight of this image in their possession. Before the rest of my house awoke from their slumber, I spent my minutes magically staring into the end result of <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/04/her.html">Mom</a> behind the lens. There's not one corner of this photograph that my eyes have not poured over. Invested in the outcome of then, I have taken such delight in this captured treasure.</div>
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Time and schedules have a way of moving. <i>Don't they though?</i> And, by mid-morning, my physical presence was procured away in proximity from this image focused onto film. But, my mind held a steadfast clamp on this scene above. Today I searched all about <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2010/01/rubbing-soles.html">him.</a> Today I remembered and reminded myself of <b>the he</b> who<i><span style="font-size: large;"> he</span></i> is. I settled into my Dad and stayed right by him all day.</div>
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There's a story. <i>And, I want to tell it. </i> For this story is everything the man my Dad is to me. This story sits inside this photograph rich and content as if it has no desire to leave this hallowed space & time. But, telling it is where the beauty of my Dad begins. </div>
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The setting was around Thanksgiving as I am wearing my Indian headdress freshly fashioned from Mrs. Carlton's 1980 Kindergarten class. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">{a special thank you to Jason Lemming who secretly cut for me during craft time as I was left handed before the world of Crayola thought of inventing left handed scissors}</span></i> My brother and I are standing in chairs. We always stood <b>in chairs</b> when Dad was in the kitchen cooking. <b>The brown bucket</b> is the same bucket we used to wash our dogs, Pete and Muffin. <b>The fresh flowers</b> in the vase were a normalcy in our home. Dad made sure that Mom had fresh flowers in her kitchen. They were never the custom ordered flower shop variety, but more the ones found in the local grocery store. He would arrange them always just for her. <b>The kitchen.</b> It used to be the carport. My Dad's 2 hands alone transformed it into a more useful space for our family. He worked tirelessly after long hours at work and school to make this dream a reality for us. The curtains were sewn by Mom. They were the same curtains that hung in the Volkswagon bus that brought me home from a Colorado hospital 5 years prior. <b>His watch.</b> It hangs on the knob of the cabinet. Free from pumpkin guts and water spills and cleverly placed for viewing sake; my Dad is adeptly skilled in resourceful maneuvers of the simplest things. </div>
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My brother is to my left. He's the one manning the wooden spoon with the big metal pot <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">{insert loud banging here}</span></i>. I have no doubt music surrounds us in addition to the <i>ad hoc orchestra-of-one </i>to my left. Possibly Jim Croce or Gordon Lightfoot. Dan Folgeberg or John Prine. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Then there's him. </span></i><b> A picture of absolute happiness. </b> You can feel it before you see it when your eyes take gaze. <i>He knows it too.</i> Suited in his white t-shirt and worn Levi jeans sans one pocket, peace & joy radiate from his face. Pumpkin gutting and with us. His face sends out signals as if to say everything in the world I need is right here. <i>In this kitchen.</i> </div>
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This image is so much a part of his DNA to me. It is work and joy and love and doing and together. It is cleverness and romance, resourcefulness and simplicity too. It is laughter and living. He embodies all that this reflection of light can withstand to hold. The story of this image has seeped out of this hallowed one dimensional space and run rampant through me all day. </div>
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<i>Today I searched him. </i>Even though physically we were not together on this 24 hour vigil set aside for Fathers, I settled into my Dad and stayed right beside him all day. He is light. He is hope. <i>He is stronger than he realizes in the story of me. </i></div>
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Thank you for your kindness and for making my socks feel just right on my little girl feet. Thank you for my <i>"apple or orange?"</i> in the morning and for falling asleep on the floor by my bed reading me Cinderella. Thank you for telling me I would die if I ate the center of a donut and for showing me the power of a smile. </div>
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<i>Today I settled into you and stayed right beside you all day.</i></div>
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I love you, </div>
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.mac </div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-81813611118553959732013-05-29T00:53:00.000-04:002013-05-29T08:44:19.407-04:00Translucently.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I18FrH3iHqY/UaWHlOlRcLI/AAAAAAAAJII/YI2grM6vQeg/s1600/yard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I18FrH3iHqY/UaWHlOlRcLI/AAAAAAAAJII/YI2grM6vQeg/s800/yard.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">{image captured from our backyard right after a severe thunderstorm}</span></i></div>
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In search of the epic, I have failed. The cliche and continual pursuit of the <i>"like"</i> button bereaves me. I am finding the more I pursue <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/01/connect.html">my word of the year</a>, the more I find myself obscure. Perplexed for a spell, I have felt a sadness for the pep rally of empty bleachers and unused megaphones. I have lamented over the basketfuls of unspoken for party favors and the unclaimed cupcakes of me still freshly made and waiting.<br />
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But, then <i>real & good</i> decided to set in. They brought all that was needed to make this yearly commitment to myself worthy. They offered me the gift freedom. Unaccounted for in all ways that matter not; present in all ways that matter most. I shied away from the words on screen and dealt with the words of my heart. I simply unplugged and underachieved in the world of accountability to the stranger who reads. <br />
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I've still kept my journals and posts. I just found myself at peace with but one set of eyes looking them over. Privacy has been a fit I have most enjoyed wearing. For climbing inside myself has been beautiful & perplex. My thoughts-turned-words have deemed themselves precious. My mind took the notion to wind around <i>who I am</i> and <i>why I do</i>. My time at rest was really what it should be. The rat race of me is slowly under construction. <i> And, it feels good.</i><br />
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As I creep slowly back into this space, I do so with hesitation. Part fear & part fret of giving justice to just what my words mean to me exists within. Their worth along with the images they are entrusted to hold a validity in my heart. Their place in this world is not mandatory; their place in my life most definitely is. <br />
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So, see through me. <br />
Obtain my image, but not my form. <br />
For the details of each of us really are the<i> real & the good.</i><br />
<i>My soul seeks it.</i><br />
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.mac :)Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-20161938173653512182013-05-02T10:58:00.001-04:002013-05-02T15:49:08.003-04:00Woven.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-das86kzq9SY/UX9DFxyOJ3I/AAAAAAAAJGU/-F4RAYX94sQ/s1600/brooke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-das86kzq9SY/UX9DFxyOJ3I/AAAAAAAAJGU/-F4RAYX94sQ/s800/brooke.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Time weaves stories. </i>Stories with beginnings so boisterous you simply cannot wait for the middle to get here. <i>Time weaves people, too. </i> Intertwined like the threads of friendship bracelets made on the playground at recess. Little fingers twirling colors as safety pins secure the start. This precious and most beautiful soul you see here has been woven into the lives of so many. Woven by a Maker who loves her immensely. I am honored to be counted a thread in the story of my sweet friend, Brooke. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yf1fUZVYKKo/UX9DFjk_hCI/AAAAAAAAJGQ/g8xfzGXASdI/s1600/Brooke+and+Meg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="490" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yf1fUZVYKKo/UX9DFjk_hCI/AAAAAAAAJGQ/g8xfzGXASdI/s800/Brooke+and+Meg.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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When I think of Brooke, I think of a strength peaceful & gentle. My mind rests upon her smile. She has the ability to listen with a heart fully intent on making yours stronger. She has a kindness that so many people cannot even begin to muster. When she loves you, she loves you forever. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UvY0-WwxzcI/UYHaqkWuE9I/AAAAAAAAJG0/n0MDQnXgTSs/s1600/stella+grace+pillow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UvY0-WwxzcI/UYHaqkWuE9I/AAAAAAAAJG0/n0MDQnXgTSs/s800/stella+grace+pillow.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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God crafted a woman rock solid in the foundation of Him. Her storybook tells of a faithful soul in search of realness in people and in the hope of Him. Her book covers chapters on love and on diligence. On heartache and hiccups. On giving and getting on, too. And today, her life awaits the penmanship of a new chapter. This chapter is entitled <i>Stella Grace</i>. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fxzhIiHgo-Q/UYHaqQeBJdI/AAAAAAAAJGw/-o4GEEbjMy0/s1600/stella+blanket+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="415" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fxzhIiHgo-Q/UYHaqQeBJdI/AAAAAAAAJGw/-o4GEEbjMy0/s800/stella+blanket+1.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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My hands took great delight in writing the fabric prologue to Stella Grace's chapter. Brooke chose crisp, bright colors for Stella Grace's nursery. Colors that transcend vibrance and radiate a happy light. I wanted this quilt to honor this sweet little girl's story of life. The pursuit of her place in this world has had many twists and turns. Not all the pieces seemed to fit at times. The pursuit for her place in Brooke's arms never faltered through it all. With that same sweet smile, Brooke rested in Him. She held onto His hand of hope. And, when that happens, pieces find a way of fitting together. Even better, they create something spontaneously beautiful and magnificently profound. In Him, through Him, Brooke and Russ await the birth of their Stella Grace. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eQe_q-EMc8c/UX9DGoPm-9I/AAAAAAAAJGg/H5iemXJcDrg/s1600/girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eQe_q-EMc8c/UX9DGoPm-9I/AAAAAAAAJGg/H5iemXJcDrg/s800/girls.jpg" width="420" /></a></div>
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Through a friendship forged on <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/07/invaluable-to-all-humanity.html">some ferociously good times</a> & unforgettable memories together, we have watched this miracle unfold. Stella Grace is loved. She is loved by an entire slew of sisters who have been in prayer and in praise of her makings. She is loved by a Mama devoutly defined by the hope He provides. She has a Daddy jonesin' to protect her from now until infinity. And, she has a Creator who knows just how to weave. Stories and people make beautiful things. He twirls all us together for a reason. <i>We cannot wait to meet you, Stella Grace Hardy.</i></div>
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.mac :)</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-2436500974033561722013-05-02T01:02:00.002-04:002013-05-02T08:40:06.354-04:00I made cake.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ijqKxrfFc50/UX9CXWlATEI/AAAAAAAAJGA/JFGUOuobbC4/s1600/cake+horizontal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="434" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ijqKxrfFc50/UX9CXWlATEI/AAAAAAAAJGA/JFGUOuobbC4/s800/cake+horizontal.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<i>Ineptness frequents me this time of year. </i> I find myself clinging to the intangible. I struggle with the ordinary. I whither within myself, too. <i>Truth sneers into my heart leaving it ramshackled & rummaged to a state entirely out of proportion. </i> There are years I allow this incessant ineptness to completely break me. Like a poor choice of a plastic spoon for ice cream thick & dense, I snap. Popping off right at the base, I leave behind only the rigid white plastic shaft of myself as a reminder I was there. <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/04/her.html">Last year</a> was one of those years. Then there are years when the numbness includes me. Gosh, I love the invite, too. The numb years may be the best ones of the lot. No huge shockwaves of memory. No jigsaw puzzles valiantly assembled only to realize that out of 1,000 pieces, you only have 999.</div>
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<b>This year I made cake</b>. <i> I don't know why.</i> As best as I can see it, my hands are the vocal cords of my heart. Gravitationally speaking, I had to. My body pursued a movement busy & task oriented before my mind could offer up any stamp of approval. I operated with a quasi-level of consciousness. I drifted in only to find myself so far outside the entire production. Coconut oil replaced vegetable oil because <strike>its healthier for you</strike> we were out of vegetable oil. I semi-measured. I didn't time its baking. I just assembled with the intentions of completion, yet with little conviction of flavor or finished product. To beat it all, I made coconut cake. <i> 1 out of 4 members in our household like coconut cake. </i></div>
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<i>I made it the day before.</i> Anticipation of the dreaded 24 hour reminder always makes me antsy. I'm never best at facing a train heading straight on. Particularly, when I am reminded of how many of us stand on these railroad tracks. <i>This train will pass faster this year; you make cake</i>. At least my innards thought this to be a truth worth clinging to. </div>
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<b>The icing.</b> I made homemade buttercream. I felt the anguish welling wildly within me. I knew all too well that real butter makes the best buttercream. <i> I used margarine.</i> The sugar crystalized pudding was a poignant reminder of my state.<i><span style="font-size: large;"> Runny. Fragmented. Grainy.</span></i> <b>The color.</b> <i>I couldn't remember her favorite. </i> I wanted to say it was green, but then I remember our home having a lot of blues. <i>Damnit, what was her favorite color? </i> I swelled ridiculously with mayhem; I had to leave the dripping concentration for reflection. Moreover, to avoid the inevitable. <b>Tomorrow was the day</b>. <i>And, I knew not her favorite color. </i></div>
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One hour later, with my composure somewhat regained, I worked to create turquoise. My over mixed <strike>human altered fat source</strike> margarine could now claim a color. I sanctified my ineptness with smears of blue-green onto a cake half heartedly created. Lumps pooled at its base; cracks of cake rejected its covering. <i> I am those cracks every year. </i><b> Every year.</b></div>
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A loss was before me. The unwanted, unpopular coconut flavor found itself saturated with soups of the equal parts turquoise mixture. <i><span style="font-size: large;"> I couldn't remember her favorite color.</span></i> Spontaneously charged with emotion, I bounded out to right this wrong. Grasping at whatever it took to visually create an outside unscathed by the damage already done internally, I would save this cake. <i>I tried to do this exact same thing 17 years ago.</i></div>
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With new bowlfuls of real butter infused frosting made, I moved to mask the disaster. I smoothed and rounded the sides with purpose. Placing the knife aptly so, my tears fell. Alone in my kitchen, I grieved her. I charged on with even more tenacity to cover and to conceal the cracks. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I could do this. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I could do this. </span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">I could not.</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-94hLMIgI914/UX9CXpEpjZI/AAAAAAAAJGI/xI800Jn7Eow/s1600/cake+vertical.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-94hLMIgI914/UX9CXpEpjZI/AAAAAAAAJGI/xI800Jn7Eow/s800/cake+vertical.jpg" width="435" /></a></div>
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Tomorrow she would be gone 17 years. Tomorrow I would grieve her all over again. I would remember her smell. I would feel through the hours each & every one. I would wait for the rain, too. Numbness did not send me an invitation this year. Half heartedly this cake became. Cracks, substitutions and corrections are my reminders.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strike>1,000</strike><b> 999 pieces.</b></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I made cake.</span></i></div>
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.mac </div>
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Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-5834747373782167332013-04-13T23:40:00.000-04:002013-04-14T09:06:00.687-04:004.4 = 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7JvUBkzsOGM/UWodfJLub8I/AAAAAAAAJFo/E6DvVu51MqQ/s1600/Eli's+8th+Birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7JvUBkzsOGM/UWodfJLub8I/AAAAAAAAJFo/E6DvVu51MqQ/s640/Eli's+8th+Birthday.jpg" width="454" /></a></div>
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<i>He grows outside of me.</i> Beyond my grasps and above my anticipations. He is strong. I can't decide whether it's more on the outside or within. I like to think it's both. His intensity continues to manifest in his passions. And, with this, I smile wide where my cheeks tingle. <b>He is His</b>. Decided and appointed to the most glorious place <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/03/joy-bomb.html">on this day</a>. <i> He will be home.</i> <b>They tingle even more.</b> Eight years I have loved him; eight years he has made more of me. His attentiveness to detail is precious to my soul. His obedience and tender heart believe in the good. He is a worker and a teacher. He studies and seeks out knowledge. He sets goals unafraid of the climb. Loyalty and protection are his mainstays. This young man will move the world for better. He will right wrongs, and he will light fires. A woman will be blessed one day by his devotion, moreover his unbelievable love. I am his. <b> Eight years.</b> <i>He grows outside of me. </i></div>
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<i>Happy new year of life, Eli Garrett.</i></div>
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Mama :)</div>
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{week 45: <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/my%202%20in%2052">my 2 in 52</a>}</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-1030832220510779592013-03-26T13:59:00.000-04:002013-03-26T15:18:54.876-04:00{before the sun}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1V8xHzrhUPk/UU3JfY9qFEI/AAAAAAAAJE0/y8YuIaZAnq0/s1600/sunrise+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="488" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1V8xHzrhUPk/UU3JfY9qFEI/AAAAAAAAJE0/y8YuIaZAnq0/s800/sunrise+2.png" width="575" /></a></div>
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God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul. <i>I can feel their presence. Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell.</i> Rich with desires deep. Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow. Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center. My insides are better because of their place in my world.</div>
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I woke up to 37 early. Well before the sun and my alarm clock. It was a resolute awakening from a slumber on the surface of me. No glitter pops or fancy heels were in my future. No <i>hoopty-hoops</i> and <i>holla-atchus</i> either. I woke with a clarity magnified by a sweet peace on my day <i>of me.</i><br />
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His breathes were so sound and serene amid the wee hours. I took the time to press in against him only to find warmth and my favorite spot for snuggling. Right underneath his ear lobe and a little before his jaw line.<i> My nose knows the spot.</i> Deep in a world of dreams, he was unbeknownst and bothered none by my invasion of him. I was careful to pull the covers close around his broad shoulders only to slide out from the bounds of the place I share with my husband.<br />
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Routine knows the way around a 37 year old. They have an established history of friendship together you see. It seems their camaraderie manifested <i>oh about year 33</i>. Nighttime regimens like lip balm of the specific brand, wrinkle cream slathered, reading before bed, checking the weather and coffee pots programmed all fit right nicely with multi-vitamins, reading glasses, bi-weekly grocery trips, favorite fabric softeners and bill paying day. It was no surprise that I maneuvered with ease into my clothing and perfected my dental hygiene all in a bathroom of darkness. Thirty-seven has a way of just knowing the proximity and placement of everything.</div>
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I sidled into a cold car and was off at an early pace. On my agenda before full-on day break was a grocery store trip, a 4 gallon Weigel's milk stop along with a gasoline investment and a 3 mile run at that. My morning was still and in motion. My mind worked methodically and with a continuous melody too. </div>
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<b>And, behold, there were gifts.</b> <i><span style="font-size: large;">For me.</span></i> Each one wrapped in kindness and given to me by strangers. A lady dressed head-to-toe in a neon green public works uniform at Weigel's held the door <i>for me</i> as I left laden with 4 gallons of milk with just 2 hands for holding. A man lying flat on the floor still in full pursuit of hefty shelf stocking at Wal-Mart took the time to ask me if I needed any help once he spotted my quizzical look of <i>wherethehellisthewheatgerm.</i> With a bright gladness, his tired eyes guided me to the next row over only reach to the back of the top shelf <i>for me</i> and place into my hands the desired product. A multitude of<i> goodmornings</i> and <i>howareyous</i>. Eye contact and smiles found me head on. It's as if God was saying, <i>"I love you, dear one. Welcome into your 37th year on My calendar."</i> With each face I met, I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the simple goodness spread in a world capsizing all too quickly to hate and hurry. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">She was rushed.</span></i> I watched as her eyes met her watch at least 3 times in a matter of 2 minutes. In her son's hand was a carousel of bakery made cupcakes. In hers, a box of Capri-Suns. I knew today was just as much his as it was mine. Beyond the wrinkled forehead and stress filled eyes, this Mama's heart knew that today he deserved to celebrate. A mother's love will fight time and push around boundaries for their little one. I knew the check-out line accumulated was not in her budget of minutes. </div>
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It was as if I was outside of myself as I watched them from behind me. Her foot tapping. His happy transfixed gaze with pride filled eyes at each hexagon shaped sprinkle scattered atop the tiny cupcakes through the plastic container's view. Her shift to and fro of the Capri-Sun cardboard box's weight. <b>I operated on His time. </b> <i>"Happy Birthday, man!"</i> I said. His smile exploded from his face as if to say, <i>"How did you know?"</i> Her smile was there briefly but faded quickly as she loitered on the noted boisterous basket of groceries I had in a procured state<b> in front</b> of them in line. I reached out to pat him on the shoulder leaving my buggy ahead and abandoned for I, too, was in queue for the next active customer status. </div>
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Today was his 8th birthday. He loved Legos. He couldn't wait as this was his last day of school before Spring Break. They were watching a movie that afternoon in school and he was bringing cupcakes and Capri-Suns to celebrate his birthday with his classmates. As his excitement filled my ear's space, I watched for an abbreviated moment as his Mama melted into his magical. Her face forgot about time and for just a tiny bit, she remembered exactly why she was in this line. <i>For him.</i> <b><i> Yes, for Him.</i></b></div>
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My heart catapulted out of my chest with joy for this little 8 year old boy and his Mama. A Mama who was reminded of the good she has within, better yet, for the good she is giving out to the hands and feet she gave life to a mere 8 years ago on this day. With a warm spacious energy, I found my hand on her shoulder congratulating her for the 8 year old masterpiece that belonged to her. She thanked me kindly with a glow that only a mother can emit. </div>
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With that, I moved ahead to my space in line and in my completely offhanded, energy driven <i>"Meghan Fashion"</i>, I began to make the sound that trucks make when backing up. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP."</span></b></div>
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<i>"In honor of one wonderful Mama and her birthday boy, I give you my space in line."</i> I announced. Relief filled in the wrinkled spaces of her forehead. <i>"Oh, thank you! Are you sure?" </i>immediately were the words expelled from her being. <b> I insisted.</b> The little boy never took his eyes of the hexagon shaped sprinkles. The cashier actually had to use the scanner gun to ring them up as he asked to keep them in his hands. </div>
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<b>Off they went. </b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Their day beginning before the sun. </span></i></div>
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On my way home, I opted for the sunroof open. It was crisp. Quite the acute form of cold for the second official day of Spring. I won't forget my hair whipping loosely in the wind that flapped downward into my interior console. My sweatsuit felt warm and snuggly against my skin. My fingers were tapping some off beat rhythm I had no recollection of. But, they tapped on just the same. I could smell my moisturizer on my face as it wasn't even a full hour old from being applied. Its smell wrapped over me. It gave me a feeling of completeness I really can't explain. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1V8xHzrhUPk/UU3JfY9qFEI/AAAAAAAAJE0/y8YuIaZAnq0/s1600/sunrise+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="488" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1V8xHzrhUPk/UU3JfY9qFEI/AAAAAAAAJE0/y8YuIaZAnq0/s800/sunrise+2.png" width="575" /></a></div>
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On a back road in our small rural sorta-new-to-us tiny town, I topped a hill, and<span style="font-size: large;"><i> He smiled at me.</i></span> Tears streamlined down my soft cheeks of 37 as I opened yet another gift. My car slowed to a stop. I grabbed my phone and took the above picture as my heart had every right to open this one with each single paper tear. </div>
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God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul. <i>I can feel their presence. Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell.</i> Rich with desires deep. Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow. Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center. My insides are better because of their place in my world.</div>
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Yes, routine may know the way around a 37 year old. But, it seems the older routine and I get, there is another One we are beginning to know our way around. The potential glow of the One who wakes before the sun is one I am proud to call <i>friend.</i> Blessed are the ones able to give and to receive. Thank you, God, for my colors. For Your stories, too. <b>A new year of life I do declare.</b></div>
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.mac </div>
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Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-19267642709629410642013-03-18T08:13:00.000-04:002013-03-18T12:28:12.917-04:00{joy bomb}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u3P68EFwOdg/URHiBQeOE5I/AAAAAAAAH98/IJKyrlE0LHg/s1600/joy+bomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u3P68EFwOdg/URHiBQeOE5I/AAAAAAAAH98/IJKyrlE0LHg/s640/joy+bomb.jpg" width="483" /></a></div>
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I woke up on this particular morning only to <i>smash-stomp </i>down on two G.I. Joe men who had camped out on my bedside floor. After my mumbling obscenities, all internally housed mind you, I stammered over to the <b>not 1, <span style="font-size: large;">but 3</span></b> laundry baskets full of tousled clean clothes in search for a hoodie sweatshirt. Mornings in our house of <i>"we need to save money on our heat bill"</i> are freakin' cold. Whilst sifting for my favorite gray paint stained hoodie with the broken zipper <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>{the one which I procured back in 1998 from my first year of teaching elementary school's end-of-the-school-year last chance at lost & found items}</i></span>, I chided myself for not having a better toy management system implemented and running in our home. Yes, much like visions of sugarplums dancing, amid my self rebuking, I envisioned the boys' toy room glossy and pressed into the pages of <a href="http://www.potterybarnkids.com/?cm_type=gnav">Pottery Barn Kids'</a> magazine. Yes, each boy had their <a href="http://www.potterybarnkids.com/search/results.html?words=chairs&cm_sp=OnsiteSearch-_-GlobalNav-_-Button&type-ahead-viewset=ecom">signature color lounge chairs with their names crisply embroidered</a>. Ceiling to floor wall systems were in place complete with color coordinated buckets labeled in vinyl letters with each supply situated in its appropriate spot. Toys were housed in huge willow & wicker baskets with chalk board name tags just so. And, don't forget the rug and <i>absolute out-of-your-Pinterest-world</i> paint job. For my visual readers, something like <a href="http://www.potterybarnkids.com/room/rom/romply/romplylowenv/?cm_src=productsearch">this</a>.</div>
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Groveling in my pity of <i>"I have no time, and that money should go towards our wonderful & quite hefty liberal arts private college loans instead"</i>, my eye caught a glimpse something atop my nightstand that most certainly did not belong. Unbeknownst to me, I slept with a grenade 2 feet from my head. I have no doubt it was Casey's doings. He's into like shape grouping. We worked on cylinders this particular week. <b>Guilty soldier</b>.</div>
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Yes, my day was moving at a swift and remarkably happy pace thus far. <i><span style="font-size: large;">Ahem.</span></i> I fought back visions of a clean home sterile and void of all ridiculous noise making contraptions, Nerf guns, Hot Wheels cars, Legos under foot, and Army men too. It wasn't until I was soundly through my 2nd full cup of coffee that my mindset was back to the quasi-stable camp of <i>"They're 6 & 7 years old. Deal with it, Meghan."</i></div>
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Every morning before we begin our school day, I have prayer time with each boy individually. I keep a written journal of their verbal requests for prayer. Once logged, I wrap my arms around them, and pray over them with the words from their heart. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r6nlBLk1Ih0/UTiRWaEIpnI/AAAAAAAAJDI/Qb_6kLE40_I/s1600/Casey-February+5,+2013-date.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r6nlBLk1Ih0/UTiRWaEIpnI/AAAAAAAAJDI/Qb_6kLE40_I/s640/Casey-February+5,+2013-date.jpg" width="442" /></a></div>
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The grenade 2 feet away from my head & all night long was a joy bomb just waiting to explode. Rupturing goodness and eternity from this day forward. Casey McGill asked Jesus Christ to live in his heart during our prayer time this morning. Through our family devotions, prayer time together and involvement in church, the Lord had been working on this little guy. <i>Casey felt it. </i> He understood the sacrifice Jesus made, the reasons why and the commitment. I had the pleasure of leading my emotionally charged little lefty to the Lord. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q78UNUPIg4k/UTiRWJ-GKrI/AAAAAAAAJDE/Dje2bn_eTBc/s1600/Eli-February+7,+2013-date.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q78UNUPIg4k/UTiRWJ-GKrI/AAAAAAAAJDE/Dje2bn_eTBc/s640/Eli-February+7,+2013-date.jpg" width="542" /></a></div>
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My internally packed oldest, <i>the quiet observer and resolute one,</i> had Jesus on his heart well before his little brother. His path to salvation had been walked for longer. Footprints had been repeated back & forth and back & forth again in his mind. Eli needed time. He needed the space to soak Jesus in. His comprehension was secure in Jesus' love & sacrifice, but his heart needed to catch up with the cause. Two days after his younger brother's act of obedience, Eli Garrett accepted Jesus' invitation for <b>forever.</b> I had the privilege to lead my son to a life in Heaven and a commitment to forever walk in His ways.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bhlvd28EYBM/UTiQLOBmIAI/AAAAAAAAJCo/qkMnsL8LC9w/s1600/Boys'+Celebration+of+Salvation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bhlvd28EYBM/UTiQLOBmIAI/AAAAAAAAJCo/qkMnsL8LC9w/s640/Boys'+Celebration+of+Salvation.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
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We celebrated as a family. <span style="font-size: large;">Hugs & high fives.</span> Long talks about the responsibility and joy that now resides in their place on this Earth. Kenny even made sure to contact our pastor for guidance on moving forward with our sons' commitment to Christ. Kenny and I rejoice and have committed to the work in strengthening and supporting their walk as His forever. We know in the 6 & 7 years of their life on this Earth little adversity has been thrown their way. We understand their walk as His child will be constantly tested. But, we know their decision on these respective days are nothing short of a joy bomb. <b><span style="font-size: large;">Heaven gained our boys.</span></b></div>
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As a mother, it is guaranteed you will have asylum type moments of <b>CAP LOCKED $%&*#</b> when the job before you is garbled and the look book of child rearing is taunting and unattainable too. No Pottery Barn Kids' organization wall unit can house the <i><span style="font-size: large;">live out</span></i> of the love you have been blessed to give life to. I love how God so frequently reminds me of this with G.I. Joes underfoot. I love how He moves in & out of our conscience and into our material world. He ties & binds it all. He reminds us that the journey is not meant for neat & clean. It's meant for more. <i><b>Of yourself. Of others. Of Him. </b></i>And, He knows just when to the pull the pin on the joy bomb of our hearts for His forever. </div>
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{week 46: <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/my%202%20in%2052">my 2 in 52</a>}</div>
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.mac :)Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-77712270291000479542013-03-12T10:13:00.002-04:002013-03-13T08:40:53.613-04:00{start to finish}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UoQiUs-8ClQ/UT8ivNaInJI/AAAAAAAAJDk/LbFZu3fXBcs/s1600/3.11.13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="489" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UoQiUs-8ClQ/UT8ivNaInJI/AAAAAAAAJDk/LbFZu3fXBcs/s800/3.11.13.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
Life is a collection of yesterdays. And, all too often life's pace has a way of leaping us ahead of tomorrow and even already into next week or month sadly enough. Prior to the purchase of a fancy camera or an iPhone, I took the time to document a day with the boys from start to finish<a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-today.html"> here.</a> With no words and just pictures, this 4 year old memory is one I cherish looking back on. Now, with both the treasures of a fancy camera <b><span style="font-size: large;">and</span></b> an iPhone, I decided there really are no excuses for not capturing the heartbeat of our home on a daily basis more often. <i> No editing. No fancy.</i> <b>Life. </b><span style="font-size: large;">Real & right before us. </span> <b>Happening. </b> It is my hope to manage memories a little more meaningful by using the gift of <i>wicked awesome</i> from one Mr. Steve Jobs. <br />
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I give you our 3.11.13 from start-to-finish:<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">{from left to right by rows}:</span></i><br />
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<li>I began my day in prayer. I was on Day 21 of my 40 day prayer challenge reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Draw-Circle-The-Prayer-Challenge/dp/0310327121">this book</a>. It talked about praying for the discernment of God's will for your life. I liked that it spoke of your will being for His glory. I long to be more unselfish in my walk.<i> He is working on me in big ways here.</i></li>
<li>I then went to take the recycling to the garage. Once there, I looked over to see my car freshly washed on Sunday afternoon by Kenny. I stopped right then, snapped a picture and then thanked God for the sweet gift of a clean car from my husband.</li>
<li>Math time outside with basketball and chalk was just after spelling & writing time. <b>Hit 2-Solve 2 </b>is our drill. Eli and Casey both are blowing me away with their math skill comprehension. <i>They get it. They love to show they get it. </i> Their accuracy and proficiency is a blessing and a joy for this teacher/mama.</li>
<li><i>Inside for carpet math. Time & money. <b> </b></i><b>Brother check and Mama monitor. </b> <span style="font-size: large;">Challenges. </span><i>Quarter till. Quarter after. Half past. 1:07. 8:48. Change back.</i> <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Rockstars. </b></span></li>
<li>Casey Face helped me make sandwich bread pizza for lunch. We made a community plate and pretended we were eating in a restaurant.</li>
<li><i>Two men delivered flowers to my doorstep. </i> I love getting flowers!</li>
<li>After lunch, Eli wanted to count money and give himself challenges all on his own. <span style="font-size: x-small;">The power of self motivation is noted here.</span></li>
<li>We stopped to take an hour break from school so I could finish up some sewing. I snapped this picture from my sewing studio window. Eli is in camo gear with a muscle basketball shirt and combat helmet. Casey is from head-to-toe in Superman costume. They are pretending they are in battle. </li>
<li>I finished 2 <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150496072317666.363111.329465302665&type=3">Nantucketts</a> during this 60 minute time span.</li>
<li>On the way to the post office, Eli brought his Harry Potter book he is reading independently. He is on the 2nd book of the series. At a red light, I snapped this picture of him laughing at something funny in the book. </li>
<li>On the way home from the post office, it started raining. </li>
<li>I received this image from my best friend. It is of Jeremiah 29:11 that I sent to her in the mail. She sent this picture to me thanking me for sending her encouragement and letting me know that OCD in her put it in a ziploc bag so it wouldn't get messed up as she planned to carry it in her purse with her at all times. I stopped and thanked Him for her and the joy she brings my life when I received this text.</li>
<li><i>I'm wearing navy on my nails this week. </i> Had a little fun with my index finger and pinstripes. </li>
<li>Upon returning home from the post office, I read with each boy for our reading time. Snapped a picture of reading with Casey on his bed. It was sheet washing day, so we piled atop a naked bed and sprawled out to read. He is mastering huge words. His intonation is <b>just the best.</b> He loves getting into each character in the story. Reading is becoming a joy with him. I love that he has "b" snuggled up under him while reading. This serves as a soft spot to this homeschooling Mama. "B" wouldn't be in his classroom. <i>"B" makes everything possible to Casey.</i></li>
<li>I timed myself 3 different times during the day for 5 minute intervals to stop in our living room and fold laundry. It stayed their until it all was folded by around 9:00 PM and then just moved into piles in each bedroom to be put away the next day. I liked that I didn't let it overwhelm or consume me to finish. Laundry is a priority. <span style="font-size: large;">It is not<b> THE</b> priority. </span> Love the image of Jack & Jill, our cats, piled up sleeping together in the recliner.</li>
<li>Evening time we began our monthly canvas project. Art time brings out the best in my boys. Their mood settles and lifts. Teamwork beams out of them, too. I love that they talk the entire time about their plans for the project bouncing ideas off one another</li>
<li>I joined them in painting working on some dreams I have for myself. This mess serves as sweet reminder of what together looks like. I left this mess just right where it was to go workout with Kenny. I enjoy this time together with him. <b>We endure. We sweat. </b>We are making the choice to make our bodies stronger. </li>
<li>While monitoring Casey's bath, I drank a glass of wine and sat on closed toilet seat and talked with him. I also sent this picture text to 3 of my girls in a group message toasting them to friendship. I loved that I got 3 pictures back from each of them as a toast back. Sometimes these <i>sweet easys</i> are the love that lifts us most.</li>
<li>I love the blueberry cheesecake candle burning in my living room. It is my absolute favorite scent I sell. I decided to snap a picture and spread the word on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/kMac/329465302665">k.Mac Facebook page</a> about the upcoming sale of this scent. <i> Impromptu & all.</i></li>
<li>I snapped this picture in my socks and on the wet concrete of my back porch. It was as if heaven was smiling down and saying, <i>"I can hardly wait for you!"</i> After this, I came inside, finished folding laundry and watched The Biggest Loser with the entire family. We then had our family devotion time where we finished our first devotion book together. Prayers and boys to bed left time for Kenny and I to talk with sleepy eyes and in between yawns about our day in tidbit fashion. I showered, lubed up with an excessive amount of wrinkle cream and then snuggled my guy until dreams found me.</li>
</ul>
<b>Start to finish</b>. <span style="font-size: large;"> Life's yesterday.</span> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Thank you, Steve Jobs.</span></i><br />
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.mac :)Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-28163891784916983792013-03-08T08:51:00.004-05:002013-03-08T12:52:08.078-05:00{divulge}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T5B93YFsoqY/USQiJgCA5KI/AAAAAAAAIus/jcYDqtRnNCM/s1600/%5Bdivulge%7D-February.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T5B93YFsoqY/USQiJgCA5KI/AAAAAAAAIus/jcYDqtRnNCM/s800/%5Bdivulge%7D-February.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Look at me.</i> I'm in an overcoat and it's all cinched up. You realize I know what's going through your mind. <b>Clairvoyance and me are twisted sisters.</b> <i>Where on Earth did she find that coat? There ain't no telling what get up she's got on up under there. How does Eli keep a straight face when he photographs his Mama every month? Does <a href="http://www.goodwill.org/">Goodwill</a> realize she could be like the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fgbz7oZbCuw">blonde Target girl in the Christmas commercials from 2011</a> for their company? She's is for real that <b>out there</b>. I mean does she really get obsessive amounts of joy from good deals <strike>and donuts</strike>.</i> <b> Scratch the donut part.</b> <span style="font-size: large;">I said that. </span>Not you.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y2kIUU6NOkU/USQid71tUgI/AAAAAAAAIu0/i99J7Mlg8WA/s1600/February-close+up+of+jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y2kIUU6NOkU/USQid71tUgI/AAAAAAAAIu0/i99J7Mlg8WA/s800/February-close+up+of+jacket.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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February was my month to <i>divulge.</i> If you sit long enough on that 7 letter display, it can leave you feeling sneaky. At least it did me when I sat down to decide my words of each month for 2013. I hemmed and hawed over February. My gut said, <i>"Divulge is your word. It fits."</i> But, my social innards said, <i>"Fool, what are you doing? You know they already think you're a fruit loop for these monthly parades already."</i> I let them internally hash it out for a bit, and then, like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dwayne_Johnson">The Rock</a>, I decided to lay the smack down on good ole social innards. My girl, Clairvoyance, tells me street-like and all the time, <i> "Haters gonna hate. Go on and do your thing. I'm out ahead of you, remember? I got you, Boo."</i></div>
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<b>So, I'm divulging.</b></div>
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For those all new to this monthly-merry-round, go <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/01/connect.html">here </a>to read about my new word for 2013. It'll be all the cliff notes you need. Then you can go ahead and skip on over <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/02/saturate.html">here</a> to read about my word for January. And, if you're <strike>feeling totally inspired and ready to shop Goodwill and completely up for re-vamping your life in a real kinda way</strike> bored and need some more things to divert your attention from the pile of work on your desk, the heaping dishes climbing out of your sink or that huge project you are excessively behind on, then by all means, go <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/Rhythm%20Nation%202012">here</a> to read all about my 2012. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dv_zVng4pPk/USQiecUOjRI/AAAAAAAAIvM/5oN8wjMr4uo/s1600/February-hip+on+coat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dv_zVng4pPk/USQiecUOjRI/AAAAAAAAIvM/5oN8wjMr4uo/s800/February-hip+on+coat.jpg" width="409" /></a></div>
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<i>You've already scrolled down to see what's under my coat, haven't you?</i> Clairvoyance tells me all her secrets. <b>Told you we were tight.</b> Consider yourself <i>buh-<span style="font-size: large;">usted</span></i>. Divulge means to make known. I loved that in my dictionary it has this in parentheses <i><span style="font-size: large;">(private or sensitive information)</span></i>. <i>How many of us keep our own set of parentheses nearby and handy for the yucky parts of our lives? </i> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Guilty.</span> <b>I told you she tells me everything.</b></div>
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I give you my story board mission for February:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kvSkxaMOxco/UTIIYywtW5I/AAAAAAAAI_g/XRzBcOL2lVA/s1600/February-mission+with+words.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kvSkxaMOxco/UTIIYywtW5I/AAAAAAAAI_g/XRzBcOL2lVA/s800/February-mission+with+words.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Romans 12:2---</span></b><i>Game changer.</i> Clairvoyance tells me all the time. <i>Your score card is in His hands.</i> <b>Remember that.</b> My place & my face on this globe is for getting out the glory of Him. Giving it in doses large. And, moving out of my own way when my sour gets the best of me. <b>The mind is a powerful place. </b> Lots of room to let ugly set up camp if you aren't careful. The camp counselors at Ugly Camp have dreadful uniforms, too. <i>They wear horns and carry pitch forks. </i> <b>Poof. BE GONE.</b> <span style="font-size: large;">I am His.</span> <i>Game changer.</i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Dump---</span></b>I suck at a lot of things. I am good at some too. This month I chose to focus on not letting the not-so-nice parts of me control who I am. I am noticing that the more I focus on what I can't do well, the more my heart holds unhappiness. Moreover, the more my mind suffocates the goodness that I do possess. And, before you know it, I am captive to myself. <b> Stuck in my own muck.</b> I'm wallering in it and completely coated in nothing hopeful, helpful or positive for myself or others. February was my month to dump it. Dump out the honesty of my yucky in so to speak. <i>So, here I go. </i>I'm flippin' the script on divulge. I'm taking that sneaky connotation and knocking it down with the out & out truth. <b>Consider my parentheses exposed:</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">( )</span></div>
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<ul>
<li>I am my <b>biggest</b> enemy.</li>
<li>I wrestle far too much with perfection.</li>
<li>I struggle with rest both inside and out.</li>
<li>I am stubborn with change.</li>
<li>I steal happiness from myself.</li>
<li>I second guess excessively.</li>
<li>I say sorry way too much and for unnecessary things.</li>
<li>I struggle with being confident in conflicts.</li>
<li>I am not a great listener.</li>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">There.</span></b> I dumped it to all 4 of you who read me. <b>And, better yet, I dumped it to God.</b><span style="font-size: x-small;"> He reads me by the way.</span> And, He is rocking my socks off. He slammed this doozy that follows into my prayer time this month out of no where: </div>
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<i>Your attitude exudes you eternally, Meg. Your body will wrinkle. Your health may fail. Your circumstances will fluctuate. You will develop chin hairs that you must pluck incessantly. Your Mom did die. Your boobs will sag. Your money will come and go. Your children will grow up and move away. But, your attitude is eternal. In every phase of life. With every circumstance. Your attitude is your constant. </i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">BAM. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Camp Ugly is now closed for renovations. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Expect---</span></b>good things. Change comes about when we put our foot down on the fickle of us. It's that deciding moment when we just stop the excuses of <i>I can't exercise or I don't pray as much as I should or I can't save money like I need to or I wish I had more friends, but I don't or I want to be happy, but I'm just not.</i> <b>We stop them. </b><span style="font-size: large;"><b> All of the excuses.</b></span> We take stock in what our heart really desires, and then formulate a plan for change that best fits the goal.<i> The solutions are never found if they're never really sought after, are they?</i> The work put in has been uphill for me as I have begun this expectation shift. But, without a doubt, I am seeing the good things. My dumping along with my expecting is one helluva tag team combo slowly moving me towards a much needed mind makeover. <b>Fickle is easy.</b> It's safe & snug all surrounded with excuses. Writing down my specific <i>ever-excuses</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">(the ones I have made forever on the things I say I want to change)</span> and tackling them with a clear action plan is working for me in big and evident ways.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Express---</span></b>if I felt it, I said it. <b>Too often I sit on my heart. </b> I either do one of two things: </div>
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<li><b>I'm lazy and don't follow through on something tugging at me to share. </b></li>
<li><b>I worry about putting myself out there too much and what people might think. </b> </li>
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I sent text messages, made phone calls, put cards in the mail, looked people in faces. I did all of this to swim the upstream of my heart's inhibitions. Laziness and fear are my proverbial <i>what has she got on under that coat.</i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Allow---</span></b>God in on it all. <b>Like for real this time.</b> I have ugly cried on His shoulder, <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-solider-in-white.html">remember?</a> <i>I will do it again if needed, too.</i> This month I placed myself in the passenger seat. I turned over the keys and just buckled up. I asked specific and big things of Him for myself and others.<b> I expect His answers will come. </b> And, I am allowing Him to do great things in me and in those others, too. <b> For Him.</b> I love how gentle and open the word <i><span style="font-size: large;">allow </span></i>leaves me feeling. I told all my tricky. I divulged my deep. I blurted out my <i>busting-at-the-seams </i>happy to Him, too. <b>I am allowing him in on it all.</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Accommodate---</span></b>my schedule and my work flow. My family needs me.<b> I need them.</b> It was time I looked at ways to hone in on making more of my days for the benefit of all involved. My days started earlier and my time became more regimented this month. Quitting times were enforced and set times for work, play and school were maximized. I realized this month that little times reserved for <i>let down </i>can do wonders to your mindset. By reconfiguring how our day ran from start to finish, I not only accommodated more efficient work, but I also intensified my joys.</div>
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My mannequin story board for February:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3ueEm7zKIAk/UTIIY_ryMVI/AAAAAAAAI_k/N12Ae7-LHho/s1600/February-mannequin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="409" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3ueEm7zKIAk/UTIIY_ryMVI/AAAAAAAAI_k/N12Ae7-LHho/s800/February-mannequin.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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My morale:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6TuczMd-zCI/UTIIZyCaQdI/AAAAAAAAI_4/FW78wsPEa7Q/s1600/morale-february.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6TuczMd-zCI/UTIIZyCaQdI/AAAAAAAAI_4/FW78wsPEa7Q/s800/morale-february.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b>Random notes of the above: </b> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I like nail color A LOT. I know every name of the Insanity workout video crew and I pretend we all high five after every workout. <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/03/layered.html">Butterfinger Blondies</a> are da bomb. I'm a hippy at heart. I've missed writing hand written notes. My boys are best friends. A new water cup is a treat. So are K-May Apple Fritter Donuts. Talking for hours on the phone to a friend you haven't spoken to in 18 years totally rocks. Kids have it all figured out. Good books make good moves in you.</span></div>
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I give you my morals from February:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8jCbFVh9uz8/UTIS79_E1DI/AAAAAAAAJAQ/CxfEcqrwkG4/s1600/morals-+February.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="323" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8jCbFVh9uz8/UTIS79_E1DI/AAAAAAAAJAQ/CxfEcqrwkG4/s800/morals-+February.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Everything is better...</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RTwR6BeUbNg/USQieGo_B4I/AAAAAAAAIu8/iGVLYRSqTQ4/s1600/February-+black+and+white+face+on.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RTwR6BeUbNg/USQieGo_B4I/AAAAAAAAIu8/iGVLYRSqTQ4/s800/February-+black+and+white+face+on.jpg" width="417" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">when you live outside the shadows of you.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2oeBJ1KPysI/UTIYn75UxeI/AAAAAAAAJAw/O9JwQdeyf8M/s1600/February-face+on.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2oeBJ1KPysI/UTIYn75UxeI/AAAAAAAAJAw/O9JwQdeyf8M/s800/February-face+on.jpg" width="417" /></a></div>
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One of the most profound things I read this month came from my 6 year old. In his free write journal about the human body, he wrote this:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DimUb4bK0vM/UTIX0U5q2vI/AAAAAAAAJAo/rGLR_wORvfQ/s1600/casey+note.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DimUb4bK0vM/UTIX0U5q2vI/AAAAAAAAJAo/rGLR_wORvfQ/s800/casey+note.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b>1 life.</b> </div>
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<b>1 body</b>. </div>
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<i> He "givs" it.</i> </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">One.</span></b> </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Gift.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b> </div>
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<i>Noted, Casey Face.</i></div>
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<b>Thank you, boy.</b></div>
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A sprinkled assortment of the Goodwill markdowns I found this month:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ujvA5MKAwK8/UTIV8Ak2V8I/AAAAAAAAJAY/ghrWIerwWII/s1600/markdowns-february.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="448" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ujvA5MKAwK8/UTIV8Ak2V8I/AAAAAAAAJAY/ghrWIerwWII/s800/markdowns-february.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b>Leather full length jacket:</b> <span style="font-size: x-small;">$9.99 1/2 off weekend </span></div>
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<b>Ralph Lauren seersucker shirt for Eli:</b> <span style="font-size: x-small;">$1.99 1/2 off weekend</span></div>
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<b>Gap boyfriend jeans:</b> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> $2.25 1/2 off weekend</span></div>
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<b>Cream leather jacket:</b> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> $4.99 1/2 off weekend</span></div>
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<b>Old Navy jacket WITH TAGS:</b> <span style="font-size: x-small;">$2.25 1/2 off weekend</span></div>
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<b>Ralph Lauren khakis for Eli:</b> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> $1.99 1/2 off weekend</span></div>
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<i>Um, read'em and weep</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>{please note original tags still on along with the original price}:</b></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rnY_6Ljwz2s/UTIZGJqNZNI/AAAAAAAAJA4/ODrq3-xGtxA/s1600/limited+sweater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rnY_6Ljwz2s/UTIZGJqNZNI/AAAAAAAAJA4/ODrq3-xGtxA/s800/limited+sweater.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Yes, this happens:</i></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ds84082V0S0/UTIZGP3SM1I/AAAAAAAAJA8/NYiR8I0C030/s1600/GW+stack+tag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="435" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ds84082V0S0/UTIZGP3SM1I/AAAAAAAAJA8/NYiR8I0C030/s800/GW+stack+tag.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>How'd I do this month?</i></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5gMgMx-BFNk/UTIIZRxCALI/AAAAAAAAI_w/sfk90x4qd74/s1600/February+measure+score+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="335" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5gMgMx-BFNk/UTIIZRxCALI/AAAAAAAAI_w/sfk90x4qd74/s800/February+measure+score+card.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ziJrEIjyzbE/USQienvEdtI/AAAAAAAAIvA/IaqvUDepvKk/s1600/february+1+jacket+shoulder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ziJrEIjyzbE/USQienvEdtI/AAAAAAAAIvA/IaqvUDepvKk/s800/february+1+jacket+shoulder.jpg" width="377" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Ensemble statistics:</span></b></div>
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<b>coat:</b> $9.99 GW</div>
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<b>leggings:</b> $5.00 Wal-Mart</div>
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<b>sweater:</b> Limited brand $2.25 GW</div>
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<b>leopard print tank:</b> $.25 GW</div>
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<b>scarf:</b> surprise gift from Kenny <span style="font-size: x-small;">{made by one of his sweet office ladies at school}</span>: FREE</div>
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<b>boots:</b> $20.00 going out of business sale in Chattanooga 2011.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">TOTAL OUTFIT INVESTMENT: $37. 49</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And, your thoughts, please?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><script charset="utf-8" src="http://static.polldaddy.com/p/6947494.js" type="text/javascript"></script></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><noscript><a href="http://polldaddy.com/poll/6947494/">How About This February?</a></noscript><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></b></b></span></div>
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<i>Sneaky? </i></div>
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<b>Heck no.</b> </div>
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<i>Seriously honest and ready for her best yet?</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You bet.</b></span> </div>
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<b>Gotta scoot.</b> </div>
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Me and my homegirl, Clair, are full-on looking into the crystal ball March of me. She and I are becoming just so close. I've even given her a nickname. <b><span style="font-size: large;"> Clarity.</span></b> <i>Twisted sisters for life. </i></div>
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.mac :)</div>
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<br />Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-51804575809861132002013-03-06T10:25:00.000-05:002013-03-06T10:25:19.150-05:00{imprints}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FApLHRaDYXk/UTdM2nrHOgI/AAAAAAAAJCM/3kEe-yH3pwQ/s1600/daddy+throw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FApLHRaDYXk/UTdM2nrHOgI/AAAAAAAAJCM/3kEe-yH3pwQ/s640/daddy+throw.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
There are people out ahead of us. <i>We watch them.</i> Intently & with eyes steady, we see who they are. We interpret their insides from the out hoping to find a little more of<i> the who we want to be</i>. The ones before us teach oftentimes without even saying a word. <b> Eyes make individuals out of us all.</b><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pVmXC8RXP9Q/UTdM3MgHPHI/AAAAAAAAJCY/gYyFxbYGsgA/s1600/eli+throw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="444" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pVmXC8RXP9Q/UTdM3MgHPHI/AAAAAAAAJCY/gYyFxbYGsgA/s640/eli+throw.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
Observance occupies our souls like heartbeats. Our emotions sidle in along the pump-thumping of what's before us too. Senses soak in the sights procured; <i>the us of us</i> becomes rounded by our everywhere.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AnaIpbZ538E/UTdM1vimgoI/AAAAAAAAJCA/ARlGY9Ebpmw/s1600/daddy+and+casey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="489" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AnaIpbZ538E/UTdM1vimgoI/AAAAAAAAJCA/ARlGY9Ebpmw/s640/daddy+and+casey.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
Stamped are we with the time given and the teachings too. Lessons formal and unplanned. The classroom of our journey never lets out for recess. <b>Who</b> we see and <b>how</b> we see it presses in on the rhythm of our hearts. Beats repeat as do the ones ahead of us.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNmaXHOlCLc/UTdM1aWIw6I/AAAAAAAAJB8/VHHBVFQVOAg/s1600/case+throw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="444" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNmaXHOlCLc/UTdM1aWIw6I/AAAAAAAAJB8/VHHBVFQVOAg/s640/case+throw.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Blessed are the ones who see love and grace. Who watch intentional. Who feel safe and encouraged. The strength of their individual is imprinted and returned out for the next ones to come. There are people out ahead of us. <i>We watch them.</i> Intently & with eyes steady, we see who they are. We interpret their insides from the out hoping to find a little more of <i>the who we want to be. </i><br />
<br />
.mac<br />
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{week 47: <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/my%202%20in%2052">my 2 in 52</a>}Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-13463159839441005452013-03-05T16:39:00.002-05:002013-03-05T18:47:05.415-05:00{layered}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1OjaxEJho4/UTXptFiu7AI/AAAAAAAAJBU/roW_AVmjukU/s1600/butterfinger+full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1OjaxEJho4/UTXptFiu7AI/AAAAAAAAJBU/roW_AVmjukU/s800/butterfinger+full.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">{Butterfnger Blondies}</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Who gets philosophical with desserts? </span></i> </div>
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<b>I'll give you 3 guesses.</b></div>
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I've been thinking about layers. They're pivotal. Without a doubt, the <i>one-atop-the-other</i> is a fixture in life. From a physical perspective, humans are comprised of an intricate collection of body system layers that work together to maintain life. Learning a task comes in a layered progression too. From watching a skill modeled, to guided practice and then finally independent trials, new information grows and gives birth to dendrites. Knowledge is now appropriately allocated & freshly present in our brains. Designers dig layering too. The world of art thrives with the influence and placement of layers in compositions. Beauty speaks to us in three dimensions. And, this building notion runs rampant inside the mixing bowl as well. Wooden spoons twirl roundabout while flour dusted recipe cards detail the progression of the caloric goodness to come.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E4abjnUc6s0/UTXq-hu3S-I/AAAAAAAAJBo/L9jBRL36qEo/s1600/butterfinger+angle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E4abjnUc6s0/UTXq-hu3S-I/AAAAAAAAJBo/L9jBRL36qEo/s800/butterfinger+angle.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<i>Layers matter.</i> They heed depth. They challenge perspective. They increase stature and validate base. Layers infuse texture into the world of one dimension. As humans, we are shaped by texture. <i>Molded by what we take in; melded by what we give out.</i> Each year of life adds yet another coating to the beginnings of us. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WkMFyAN0dMQ/UTXps2wdR9I/AAAAAAAAJBY/h6iOv60eu7Y/s1600/butterfinger+piece.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WkMFyAN0dMQ/UTXps2wdR9I/AAAAAAAAJBY/h6iOv60eu7Y/s800/butterfinger+piece.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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I long to to build upon my base. I want each layer sweeter than the next of me. Sweetened by the <i>who I send out</i> from the wholeness of my story. <i>With my actions. With my thoughts. Through my smile and in my eyes too</i>. I want it all rich. I crave it for myself just as much as for the ones I scatter out to. I remind myself often that <i>the underneath</i> is just as necessary as the <i>on top & now</i>. <b>It's there for a reason.</b> My job is to continue on working towards the delight of my 3D. </div>
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<i><b>Surely, you didn't need all 3 guesses now did you?</b></i></div>
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.mac :)</div>
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<u><b><span style="font-size: large;">Butterfinger Blondies</span></b></u></div>
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Ingredients</h4>
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">1 cup butter</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">1 cup light brown sugar</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">1/2 cup granulated sugar</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">2 tsp vanilla</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">2 eggs</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">2 1/2 cups all purpose flour</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">1 tsp baking soda</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">1 tsp coarse sea salt</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">2 cups coarsely chopped Butterfinger Bars (approx 16 “Fun Size” bars) </span><br />
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Instructions</h4>
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Preheat oven to 350°<br />
Cream butter and sugars in mixing bowl.<br />
Add the vanilla and eggs and mix until incorporated.<br />
On low add your dry ingredients (flour, salt and baking soda) until just combined.<br />
Stir in your chopped Butterfinger.<br />
Spread in a 9×13 baking dish and bake for 25 minutes until center is JUST set.<br />
Remove from oven and cool completely.</div>
<br style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;" />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">Preparation time: </span><span class="preptime" style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">5 minute(s)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">Cooking time: </span><span class="cooktime" style="background-color: #f6efd7; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">25 minute(s)</span><br />
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<h2 class="fn" style="color: black; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1em; position: relative; text-transform: uppercase;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">BUTTERFINGER BUTTERCREAM:</span></h2>
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Ingredients</h4>
1/2 cup room temp butter (1 stick)<br />
1/2 cup vegetable shortening<br />
2 1/2 – 3 cups powdered sugar<br />
1/2 cup chopped Butterfinger Bars (approx 4 “Fun Size” bars)</div>
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<h4 class="instructions" style="margin: 0px; position: relative;">
Instructions</h4>
Cream the butter and shortening together until smooth.<br />
Add in you powdered sugar on low speed. Turn speed up to medium and mix until smooth<br />
Stir in your chopped Butterfinger. <i>(I sprinkled mine on top rather than stirring them in!)</i><br />
Spread on your cooled blondies</div>
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Preparation time: <span class="preptime">5 minute(s)</span></div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-17551340371779176042013-02-28T12:34:00.000-05:002013-02-28T12:34:37.757-05:00#2 DONE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QjdAYZ-9Jos/US3_j65GqUI/AAAAAAAAI3M/J_67fsKIKlY/s1600/%2528function%2528%2529%257Bvar+linkid+%253D+%2527Slideshow+Link+Additional+Views%2527%253B%257D%2529%2528%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QjdAYZ-9Jos/US3_j65GqUI/AAAAAAAAI3M/J_67fsKIKlY/s400/%2528function%2528%2529%257Bvar+linkid+%253D+%2527Slideshow+Link+Additional+Views%2527%253B%257D%2529%2528%2529.png" width="263" /></a></div>
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February 2013 will be held forever in my heart cupped hands. <i><span style="font-size: large;">God moved. </span></i><b>In me. In my family. In my boys.</b> He took these 28 days to shine. It was a light so harvesty golden that I couldn't help but glean His glory. It was a light so simple & subtle that my eyes had to peer intently with a convicted precision to find it at times too. And, finally, it was light like a flashlight unveiling the creaky floored attic of my insides. Shining solely on the cobwebbed corners of my state. With waft-like waves flailing, my hands had no choice but to physically knock down the evidence of complacency and neglect. <i><span style="font-size: large;">God moved.</span></i></div>
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My book for February was unofficially chosen by Kenny. He came to me sometime in January with the idea that we read this book together. We've never read the same book at the same time. He had just recently finished <a href="http://chasethelion.com/">In a Pit With a Lion on Snowy Day</a> and wanted more of what Mark Batterson had to say. I liked the idea of reading the same content at the same time, so I jumped on board. <i> I jumped on board is an understatement.</i></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-248ddDbmHeM/US4C39N2nEI/AAAAAAAAI50/ZyuTC9OiA4E/s1600/photo+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-248ddDbmHeM/US4C39N2nEI/AAAAAAAAI50/ZyuTC9OiA4E/s800/photo+2.PNG" width="358" /></a></div>
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I want to speak to you in truth now. I say you, but I know all too well it's just as much spoken as a resounding reminder for me regarding the <i>cultivation of spirit</i> and just exactly how God-awesome that is when you feel it. <i>Naysayers, beware. </i><b>This is for you too.</b> I speak it boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us. <i>The weary. The misplaced. The misconstrued. The skeptic. </i></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mpb-XgxQcfg/US4C38NRSwI/AAAAAAAAI5s/b36jFN04ax4/s1600/photo+1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mpb-XgxQcfg/US4C38NRSwI/AAAAAAAAI5s/b36jFN04ax4/s800/photo+1.PNG" width="358" /></a></div>
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I began reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Circle-Maker-Mark-Batterson/dp/0310333024/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1310821571&sr=1-2">this book </a>when my heart seemed fastened in a dark and clouded place. Dark like my expressions filed under <i><span style="font-size: large;">"h" for honest </span></i><a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-solider-in-white.html">here</a>. Clouded like no solutions in sight. This uninvited guest known as <i>"WTH is happening to me"</i> was present when my red puffy eyes first met the printed text of Mark Batterson.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1L2XZDpxu_M/US4CNcA9GeI/AAAAAAAAI5Q/lup8WAo26Yo/s1600/photo+1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1L2XZDpxu_M/US4CNcA9GeI/AAAAAAAAI5Q/lup8WAo26Yo/s800/photo+1.PNG" width="358" /></a></div>
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<b>God infused. </b> <b>Timely. Targeted for growth. Nail on the head. </b> I heeded these words. <i>All of them. </i>I listened & leaned. I began unraveling the many inconsistencies of me. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-um3niU4QZVI/US4IHECYEUI/AAAAAAAAI9I/lCsQkDjKrNs/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-um3niU4QZVI/US4IHECYEUI/AAAAAAAAI9I/lCsQkDjKrNs/s800/photo.PNG" width="358" /></a></div>
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And, it felt so good. Like fresh colored play dough clean and smooth in my hands, I began shaping. Forming new objects of myself. Shredding away the extraneous scraps that no longer needed attachment. Re-thinking the design. Experimenting with the supple smush of second chance. <b> That's called grace. </b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b style="text-align: justify;">Poignancy personified itself.</b><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">In my thinking. In my believing. In my direction. In my faith.</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> To the weary, the misplaced, the misconstrued and the skeptical naysayers, I experienced a God interested in making me His on a more personal level and for a greater purpose. He came through with a resounding, </span><i style="text-align: justify;">"I need you. I need your heart, your energy and your gifts for things far more important than being pungently saturated in your puny imperfections of this world." </i> </span><br />
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This book was a catalysis. <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-love-my-wonderful-wife.html">Kenny's</a> simultaneous-book-read request was too. <a href="http://manleybaptist.org/">The church</a> we have consistently been visiting for the past 18 months chimed right in as well. <i><span style="font-size: large;">Coincidence?</span></i> <b>No.</b> <i>Powerful in the presence of the poor in spirit is exactly more like it.</i> His timing is almighty and undeniable. <i><span style="font-size: large;">Naysayers beware. </span></i> <b>Grace knows no bounds.</b> Hand over your heavy. Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts. My February is proof. </div>
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Currently, I am reading this book as a follow up. Kenny is taking the challenge right along side me. I am overwhelmingly humbled and fervently grateful for Kenny's place in all of this. <i>I needed scooping up. This isn't the first time. </i> This man comes through like clockwork. </div>
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My prayer life is changing. These prayers are specific. They are abundant and resolute. If you are on my list, I am giving you over to Him in high detail <b>every.single.day</b>. </div>
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I can't wait to pray. <i>Did you hear me?</i> <b><span style="font-size: large;">I CAN'T WAIT TO PRAY! </span></b>It is my most favorite time of the day. I fill up pages in my journal. I talk out loud. I cross off and re-write. I accessorize my dreams with Him. </div>
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I am seeking His face and His will like never before.<b> God knows me. </b> <i>All of me.</i> And, just in case He doesn't, I am making it a point to tell Him more than I ever have. In wait for big answers in my story book of requests to Him, I feel clear headed and hopeful. <i>But most of all, reliant. </i> I am learning more and more this walk is not meant for easy. <i>It's meant forever.</i> Moving with an eternal motive and saturation of His glory in this skin, <b>that's what life is. </b></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Naysayers, beware.</span></b> I speak boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us. <i>The weary. The misplaced. The misconstrued. The skeptic.</i><b> </b></span><span style="text-align: justify;"><b>Grace knows no bounds.</b> Hand over your heavy. Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts. My February is proof. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">.mac :)</span>Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-30375473808582347512013-02-23T09:33:00.002-05:002013-02-23T13:56:54.184-05:00Mixed Breed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>I like to cook.</i> I love the mixing and the motions that go into making something yummy. Creating with food is rewarding. I mean, I get nothing <i>soulful</i> from spaghettios in the microwave other than easy clean up, less time in the kitchen and processed awesomeness. <i>And, you?</i> I would like to report that I have a steadfast scientific art to meals in our home, <b>but I don't.</b> Yes, in my secret life of <i>"Meghan the Great"</i>, I would mimic the handful of friends I have who grade out <i>beyond rockstar</i>. I have friends who plan their meals and grocery lists on a monthly basis. I have friends who are <i>utterly wicked freaktastic</i> at clipping coupons and stockpiling like <i>motha truckas</i>. I even have a friend who has pre-made homemade pancake mix in mason jars with the recipe twined around the top for guests who visit her family's home. Coincidentally, her handwriting happens to be on the recipe card above. <br />
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<b>And, I LOVE THESE FRIENDS.</b> <i> I look up to them.</i> They inspire me to be more intentional. More connected to our family's money and what it provides to the nourishment of our bodies. On running a family fluidly, I am a mutt of sorts. <b>I am.</b> I absolutely love the German Shepard pedigree status of creator/artist that I am. But, I totally cross bred that gift with a scattered/semi-composed/quasi organized Chihuahua down the road. <i>Ewww, right?</i> I am but a fledgling in the <i>"art of planned". How about that for an oxymoron?</i> I aim to work on it. I do. <b>Scratch that.</b> I am working on it. <i><span style="font-size: large;">S l o w l y.</span></i> <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9OwKnSsvCJM/USTRqr8z0kI/AAAAAAAAIxE/eZga71YhYTo/s1600/ingredients+pasta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="345" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9OwKnSsvCJM/USTRqr8z0kI/AAAAAAAAIxE/eZga71YhYTo/s800/ingredients+pasta.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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This recipe is one of my all-time easy favorites. I beam each time I make it. My taste buds bounce right out of my mouth just thinking about this concoction. My sweet homegirl, Trisha, first made this dish for me at my house. Allow me to explain how rockstar she is. She and her daughter, Camdyn, came to stay with Eli and me the weekend before I was due to have Casey. <span style="font-size: x-small;">{I was big. <b> I was CAP LOCK PREGGERS.</b> <b>ABOUT TO POP IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT</b>. Go <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2013/01/six.html">here</a> for a looksee.}</span> That particular weekend Kenny, along with Trisha's husband and 11 other men, were on their annual cabin retreat. Trisha took it upon herself to bring Camdyn down to stay with us just to make sure we were okay. She drove 4.5 hours with a 22 month old and had a car LOADED with groceries to cook for us for the weekend so that I didn't have to. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>{And, she left me recipe cards for each meal she cooked.}</i></span> <b><span style="font-size: large;">What the what? </span></b> I know. That, my friends, is called friendship & compassion in action. She will forever rank as one of my role models in so many ways.</div>
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I beam because this dish is freakin' awesome to taste. It has fresh cilantro.<span style="font-size: large;"><i> Need I say more?</i></span> <b><span style="font-size: large;">Yes.</span></b> You garnish the dish with fresh shredded Parmesan cheese. <i>Um, I need a moment</i>. <b>There. </b> <i>I'm back.</i> I love this concoction because it's healthy too. I <strike>like</strike> LOVE donuts as much as the next doll, but I clock in overtime on things that I know my body deserves. Good food makes me feel good. <b>Wine does too.</b> <i>Moderation peeps. </i><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Amx4XkR6X8g/USTRq2agGMI/AAAAAAAAIxM/0TnPFIC3m-E/s1600/pasta+bowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Amx4XkR6X8g/USTRq2agGMI/AAAAAAAAIxM/0TnPFIC3m-E/s800/pasta+bowl.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
But, honestly, I would say the high marks this meal receives is for the memory it signifies each time that I make it. I think about Trisha. I think about her character and her selfless heart. I think about a grocery laden car with a 22 month old and 4.5 hours just to help me. <i> To make my life a little easier. Safer. Just in case.</i> It's these people that I praise God for. Not just then, but now too. Those people that aren't necessarily a part of your everyday, but in your every now & again that provide a pillar of strength to you. Through their outstretched arms and God given gifts, they press in upon your heart. <b>They make you more.</b> <i>And, they don't even realize it.</i> <b>It's just them.</b> I am thankful for these connections. I'm thankful for God's placement of so many outstanding characters in my walk here on Earth. Through them, I learn so much about His love. The Chihuahua in me is ever grateful for my homegirl, Trisha.<br />
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Black Bean & Salsa Noodle Soup</span></u></b></div>
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<li>3 cans (14 oz. each) vegetable broth</li>
<li>1 jar (16 oz.) salsa</li>
<li>1 can (15 oz.) black beans, drained. (I use 2)</li>
<li>1 can (11. oz.) whole kernel corn, drained</li>
<li>1 package (5 oz.) Japanese curly noodles or spaghetti noodles</li>
<li>1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro</li>
<li>1 tablespoon lime</li>
<li>1 teaspoon chili powder</li>
<li>1/4 teaspoon pepper</li>
<li>2 tablespoons shredded Parmesan cheese</li>
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1. Heat broth to boiling in large sauce pan. Stir in remaining ingredients except cheese. Reduce to medium heat.<br />
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2. Cook 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally until noodles are tender. Sprinkle with cheese.<br />
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6 servings<br />
220 calories<br />
2 grams of fat<br />
8 grams of fiber<br />
0 mg cholesterol<br />
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.mac :)Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-73352000038458203602013-02-19T01:14:00.001-05:002013-02-19T10:22:53.616-05:00{life jacket}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This life is one wave after another, Eli. <i>It's rockin' the boat. It's diving in when you're just not sure of the water's temperature. It's moving. </i> <b>Forward. Backward. </b> <b><span style="font-size: large;">Forward again.</span></b> Even the calmest waters have the consistency of rhythm; there is a current deep within us all. <i>Ripples run through us.</i> It's His master plan. <i>The ripples.</i> <i>The ever churning swirls beneath.</i> He put them in us all. <b>To be stirred. </b>To create a noise and to make a splash.<b> </b> <i>Be purposeful in your endeavors.</i> Don't shy away from the unknown. Stay not in the boat out of fear. <i>Yes, it's true.</i> We are designed to sink. Without physical motion in concordance with an astute awareness of our surroundings as well as our breaths, we will plunge deep. <b>Be purposeful. Aware. Ready.</b> Ready for the awesomeness of the ride. The peaks and the pits. The wind and the water around you. The weightlessness inside the movement.<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>Freedom.</i></span> Hold on all while you're letting go. <i>He forever will be your life jacket.</i> </div>
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<i>Make waves, Eli Garrett. </i></div>
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<i>Make waves.</i></div>
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Mama :)</div>
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{week 48: <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/my%202%20in%2052">my 2 in 52</a>}</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-78073256139279932702013-02-18T12:31:00.000-05:002013-02-18T12:32:47.765-05:00{missed}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_wh5BWiHNGk/USJATrSeOKI/AAAAAAAAIlw/6P-RaN3ya_c/s1600/lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="402" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_wh5BWiHNGk/USJATrSeOKI/AAAAAAAAIlw/6P-RaN3ya_c/s800/lake.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b>Places and people.</b> <i>Dang, God is good.</i> The above is an image of a place the boys and I adore. We frequented our little heaven hideaway on the regular and in all seasons too mind you. Just a 10 minute stint from our old home, this was a place of freedom and natural bliss. I've written about this spot <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2008/10/down-home.html">here</a> and <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2010/03/necessary.html">here</a> and <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-heart.html">here</a> and <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2011/08/hiatus.html">here</a>. <i>Yes, this spot has a history of happy.</i></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dnRgAPXBt_M/USJAUtqBQNI/AAAAAAAAIl4/ZqQSPXGL-5A/s1600/trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dnRgAPXBt_M/USJAUtqBQNI/AAAAAAAAIl4/ZqQSPXGL-5A/s800/trees.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>This place is not perfect</i>. It's a public state park. Hence, from time to time, you may spot an individual with a house arrest ankle cuff monitor. You will <b>most definitely</b> feel, at times, that you are literally inside a tattoo catalog browsing for your next ink. On several occasions, I have stepped in as an unbeknownst volunteer lifeguard/stand-in attentive mom to the handfuls of little ones left in the water with 1<strike>00% accident proof will protect you from anything</strike> arm floaties. Yes, this place may just be considered a nose-in-the-air to those with country club pool passes. <b>But, not for us</b>. <i>We like it.</i> Maybe it's because it brings me the same kinda feeling that <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/11/my-town-of-home.html">the place</a> I adored when I was I little girl gave me.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dNJ0h1pkIj8/USGsn_u161I/AAAAAAAAIkE/-WMfz7N1DFo/s1600/2011+chester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="486" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dNJ0h1pkIj8/USGsn_u161I/AAAAAAAAIkE/-WMfz7N1DFo/s800/2011+chester.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">{Summer 2011}</span></i></div>
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<i>But, the place is just for starters.</i> The people that were a part of our hideaway are perhaps what made it most magical. <b>We.miss.these.people.</b> Above is the last trip we made to our lake before moving 2.5 hours away. Arlene and her kiddos, Brayden & McKenzie, were our <i>rock steadys.</i> They lived just a street over from us. She and her husband, E.K., have a huge chapter written in our lives on <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2011/08/four-walls.html">Hillcrest Road</a>. Arlene and I were all the time heading out on adventures. <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2010/09/half.html">This post</a> is just tiny example of the impromptu goodness we had being neighbors and great friends. <i>My boys miss their Brayden.</i> His silly antics and his happy heart. <i>I miss Arlene.</i> Her huge ticker and her hilarious ideas for fun are irreplaceable. <i>The green ball. Christmas night dinners. Easter egg hunts. Devotion times. The back porch.</i> Yes, I miss her. Then there's Sarah. She and her little ones, Garyn & Ansley. I've written about her <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2010/09/trio.html">here</a> when the most wonderful thing had happened for their family. And, again <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2010/03/cake-is-good.html">here</a> as a memory of great times together. Sarah's heart is precious. The boys love Garyn & his world renown Wii games. Sarah, Arlene and I were a trio of good deal finding. The first Saturday of the month it was guaranteed that we were together and creating a great ruckus of fun for 1/2 off weekend at the ever infamous Goodwill. <i><span style="font-size: large;">Don't believe me?</span></i> Check out <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2010/03/cheap-thrills.html">our good times</a> for yourself. And, on the topic of together, who can forget the <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2009/10/batstreet-boys.html">Batstreet Boys?</a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1W2NgzZectw/USGslNLB7UI/AAAAAAAAIj8/iP-AyU1ps6Y/s1600/chester+frost+group+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="463" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1W2NgzZectw/USGslNLB7UI/AAAAAAAAIj8/iP-AyU1ps6Y/s800/chester+frost+group+pic.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>{Summer 2012}</i></span></div>
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Last summer, the boys and I made a trip back to our magical. We were fortunate enough to have all in tow for another great memory to mark in our record books. Silly things like time and miles stand in the way of what used to be our regular routine. <i> I'm thankful for trips back.</i> I'm thankful for friendships that make you better. For out loud laughter that secures you in times when a smile is so very missed. It's these memories that let you know you are loved by a heavenly Father who's in the spoiling business.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zMfwNUuCic/USJhaO9ovyI/AAAAAAAAInk/OeSAuEbJjP0/s1600/observations.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zMfwNUuCic/USJhaO9ovyI/AAAAAAAAInk/OeSAuEbJjP0/s800/observations.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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Spoiling business is just exactly the case. I am thankful for these people. For this place. For the memories that minimize the miles between us. <i><span style="font-size: large;">{missed}</span></i>. <i>Most certainly. </i></div>
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.mac :)</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-13561661742914301982013-02-16T01:57:00.000-05:002013-02-16T10:34:42.291-05:00{brand}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rvg7dGMFK9I/UR-CRN0BhYI/AAAAAAAAIgs/D2tMdG2Mcs4/s1600/me-gw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rvg7dGMFK9I/UR-CRN0BhYI/AAAAAAAAIgs/D2tMdG2Mcs4/s800/me-gw.jpg" width="455" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">{shirt in hand posted about <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/06/invited.html">here</a> & <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/12/diligence.html">here</a>. </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Stellar purchase might I add.</i></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">}</span></div>
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I've been thinking a lot about the word <i>brand</i> lately. Thinking long spells on this 5 letter example of synergy, it's true. This ponderation has consumed my precious times reserved for <strike>journaling and meditation</strike> cleaning the blasted kitchen after dinner and folding never ending piles of laundry.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">brand</span> |brand|</span></b></div>
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<i>noun</i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">1</span> </b>a type of product manufactured by a particular company under a particular name <i>: a new brand of detergent.</i></div>
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<span class="s2">• </span>a brand name <i>: the company will market computer software under its own brand.</i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">2</span> </b>an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.</div>
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<span class="s1">• </span><span class="s2">archaic </span>a branding iron.</div>
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<span class="s1">• </span><span class="s2">figurative </span>a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace <i>: the brand of Paula's alcoholism.</i></div>
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Both definitions have me consumed. I'm on a see-saw with <i>these 5 letters</i> maneuvering my weight shift just enough to balance each meaning into a harmonized state of equilibrium <i>with myself</i>. You see, brand is a big deal to me. What with my booming entrepreneurial <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/cheap%20thrills">Goodwill spokes model pursuit</a> and then again with just <i>the who </i>I want people to know is the quality behind <a href="http://kmaccreations.com/www.kmaccreations.com/%7Bhome%7D.html">k.Mac</a>, the digestion of <i>'name'</i> is critical. <b>I look for brands.</b> I scour encyclopedia-ed racks of used garments & accessories on quite the regular tip. In musty-overcompensated-with-Lysol drenched establishments, I seek out the notable variety. The <a href="http://www.anntaylor.com/">Ann Taylor</a>. The infamous <a href="http://bananarepublic.gap.com/">Banana</a>. The <a href="http://bananarepublic.gap.com/">Gap</a>. <a href="http://www.thelimited.com/">The Limited</a>. <a href="http://www.bodenusa.com/">The Boden</a>. The <a href="http://www.ralphlauren.com/frontdoor/index.jsp">Ralph Lauren</a> too. Like a hungry lioness, I patrol the purged and reprocessed with skilled strategy. And, once in sight, I collapse vehemently on the golden prize of <i>brand</i>. I look not for stains or tears until phase 2 of my procurement process. <i>Experience settles it; keenly, brand and I are acquainted.</i></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Kjm8Ttn6BI/UR6w-5LKa0I/AAAAAAAAIek/pDPZWrQlK9A/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Kjm8Ttn6BI/UR6w-5LKa0I/AAAAAAAAIek/pDPZWrQlK9A/s800/5.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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My pursuit of the <i>"low miles; one owner" wannabes</i> is not bigoted, mind you. I am abundantly the ambassador of equality when it comes to style worthy potential. Into the buggy goes anything that fits the possible bill of<i> 'real darn cute</i>'. It's phase 3 where the rubber meets the road of ready-or-not recyclability with regards to my wallet.</div>
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And, this is where this post sits nicely down on its haunches of just what the heck I aim to say. <b>I'm noticing.</b> Yes, this see-saw ride is doing more than just creating a <i>dizzier best dressed</i> of me. Brands that are well known for their tags <span style="font-size: x-small;">{high end name brands}</span> leave me with buggys of much smaller sizes and yet with more room for wiggling. Their fit is truer in form. Their shape is contoured and suitably appropriate. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-caQECt_W9r8/UR6w_ap311I/AAAAAAAAIes/XjR-GPTfc4c/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-caQECt_W9r8/UR6w_ap311I/AAAAAAAAIes/XjR-GPTfc4c/s800/4.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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Articles of clothing that one would consider a sub-scale in the hierarchy of fashion have a tighter fit with a higher numerical output on the tag. Their fit is awry more often than not. Sleeves are a tad shorter. Inseams are a bit snugger. Length is inevitably an issue. <i>Brand, swift & clever-like,</i> pontificates its two-sided teeter-toter masterfully. No weight shifting needed by me; equilibrium has arrived.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Kjm8Ttn6BI/UR6w-5LKa0I/AAAAAAAAIek/pDPZWrQlK9A/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Kjm8Ttn6BI/UR6w-5LKa0I/AAAAAAAAIek/pDPZWrQlK9A/s800/5.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">brand</span> |brand|</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">2 </span></b>an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.</div>
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<span class="s1">• </span><span class="s2">archaic </span>a branding iron.</div>
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<span class="s1">• </span><span class="s2">figurative </span>a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace <i>: the brand of Paula's alcoholism.</i><br />
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<b>The mark you leave.</b> <i>What will it be? Truer in form or snug in the inseam? Will you concern yourself with the number on the inside secretly wishing your could wear your article reversed outward for all the world to see? Is that your reason for living this day-to-day? To feel that your innards are synonymous with a number on a tag? Will you seek the good in quality even if it means rummaging or waiting it out until the perfect piece finds you with the pocketbook to purchase? Or, will you satiate your substance with the sub par to sidle through your everyday? </i><b> What will be your brand? </b><br />
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<i>And, what about others? Will you be able to spot their stitched tags of upscale? Will these woven brand names of theirs make more of you? Or, will you settle for the issue of odd length and premature ending sleeves only to say your spoken for and somewhat supported?</i><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMFcxRo_bno/UR6w_Ms-PtI/AAAAAAAAIeo/rfesf4jEe10/s1600/5-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="338" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMFcxRo_bno/UR6w_Ms-PtI/AAAAAAAAIeo/rfesf4jEe10/s800/5-4.jpg" width="575" /></a><br />
With <strike>sounds of classical music playing and fresh flowers filling my writing nook</strike> hands swimming in dishwater and befuddled by <i>where the freakin' match to the umpteen millionth sweat sock</i> is, I ponder my brand. I ask these questions whole heartily and-in-the-face dead on too. I want to be a brand of stature. <b>Me.</b> <b>I want to be the true fit. The tag reached for. </b> I want to be that for myself and for others. I want it just as much for <a href="http://kmaccreations.com/www.kmaccreations.com/%7Bhome%7D.html">k.Mac</a> too. <i><b>And, my biggest wish?</b></i><i style="font-size: x-large;"> </i>My biggest wish is that no matter where I am situated, I can always be found. <i>On Goodwill racks. In storefronts on mannequins under spot lights galore. Or in driveways for Saturday morning yard sales. </i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Me.</span></b><br />
<i>{my brand}</i><br />
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.macMommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-22913515311744020652013-02-12T04:09:00.000-05:002013-02-15T18:07:57.336-05:00{saturate}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLGo27-ecp4/UQ-u51wuc6I/AAAAAAAAH5o/hYJMpUrcKwQ/s1600/saturate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLGo27-ecp4/UQ-u51wuc6I/AAAAAAAAH5o/hYJMpUrcKwQ/s800/saturate.jpg" width="476" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">She wore tangerine tights?</span></b> <i>Yes.</i> A far cry from an itsy bitsy tiny weeny yellow polka dot bikini I know. It's winter and I was on a mission to color block like a mad dog. <i>Mission accomplished wouldn't you agree? </i> <b>It's time.</b> Time to let out all of what I have hoopty cooped up on the inside of my <strike>meticulously categorized & ever efficient cerebral filing cabinet</strike> highly trafficked scratched on & circled around Steno Pad noggin notes.</div>
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The year is twenty-to-the-thirteen and I am aiming to be a connector. <b>Of joy. Of growth. Of reality. Of tangerine tight wearing.</b> I need you to feel my need for speed if you haven't already. Go <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/Connect%202013">here</a> to powder puff your nose in the ladies' room of me if you will. Once you freshen up, I'll be waiting for you just outside. Look for me. <i>I'll be the one wearing tangerine tights.</i></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wWAakF453wk/UQ7QVjf15iI/AAAAAAAAH1g/uhC2q2JfT7A/s1600/chin-orange+tights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wWAakF453wk/UQ7QVjf15iI/AAAAAAAAH1g/uhC2q2JfT7A/s800/chin-orange+tights.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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My word for January was {saturate}. I love this word so very much. It's definitively discerning if you ask me. It leaves not a quandary one in the mind; it exemplifies 100%. It's over the top and I like it. My start to a new year needed gusto and the word {saturate} said <i>"Holla if you hear me, girl." </i>I resounded with a, <i>"Loud & clear, Mamacita."</i></div>
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My mission for January is below. I wanted to put together a January billboard so to speak. You know, something to keep me focused. The <i>pleated skirt-megaphone carrying-bloomer wearing</i> combination of this layout below did just this for me this month. It reminded me time and again of <i>my whys and my wheres and my what fors too.</i></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qPFXkt1TWJg/URiJreeA-tI/AAAAAAAAIUU/Etr18AgZ3do/s1600/mission+january+goals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="354" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qPFXkt1TWJg/URiJreeA-tI/AAAAAAAAIUU/Etr18AgZ3do/s800/mission+january+goals.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">* GIVE IT OUT.</span></b><br />
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Love is free. It's not hard. It will never be taxed. It spreads like wildfire. So why in the hell would I want to keep it in? I do more often than I care to admit. Way too many times am I guilty of snobbery to the ones I love. I get so sucked into the sarlacc of tunnel vision that I neglect to hand out my heart tickets. A<i>nd, you know they expire like Cinderella's glass slippers and glitter get up at the stroke of midnight every night? </i> <b>Yep, they do.</b> And, you can't get them back either. This is how I chose to look at my January. I looked at each day with an opportunity to hand out the tickets from my heart good for that day only. That analogy did wonders. I prayed every morning that I hand out as many as I possibly could to whom ever crossed my path. <i><span style="font-size: large;">Guess what? </span></i> I giggled more. I found funny in myself. I saw my boys in a more joyful light. My Kenny was missed even more the times he was away at work. By giving the free in my heart away, my ticker racked up in return. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">* CONSIDER THE COST.</span></b><br />
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<i>Faith is all up on me right now.</i> It's like God's just called a timeout and changed from a 2-3 zone to a man-to-man. <i><span style="font-size: large;">And, Faith?</span></i> <b>Well, she's guarding me.</b> I am praying for Him to shake me in greater ways. And, He is. I want to find balance more in my life. I am praying more specifically about this. I am asking Him to give me the wisdom <i>to know when and to know how</i>. I want to work smarter for <a href="http://kmaccreations.com/www.kmaccreations.com/%7Bhome%7D.html">k.Mac.</a> My hours can't be forever & a day and <b>all the time.</b> <b>I am one.</b> I want my work to be joyful and to be exceptional and to be anticipated. To me & to my clients. I want to know when it is time to head to bed and call it a day or when it's past due for a little R&R time for me. I am a worker bee by nature. Like, I seriously have issues with work and <b>all.the.time.</b> My internal is off kilter when it comes to quitting time. I am seeking Him to help me. <i> He is.</i> My days and nights are taking on a more fluid shape with regards to timing. My down time is fueling me more for the quality of work I want to have behind my brand. The cost of overworked is more work. The rested are ready & reminded of the joy & passion behind what they choose to do.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">* FACE IT.</span></b><br />
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There are things that bring you down. Things you want to be different but are out of your hands entirely. Things that no matter what you do, you find yourself in the exact same spot. It is frustrating and disheartening for the overachiever in me. <i>And, that's just it.</i> I don't have to overachieve with these things. I can't spew rainbows from my mouth over & again and expect a different outcome. <i>What can I do?</i> <b>I can be me.</b> I can remind myself that we all have those wishfuls that just aren't there. Maybe one day they will be. Maybe not. Chasing down these dark hearted hangovers leaves you with an empty bottle of Tylenol and reeking breath. <b><span style="font-size: large;"> Stop it. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">* DELETE DRAMA.</span></b><br />
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<i>Out of thread?</i> Get more. Just made the trip. <strike>Cussing and stomping loudly followed by an overwhelming pity party.</strike> Deal with it and do it again. <i> Forgot milk?</i> <strike>Stomp your feet and throw a big fat hissy in the parking lot.</strike> Suck it up and go back in and get it. <i>Worried about the boys?</i> <strike>Lay up all night and talk to forty gajillion people for their advice.</strike> Think realistically about their health, progress and happiness. Pray for wisdom and guidance. Give your best. <i>Have to pay a late fine for your electric bill? </i> <strike>Moan and groan over it to the point of ridiculous</strike>. Pay it. <span style="font-size: large;">Many of my energies are spent out on wasted issues.</span> Less drama for this mama and more problem solving and priority setting is needed. The boys need to see efficiency from me. They need to see a human too. The grace practiced in mistake makings is powerful. <b>For all.</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">* SINK INTO THAT SMILE.</span></b></div>
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<i>I have one you know.</i> And, my parents were even awesome enough to give me braces. It's one of Kenny's favorite things about me. There's lots to smile about too. Smiling is free. It creates an energy that sends warmth. I pearled it up this month. <i>Yes, I did.</i> I concentrated on my smile and <i>who needed it. Who deserved it. How it felt to give it.</i> And, the feelings on the inside that created these corners up. <b>Genius lies in what God gives you for free. </b> The more I sank down into that smile of mine and what it stood for, the more it seemed I held my shoulders back. The more ready my hands were to help or to hold. Freely, I sunk. <i>More in love with Him. More in love with me. </i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">* CHANGE THE GAME.</span></b></div>
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<i>I don't brush my teeth but once a day</i>. <b>There. I said it.</b> <span style="font-size: large;">BUT</span>, it's a whole new ball game thanks to January's {saturate}. I took this month to get down and dirty in certain areas of my life. I now have 41 days under my belt as a morning and nighttime teeth brusher <i>thankyouverymuch.</i> I also apply moisturizer to my face twice daily. I have read one book. <b>Yep. Count it.</b> I am working on my nightly routine of reading before bed with that coach of mine. Kenny, the boys and I have started a nightly family devotion. It is precious time reading God's word with our two. They are quizzical and immersed in our times each night. God's preparing 2 new students for His glory I do believe. I have begun a bible study on Wednesday nights about raising boys. Kenny is attending one on finances for our family. And, the boys have joined AWANA. I'm exercising differently. Running 3-4 times a week and interchanging the runs with core strength training. Our homeschool routine is different as well. The boys and I have a more regimented schedule of elapsed learning time so to better use my afternoon time for design work and sewing. Kenny and I also ventured into the world of the iPhone. It was a splurge for us, but one we budgeted and are completely enjoying too might I add. An overall change of the game has amped me up. I am loving the newness and turnover of good that has come from some simple shifts, decisions and work towards new habits & routines. </div>
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Below are what I like to call the morals of my January's {saturate}:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jqSJ0GkRtM0/URndpNEDKRI/AAAAAAAAIc4/rkoPkwuU-fk/s1600/moral+january+words.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="344" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jqSJ0GkRtM0/URndpNEDKRI/AAAAAAAAIc4/rkoPkwuU-fk/s800/moral+january+words.jpg" width="585" /></a></div>
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Below are some examples of my morale boosts for January:</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_1vPZ1TQtUI/URh-b-dJv1I/AAAAAAAAIQk/b0kQA3iq8oo/s1600/orange+tights+2-take+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_1vPZ1TQtUI/URh-b-dJv1I/AAAAAAAAIQk/b0kQA3iq8oo/s800/orange+tights+2-take+2.jpg" width="434" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Gap brand navy blue/white pinstripe oxford: <b> $1.25 GW</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">New Boundaries brand gray vest: <b> $1.00 GW</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Limited brand denim pencil skirt: <b> $1.50 GW</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ann Klein brand tights </span><b>(IN THE PACKAGE STILL)</b><span style="font-size: x-small;">: </span><b style="font-size: small;"> </b><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">$.25 GW</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">scarf: <b>$.25 GW</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">gray suede booties: FREE (gift)</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">TOTAL COST OF ENSEMBLE: $4.25</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">* GW = <a href="http://www.goodwill.org/">Goodwill</a></span></b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hc693KpW7mY/URh7sHhIhqI/AAAAAAAAIO4/uavgFYZh9ZU/s1600/mannequin+january.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="423" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hc693KpW7mY/URh7sHhIhqI/AAAAAAAAIO4/uavgFYZh9ZU/s800/mannequin+january.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xJZbG6svQMc/URh-xqhHIyI/AAAAAAAAIQs/YBwkaWJjz8c/s1600/neck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="374" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xJZbG6svQMc/URh-xqhHIyI/AAAAAAAAIQs/YBwkaWJjz8c/s800/neck.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://vimeo.com/56256943">I'm gonna pop some tags. Only got twenty dollars in my pocket.</a></div>
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-Macklemore</div>
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A sprinkling of my favorite January Goodwill finds:</div>
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Ann Taylor brand jacket: $3.25</div>
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Gray and black pinstriped Fedora: $1.25</div>
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Ann Taylor brand charcoal gray linen pants: $1.99</div>
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Lerner New York brand punky greenish yellow gathered sleeved sweater: $1.25</div>
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Carhart overalls for Eli: $3.25</div>
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My January Grade Card:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tafKdjMFMbw/URkHN-TYlwI/AAAAAAAAIbM/f3usTUARZfw/s1600/measure+january+score.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="335" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tafKdjMFMbw/URkHN-TYlwI/AAAAAAAAIbM/f3usTUARZfw/s800/measure+january+score.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let me hear you now:</span></div>
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<script charset="utf-8" src="http://static.polldaddy.com/p/6893777.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>
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<noscript><a href="http://polldaddy.com/poll/6893777/">Your take on January's {saturate}</a></noscript></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5pFgfQ89W7c/UQ7QWcDoWEI/AAAAAAAAH10/DT5n2wVLNVg/s1600/orange+tights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5pFgfQ89W7c/UQ7QWcDoWEI/AAAAAAAAH10/DT5n2wVLNVg/s800/orange+tights.jpg" width="440" /></a></div>
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Color blocking like a mad dog,<br />
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.mac :)Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-61026160129393566012013-02-08T09:54:00.003-05:002013-02-08T12:13:41.060-05:00{it}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E-nWwCyrR6o/URMt2czY2AI/AAAAAAAAIHg/fTwJsHZnrcU/s1600/write..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="435" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E-nWwCyrR6o/URMt2czY2AI/AAAAAAAAIHg/fTwJsHZnrcU/s800/write..jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<b>Passion</b>. Life's <i>"that's it"</i> for each of us has ever the playful heart. Peek-a-boo like, your <i>inner mojo </i>can be hidden. Impatient & anxious, it rests behind cubby holes and inside cluttered closets. It pokes out from under crumpled rock piles as you go along the mundane. <i>You know, the mind management otherwise known as your space here on Earth.</i> For those acutely aware of time & journey, unveiling tiny tidbits of their most masterful is like magic. Early on, these are the little ones who are lost in story. The ones buried in blocks or mystified with eyes behind microscopes fervently flipping the pages of books for the simple sake of knowledge. They're the ones ones shooting ghost ball jump shots or making last second touchdown catches in living rooms. The kiddos cloaked in constant costume. <i> It's there for them.</i> <b>And, they know it. </b> <i>They feel it.</i> It's as if they can't live without <i>it</i>. <b><span style="font-size: large;"> It.</span></b> Their passion perfectly placed for soaring in <b><span style="font-size: large;">the who</span></b> God keenly created them to be. <i>It pulses out of them.</i> These are the magical ones. <i>The special.</i> The ones who innately know their <b>it.</b> </div>
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I'd like to think many of us knew <i>our magical</i> at an early age. God spoils us like that. I blame the methodical mindset of maturity for the suffocation of passion. Life's hustle simply flattens us. Schedules and scores squelch out the joy in t<i>he God given great</i> for many of us. Lucky are the ones still cloaked in costume and mystified by the magnified of the lens. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUZ0hLJ82_s/URMt1aSG3vI/AAAAAAAAIHI/K-aqQycY_zE/s1600/c+to+e+read.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUZ0hLJ82_s/URMt1aSG3vI/AAAAAAAAIHI/K-aqQycY_zE/s800/c+to+e+read.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">{Casey reading to Eli his first published book.}</span></div>
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I was one of the lucky for awhile. A stuffed animal owl and eagle were my wildlife rescues in my very own television show about endangered species. It aired at least 3 times a week in my back yard. I was the sequined bodice lead majorette in countless Macy's Thanksgiving Day parades. I performed in sold out stages across America as a Rockette. I wrote television jingles and screenplays too. With the two button duo press, I recorded and directed radio shows on my cassette recorder with my brother and the neighborhood kids. I wrote journals full of soap opera scripts. I advertised markdown sales for TG&Y. I choreographed a multitude of dance routines to the sounds of the Judds, Madonna, Tiffany and Debbie Gibson.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8gL-JT4mZoI/URMt1kKJdGI/AAAAAAAAIHM/lxyHL54nrww/s1600/close+up+journals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="435" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8gL-JT4mZoI/URMt1kKJdGI/AAAAAAAAIHM/lxyHL54nrww/s800/close+up+journals.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> {A collection of the boys' writing journals.}</span></div>
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But then things like formal lessons of <i>"You have to learn with the right hand to twirl the baton not the left"</i> and <i>"Don't you think you would like to play basketball better?"</i> found their way into my heart. My <b>it</b> changed. I slid into a world of the succumb. Breathes became more shallow and life's color turned to sepia for a bit. Confidence lessened and insecurities increased in this left handed little girl.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">{Eli reading to Casey his fourth published book}</span></div>
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But, God's got a way of giving back to you what is rightfully yours. I took a detour from my inner me. It's not that I didn't excel in my off road excursion. <i>I did.</i> It's just my heart had inner most happy elsewhere. <i>And, when that innermost sidled back into its comfy spot on the couch of me? </i> The pillow cushions possessed the warmth of its presence long ago as if it had never left.</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I create.</span></i> <b>That's my it. </b> <i>It's like breathing to me. </i>I love expressing emotions. I move. I write. Rules like <i>"you have to twirl with your right hand"</i> run a pesky parallel to "<i>you can't write a sentence without this grammatical rule in tact"</i>. My <b>it </b>does not exist for red markings or measure ups. </div>
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And, the more I reunite with the little girl ever present in her back yard studio/stage of dreams, the more of the <b>best me</b> I become. <i> For myself. For my family. For others.</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>{I began writing journals with them when they were 3 years old.}</i></span></div>
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My innate sense of creating is a strength. <b>God wouldn't have given it to me if it wasn't. </b> The gift of writing is a joy that I can't help but share. Only this time it's not scripts for back yard radio shows, for the latest sale on TG&Y's storefront window or for soap opera screenplays. <b>It's for my boys</b>. I am using <b>my it</b> to teach them. To teach them that words have a profound purpose on paper. With eyes as their staircase, words wind upward into corners of minds and down deep into souls. They open up new worlds, mold hearts and make more of people in wonderful ways. <b>For better. For happier. For good.</b> </div>
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I write this post for confidence's sake. <i> I write it as a reminder too.</i> <b>We all have a passion.</b> It's inside each of us and naturally born. <b>Find it. </b> <i>Don't forget it if you're like me and lost it for a time.</i> <b> Don't hide it.</b> <i>As parents, don't stifle it in your children.</i> Savor it in yourselves and your little ones growing. Celebrate who they are with a resounding joy that banishes all preset rules and fancy mainstream ways of saying <i>"you can't"</i>. </div>
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Impatient & anxious, it rests behind cubby holes and inside cluttered closets. It pokes out from under crumpled rock piles as you go along the mundane. </div>
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<b>Don't let it.</b></div>
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.mac :)</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-33310581842389028552013-01-31T10:40:00.000-05:002013-01-31T22:05:44.782-05:00{connect}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">New.</span></b> <i>Have you ever thought about it?</i> <b>The word.</b> <i>Have you ever just stopped and recounted how <b><span style="font-size: large;">new</span></b> makes you feel?</i> Think about when you get new shoes. New pencils. A new hair color/cut. What about a new toothbrush or a new phone even? There's excitement there. The anticipation of what will be. It's that newfangled onset of something just a little bit different and what it holds for you. Last year I went on a mission. I chose a word in which to set my 2012 focus. That word was rhythm.<i> I looked for it. I longed for it. I pushed for it.</i> In those down dark definitives of my heart,<i> in what I said, in how I operated, in the way that I lived and how I loved. </i> I successfully documented my 2012 pursuit of rhythm. You can read about it <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/Rhythm%20Nation%202012">here</a> in my month-by-month breakdown. 2012 felt different to me. I felt ownership over my God given 365. Somehow the focus of what I wanted to be made my months take on a personality. Each of the 12 became a memory with marked hopes of focus & fails. Simply put, my reach for rhythm shaped me into a someone better. <b> Honest. Hopeful. Happier. Headed somewhere. </b></div>
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So begins the celebration of 2013. I say celebration because I long to live like I want to. I want to live like life is a celebration of breaths. <i> It's a gift. It's not a curse. It's opportunity not a grudge to get through. </i> Life, on many levels sucks don't get me wrong. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">{Thanks, Lucifer.}</span></i>. But, bottom line, I don't want my days alone in a recliner when I'm 85 and in constant search of my top set of dentures to be filled with regret that I didn't make the most of who God wanted me to be. I'm not talking about traveling the world or taking trips of grandeur. <i>For most of us out there, that's not real.</i> The common community we all live in is our minds. It is there where mountains can be climbed. Sights can be seen. And, life can unfold in a new direction without a dime in your pocket to spare. </div>
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<b>My word for 2013 is {connect}.</b> I've already begun my seek-n-find with this word and have some reporting to do for my month #1 too. I am continually amazed at the heart of His hands. God's placement in my life is <b>right.on.the.money</b>. It's like the more I give of myself to Him the more treasures of growth and <i>getuponitgirl</i> He gives to me. His empty cupped hands reach out every morning and say, <i>"Give it. All of it. Every doubt. Every dread. Every 'I can't'. Give it over to me. Now, get out there and get <strike>your</strike> <b>MY</b> shine on." </i></div>
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<i>Connect means to bring together.</i> I am so thankful for my laundry list of ways that I can improve my connections. <b>Potential is new like no other.</b> My logo above is to remind me of His new mercies, moreover His promise. Arrows are what my mind immediately thought of when contemplating the word <span style="font-size: large;"><i>connect</i>.</span> I began playing around with the arrow image to create a reminder for me for this new year. The larger arrows pointed out are symbolic to my connections with the world. I loved that when positioning these arrows, I found they created a cross. <b><span style="font-size: x-small;">{He rocks every.single.time.}</span></b> My heart naturally needed to be the center of that cross. My heart is His as I am His child. I added the smaller arrows inward to remind me that when I choose to connect with my heart outward, I allow His joy and journey for me to fill my heart even more. <b>For better or for worse, He is in the heart growing business.</b></div>
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I'm documenting my 12 month progress a little differently than last year. I mean it's only fitting that I change it up this year in honor of the <i>gift of new</i> that 2013 brings.</div>
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I am utilizing one of my <a href="http://pinterest.com/">social networking skills</a> to enhance my year long commitment to <b>{connect}</b>.</div>
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Below you will find my personal billboard for 2013:</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSfwr3g5MeA/UQKisPSXXpI/AAAAAAAAHlI/umL9MjUOMtY/s1600/portfolio.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="520" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSfwr3g5MeA/UQKisPSXXpI/AAAAAAAAHlI/umL9MjUOMtY/s800/portfolio.jpeg" width="575" /></a></div>
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Connect is such a balanced word to the eye. I love the <b>double n</b> in the dead center of the word. It makes me feel strong. The <b>"c"</b> and <b>"t"</b> on the end give off a vivacious vibe of personality & flair. Kinda like life should be. <i>Adventurous. Flirty. Fun.</i> But, the <b>"e"</b> and the <b>"c"</b> on the tail of this word is where my heart focuses most. That letter combo has <b>rhythm</b> written all over it. <i>Holla if you hear me, God</i>. My mind rests at those 2 letters. It is no coincidence; those are my boys' name initials. <span style="font-size: large;"><i> See?</i></span> <b>God does not leave out the details.</b> <b><span style="font-size: x-small;">{He rocks every.single.time.} </span></b></div>
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When you say it. <b><span style="font-size: large;">CONNECT</span></b>. It's sprawls out so that you can hear every single letter. Like a Brio train, each letter magnets up to the next to bring forth the sound. <b> I'm gonna do that. </b><i>This year.</i><b> I am bringing forth the sound of every letter of my life.</b> Each area will be heard. Some sounds may come out off key, but I am anxious to hear them nonetheless. January has already been a blast with my hunt for connections.</div>
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Each month I'm documenting in this space. I'm never on time with presentation. I aim to be, but my blood runs high octane <i><span style="font-size: large;">Casey</span></i> way more than<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>Cobble</i></span> in the area of punctuality. I'm working on that. Remember, this space is for<i> honesty not perfectedy</i>. </div>
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I will be reporting my month recap using some fun eye candy this year. Below are the following areas you will see on my monthly grade card. I'll leave you with the anticipation on what these will entail for now. In celebration of my 2nd year of pursuing a better me, I wanted to have some fun with documenting my work. Doing the deeds to be better takes just that: <b>work</b>. Documenting that work deserves celebration even if my month didn't grade out like I had hoped. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uxqZCf97noY/UQn6MkxJuWI/AAAAAAAAHwk/88zTnc_YMpU/s1600/m's+labels+connect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uxqZCf97noY/UQn6MkxJuWI/AAAAAAAAHwk/88zTnc_YMpU/s800/m's+labels+connect.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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I'm connecting with you too. In my attempts to carry out my 2013 goal, I plan to have more polls on my blog. These are simple to answer with just the click of a button. Answers are anonymous, so you can rest easy your honesty is protected. I hope to be able to hear more from my readers with this tool. I realize commenting on blogposts is becoming more a thing of the past. By no means do I write to receive feedback. I write because I love to let out what is in. But polling is just a teensy way I can better commit to my 2013 journey to connect. </div>
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<noscript><a href="http://polldaddy.com/poll/6869776/">MY 2013</a></noscript></div>
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Finally, I leave you with me. My promise to be better. My hopes for a heart that turns over the crusty soil in 2013 so to cultivate better connections with the who He wants me to be. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tf9mw_2Na_g/UQprfieFCSI/AAAAAAAAHz0/2GKIvIoIxvw/s1600/2013+meg-black+&+white-with+words.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tf9mw_2Na_g/UQprfieFCSI/AAAAAAAAHz0/2GKIvIoIxvw/s800/2013+meg-black+&+white-with+words.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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In the the words of my husband...</div>
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<i>"If you're waiting on me, your backing up."</i></div>
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<b>Let's do this.</b></div>
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.mac :)</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-41619134587900893352013-01-30T01:23:00.000-05:002013-01-30T08:50:57.068-05:00#1 DONE.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My goal for 2012 was to read one book a month. For some, that aspiration may be measured as <i>pitiful </i>on the meter stick of scholarly. For others, that may be a lofty stretch. <i><span style="font-size: large;">Me? </span></i><b> I didn't read a damn book all of 2012.</b> <i>Not one.</i> By now, I am gathering that my regular readers know that this space is meant for honesty not perfectedy. <i>There just ain't no sense in lying.</i> </div>
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So. <i>Ahem.</i> I opted to do what any <i>tail-between-the-legger</i> would do. I picked my non-reading self up and moved right into 2013 with the exact same goal. I am aiming to read one book a month for the year of 2013. I want this space to be utilized not so much as a report card for accountability, but more so cheerfully as a place of celebration.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-52W_lhyX8/UQf_268SznI/AAAAAAAAHtc/j2i9ftLHcWo/s1600/help+white.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-52W_lhyX8/UQf_268SznI/AAAAAAAAHtc/j2i9ftLHcWo/s800/help+white.jpg" width="411" /></a></div>
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I read <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Help">it.</a> Finished it two nights ago. I decided to take the time to free write words that sprung forth in my mind as I read the book. I typed them atop the cover you see above. This book was so smooth to read. It's content was hard to have pressed into my heart, but I liked that it was there just the same. I appreciated so much the conviction of Skeeter and Aibileen. There was something that stuck with me about Celia Foote. Her naive delusional debutante-like strength made me love the connection with Minny even more. <b>Minny</b>. <i>Oh.sweet.Minny. </i></div>
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<li>It made me want to write my prayers down like Aiblieen does every night. </li>
<li>There are too many Hilly Holbrooks in this world. </li>
<li>Mae Mobley may just be the next Skeeter.</li>
<li>Secret Stories should be told more even today on topics of more love and less hate. </li>
<li>The transparency and hateful selfishness of Elizabeth Leefolt is that inner follower in all of us; forsaking priority and the privilege of love only to keep up with the next trend, hot topic or social whatnot.</li>
<li>Goodbyes on unfair terms are gut wrenching for the little and the big.</li>
<li>Hope & courage are Aibileen and Minny.</li>
<li>Our lacks leave us lousy if we let them; there's a Leroy that lives in us all.</li>
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I loved my #1 for <strike>2012</strike> 2013. I'm glad I have given myself another go at the spine cracked side of life. I am quite certain these characters will make more of me as I peek inside them only to find myself with each turn of the page.</div>
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.mac :)</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-31224846533785451342013-01-28T00:00:00.000-05:002013-01-28T08:11:42.290-05:00hit-n-run<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tHHaGC6bc6g/UQXuTV1MQ0I/AAAAAAAAHrQ/_pres3lHn64/s1600/boys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tHHaGC6bc6g/UQXuTV1MQ0I/AAAAAAAAHrQ/_pres3lHn64/s800/boys.jpg" width="421" /></a></div>
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Some people freak at surprises. Like the kind of freak where they can't decide whether to be ill as a hornet or just tore-up-from-the-floor-up flabbergasted. <i>And me?</i> <b>Well, I like'em. </b> I love to give them and get them. There's something simple in giving a <i>heartblast</i>. <i>That's what I call surprises. </i>And, heartblast is the perfect description too. It's simply lining up your hands and feet with the impromptu flash of love that God settles into your heart. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E4PNMRXOa80/UQXuT4ikZrI/AAAAAAAAHrY/pVk4FvyZM3Q/s1600/hitnruncard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E4PNMRXOa80/UQXuT4ikZrI/AAAAAAAAHrY/pVk4FvyZM3Q/s800/hitnruncard.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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I've made it a point to teach the boys the joy of heartblasting someone. They have a name for a certain kind of heartblast we love to do. It's called the hit-n-run. It doesn't take any special occasion or celebration, just the notion and the energy to act out of love. With this particular hit-n-run, it was Mom-mom's birthday. </div>
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Coming up with what the surprise should be is so fun. For this hit-n-run, we decided to amp Mom-Mom up with all her favorites yummies. Other heartblast surprises aren't always hit-n-runs. We've just showed up on people's doorsteps we have been missing for a visit, dropped off treats for a short stay and even sent goodies in the mail to someone who's on our mind. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HLQ5QUql6ZM/UQXuUvkBDZI/AAAAAAAAHro/sZW5DQRLMQ8/s1600/mommom+snacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HLQ5QUql6ZM/UQXuUvkBDZI/AAAAAAAAHro/sZW5DQRLMQ8/s800/mommom+snacks.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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The boys get so super stoked for hit-n-runs though. They map out the plan of attack. <i>Who's going to be the setter-upper of the goods? Who's gonna ring the doorbell? Where should Mom park with the car running for a fast getaway? </i></div>
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I hope the boys remember that these acts are just exactly what makes hearts a little happier, moreover smiles a little wider in between the rough patches. I hope they remember it doesn't take lots of money. It just takes that instinctual obedience to scatter joy with a little bit of time & creativity. I hope they remember to share these heartblasts with their wives when they are grown. I hope they don't forget that <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/03/future-husbands.html">flower lesson</a> of mine too. </div>
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.mac :)</div>
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{week 49: <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/my%202%20in%2052">my 2 in 52</a>}</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-17369811047453008372013-01-27T13:41:00.002-05:002013-01-27T13:48:58.431-05:00{the rhythm of the merry}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rj8qpieYkkA/UQV1-hmmUeI/AAAAAAAAHpw/iqFmYnD1E5g/s1600/note+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="385" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rj8qpieYkkA/UQV1-hmmUeI/AAAAAAAAHpw/iqFmYnD1E5g/s800/note+cropped.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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The void of this writing space in my life has been unsettling to my heart. I find myself these days on a merry-go round of my myriad of <i>musts</i>. Cyclical, the wind slams into my tight lipped face as I hold tighter to the rusty rails just waiting for warp speed to downshift. But, there's that overachiever girl with her feet planted firmly on the dirt playground spinning me faster and faster. As if in unison, her hands propel a force that reeks velocity confirmation on my face of survival. <i>Then, there's the other gal.</i> She melodiously watches with a grandeur kind of anticipation. Her energies funnel into nothing but acute concentration on this round-n-round routine. She labors to catch the rhythm of the merry. She looks at me secured there on the rusty turntable with some sort of admiration. Her eyes cast darted glances of jealousy as I am on and she is not. Brittle dirt flies into the air around us as spinner girl takes dedicated delight in increasing the rapidity of this roundabout. <b>Faster. <span style="font-size: large;">Faster.</span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Faster.</span></b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> I hold on with all my might. I opt to overlook the churning of an upside down stomach wanting nothing more than to be obscene & ugly all over the place. Spinner girl cackles with her obsession for speed; she is mesmerized by her mission. The on-deck girl has a full tank of <i>'I want to'</i> just waiting for that precise time to leap and board.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">{the rhythm of the merry}</span></b></div>
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I am <i>that girl</i>.<br />
<i>All 3 to be exact.</i><br />
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.macMommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-9112476269544003712013-01-22T09:25:00.000-05:002013-01-22T11:39:32.906-05:00{six}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VFN5oNi7770/UP4bKIVVMpI/AAAAAAAAHe4/xiymvb5xFu4/s1600/casey-six.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="445" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VFN5oNi7770/UP4bKIVVMpI/AAAAAAAAHe4/xiymvb5xFu4/s800/casey-six.jpg" width="575" /></a></div>
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Six years have snuck past us all. That's 2,190 days to be exact. Looking back, I recall words penned for you just <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2009/01/two.html">four years ago</a> ago on this day. <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2010/01/stolen.html">Three years ago</a>, too, with your tiny newborn image. <b>You.</b> <i>A work of art walking.</i> Your presence is of a proper noun sense. Specificity and tenacity mixed with an outright joy meld your stature. Captivating is your smile, moreover your touch. Your blue eyes twinkle when they meet others. Gleaming with a steady, confident connection as if your interaction with them is mandatory for your pulse of life. </div>
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You love your b. and your <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2009/08/allow-me.html">big brother.</a> Staple necessities are they to your everyday. You have an infectious knack for story telling and expression. Your mind maneuvers melodiously in & out of play scripts throughout your day. Your heartstrings are easily moved when injustice or loneliness enters your arena be it through stories in books or on the screen. <i>You sense others and how they feel</i>. An association never to be underestimated; you have a strength in compassion. </div>
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Your <a href="http://kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/06/hold-me.html">Mama's lap</a> is your softest spot. <i>It always has been</i>. Your Daddy meets you in that magical place where overwhelming love and outstanding battles of will collide. He is absolutely smitten over you as you are him. Smitten enough to hook horns and snuggle just the same. I would imagine his trump card will be played often throughout your life so to make more of the man you will become. Mama's too as you lack not in determination. Training up greatness is a job neither of us take lightly.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a5nVWsaqBBs/UP6UHLQWY2I/AAAAAAAAHgY/gpPiiGpkENU/s1600/casey+belly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a5nVWsaqBBs/UP6UHLQWY2I/AAAAAAAAHgY/gpPiiGpkENU/s800/casey+belly.jpg" width="448" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>{January 21, 2007-the day before you were born}</i></span></div>
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<i>For lightly is not the way to live. </i>Casey McGill, you will be a man of courage and of conviction. You will live your life out loud and on center stage. Your humility will be there in the honest twinkle in your eyes and the commitment to reach out to others. Your tenacious spirit will infect so many that cross your path. God has a plan to spread His love and glory through your smile and your actions. <i>Sweet son, hold to Him and be His vessel</i>. You are learning more and more of His place in your life. The wheels of conviction are turning in your soul. Beaming with an anticipation and hope, your Dad and I watch on as we see the excitement in you light up each night before our family devotion time. </div>
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Today we celebrate you. We celebrate the gift of life that we take not for granted. We are thankful for the passion and joy you give to the lives around you. Thank you for sharing it with us. Your place in this world has a brilliant purpose. Rock this new year of life out, Casey Face!</div>
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Love you, </div>
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<i>Mama :)</i></div>
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{week 50: <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/search/label/my%202%20in%2052">my 2 in 52</a>} </div>
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Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2780568122287607598.post-1277500823818311522013-01-09T08:20:00.000-05:002013-01-09T18:53:53.856-05:00{beauty}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4-HHu-5clfM/UO1n8gjEPzI/AAAAAAAAHdQ/un7rRtvq_gQ/s1600/EMMA_BLUSH_A_F3Q-hero-original.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="575" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4-HHu-5clfM/UO1n8gjEPzI/AAAAAAAAHdQ/un7rRtvq_gQ/s800/EMMA_BLUSH_A_F3Q-hero-original.jpeg" width="575" /></a></div>
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I wore these shoes on New Year's Eve. They were a <a href="http://www.shoedazzle.com/products/EMMA-1#420">BOGO indulge</a> I gave to myself back in October. Remember, <a href="http://www.kmaccreations.blogspot.com/2012/12/penning-it-down.html">these shoes? </a> Well, they were my <i>"BO"</i> and the above were my <i>"GO"</i>. I love how substantial yet dainty they are with their ballet pink palette and tiny textured swiss dots. With them on, I am about 6'1". These pumps are comfy and sassy. And, from my New Year's Eve test drive, they seem to be great dancers too. <i>I felt beautiful wearing these. </i></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QRgfRMxg57w/UO1n3p3XrDI/AAAAAAAAHdI/OjH-Zspqe_o/s1600/1676878-p-MULTIVIEW.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="466" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QRgfRMxg57w/UO1n3p3XrDI/AAAAAAAAHdI/OjH-Zspqe_o/s800/1676878-p-MULTIVIEW.jpeg" width="575" /></a></div>
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The above were my Christmas gift from Kenny. These are my 3rd pair of this <a href="http://www.6pm.com/asics-gel-kayano-18-white-island-blue-black?zfcTest=mat%3A1">exact running shoe</a>. I heart them <b>big time.</b> I run about 15 miles a week in these babies. To be honest, it takes <b>everything</b> in me not to wear them all the time because they are <b>that</b> comfortable. These kicks are like my house shoes. <i>My slippers. My sappy shoes</i> as Kenny's Mamaw would say. <i>And, you know what? </i> I feel just as beautiful wearing these as I did wearing the above dainties. There is strength inside a lady. Strength to suck it up, carry on, make it happen and smile through on those days that suck. Women have a wonderful sense of making things seamless in a world full of stitches. There is strength inside us so magnificent that it can't help but radiate the beauty of you.</div>
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<b>{in peep toe pumps or kick ass running shoes}</b></div>
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<b>God gave you beauty</b>. </div>
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<i>It's your job to go out and let the world see Him shine.</i></div>
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.mac :)</div>
Mommy Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01923843481900845755noreply@blogger.com0