tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87135799928842590242024-03-05T12:21:50.604-05:00Expanding ErdelsWe are STILL expanding. No longer in quantity but certainly in quality and strength and outlook. We want to get back to sharing our experiences along the way and preserve the memories. Watch us grow, hopefully in more ways than one.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-54487103529107664212020-07-15T10:22:00.001-04:002020-07-15T10:22:29.963-04:00Wednesday Whine: The IRS Hates Honest Good People {Flashback Alert}<div>{I started this post on June 5, 2013 but must have been too tired and pregnant to finish my rant... but now, on July 15, 2020, it remains relevant. So here it is, in a more finished and revised version}.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-X99AdgGKfKdjEHN8te6QccezlOGXpUH9Qft5oZBZBCdMlfFPrRrK37OTsXHoYcs1PoST92OWYDBCWjn0lncGlfRkzAu6fNHRa_i3WFqv1jqgt9uZZO5Tesc3bf4T3sQAH5DmBycO3RO/s275/Unknown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-X99AdgGKfKdjEHN8te6QccezlOGXpUH9Qft5oZBZBCdMlfFPrRrK37OTsXHoYcs1PoST92OWYDBCWjn0lncGlfRkzAu6fNHRa_i3WFqv1jqgt9uZZO5Tesc3bf4T3sQAH5DmBycO3RO/s0/Unknown.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div>This is a family blog, not a <strike>political,</strike> religious, crafty, popular, fashionable or superior one. That being said, my family is disgruntled by the IRS {<-- this is as far as I got back in 2013} and the system(s) at large.<div><br /></div><div>In 2008 (man, that was forever ago, during a different economic crisis), there was a program for new homeowners like us where you could apply for a $7,500 loan that then had to be re-paid over the next 15 years. We qualified for the loan and then started repaying it (or so we thought) via our tax returns each year. But, then, in 2013, we decided to refinance our mortgage at a lower interest rate and discovered that even though we had been indicating to the IRS that we were repaying a portion of the credit each year, the IRS believed we had purchased our home in 2009 and thus had a different kind of new homeowner incentive from the government - one that we did not need to repay. And, they had been returning our repayment to us each year with our tax refund. So, long story short, we owed the government a couple thousand dollars + interest for those years. </div><div><br /></div><div>While we of course would have been happy to keep the money free and clear, it would have been wrong. We bought our house in 2008. We were required to repay the credit. It took me numerous phone calls and several certified letters to clear this all up and get the IRS to take our money and update the records to reflect our status. We had to send original loan documents and closing documents to show that we had bought the house in 2008. The back and forth with the IRS was ridiculous and because it was all by mail, (rather than phone or email) it took basically forever. We could not refinance until this was cleared up. We would not have been able to obtain a new mortgage on a new house until we were current on our payments. It was ridiculous. We were trying to essentially pay our taxes and the IRS wouldn't let us just do so. It was like, WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THIS?! JUST TAKE MY MONEY!!! This, unfortunately, was not the first or last time that I've been confronted by a situation like this - a situation that should be easy and simple and obvious but that instead, takes me hours of my life to figure out, even though I'm not the one who has made the error. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another example - we are again refinancing a home mortgage (wow, we sound like serial refinancers...we're not) and the bank needed to check our credit scores. Not a problem, we know our scores are good. But, a few years ago our information was compromised when our insurance carrier was hacked. The insurance carrier offered credit protection programs and recommended that we freeze our credit scores to protect ourselves. So, we did that and didn't think twice. But now, in the midst of this refinance, I'm thinking twice. I've spent several hours on the phone and online working with the credit agencies to unfreeze our accounts. It's a process and a messy one because for some unknown reason, that no one has been able to explain or fix for me, one of the agencies simply does not recognize me. I have to speak to a live person and disclose minute details about my identity before they will even agree to talk to me further. I was the victim of a data breach and even though I took all of the steps I could to protect myself, I'm still paying the price. It's frustrating and unfair and I'm so tired of this. It's not like I don't have anything else to spend my time on - like my kids, or work, or mental health.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last example - about a year ago, we took Archie (he's the baby, remember? now almost 5) to a pediatric dermatologist at Indiana University for treatment of a weird and persistent rash on his arm. The doctor told me the treatment was expensive and that it would probably not be covered by insurance. Not a problem - blessed to be able and happy to pay for the treatment that would help (and it did help - no more rash). I was prepared to pay what we owed that day and offered to do so, just to be done with it, but at check-out, they instead confirmed that they had our current insurance information (they did, as I had just given them our card before the appointment) and said they'd submit it to our carrier so that we would at least have the amount go towards our deductible for the year. Thereafter, we kept our eyes out for the Statement of Benefits from our insurance carrier and a bill from the doctor's office. Neither came. But guess what did come? A letter from a collection agency threatening that if we didn't pay the invoice, they'd submit the claim to the credit agencies. I. WAS. LIVID. No follow-up from the doctor's office or their accounts payable team. No mail from anyone about it. No email reminder. Nothing. And, I had tried to pay the damn bill the day of Archie's appointment. WTF. I called the office and calmly (okay, probably not calmly) explained the situation and said I wanted to pay the bill and speak to a manager. I did both. The manager said that she was looking at our account - all of the contact information they had was correct (of course it was, I had given it to them at Archie's appointment) - and that they had tried to reach us. I called BS. No, they had not because if they had tried to reach us they would have reached us. We have stable home and work addresses and emails and phone numbers. My husband attended IU medical school and worked there as a resident and fellow for YEARS - and they never had any problems reaching us then. It was all ultimately taken care of with no reports to the credit agencies, but I'm still upset by this - my heart is racing as I write this. Threatening me to take action that I had tried to take but was discouraged from (by the exact same people) does not sit well with me. </div><div><br /></div><div>And, I'm smart (though impatient). I have resources. I do eventually figure this stuff out and move on. But how do people with less than what I have figure it out? How do people who don't have the money or the means make it? I'm afraid they don't, and the gap grows wider - they can't access credit or pay bills even when they have the money or fix mistakes. Victims continue to be victimized. Businesses and certainly our government need to do better. If our public and private organizations and systems can put a man on the moon and have same-day shipping on cat toys, certainly we can do better for honest good people. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-63766140657681935822016-01-03T09:24:00.001-05:002020-07-15T09:41:57.901-04:00"Where have all the cowboys gone?" {FLASHBACK ALERT}<div>{This post was drafted at the turn of the new year in 2016 and sat unpublished until now, July 15, 2020... wow}</div><div><br /></div>Is the song lyric that is playing on repeat in my head right now.<br />
That's the only line I know of that song.<br />
With "hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name" tuning in every so often.<br />
Also the only lyric I know of that song.<br />
I might have once known more, but my brain is currently in survival mode.<br />
Cutting out the extras and living way more day-to-day and line-to-line than I typically allow myself.<br />
It's not survival mode in a bad way, but just in a "just went back to work from 4 months of maternity leave, survived the holidays and three sick kids, and even when the kids sleep through the night, I do not" kind of way.<br />
<br />
Life is good.<br />
The days are long but the years are short.<br />
They grow so fast.<br />
Time flies.<br />
<br />
All true. If you need proof, just check out these photos from the last 4 months:<br /><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7_dX-fDxWjCDShf9MsD6Avqb6osPXAc92ZzwmFD-Auu7YVggJSjqBBNeJP9fFkw0Yz0-1t2ztr-6RthEb-cOgb_wItF2Re9LpyHgXzCpM3pcqlsXy-ZN85R3Mz43h34KioKmRSqEgHCf/s1600/IMAG1410.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7_dX-fDxWjCDShf9MsD6Avqb6osPXAc92ZzwmFD-Auu7YVggJSjqBBNeJP9fFkw0Yz0-1t2ztr-6RthEb-cOgb_wItF2Re9LpyHgXzCpM3pcqlsXy-ZN85R3Mz43h34KioKmRSqEgHCf/s320/IMAG1410.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />September 8, 2015, at about 8:30am.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: left;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: left;"></td><td style="text-align: left;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td><img alt="Archie on day 1, 4 months ago." border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUT8tPM6SyEUlK0xE7SBiE9FOfbWO-WtoNs9pz4uc0IM5zn82xSDy2gzpCuLpBixdr9egWjYWfREH6hvOK-JafVP0XRit18pKhAJRkE-6GHS8Ous0zAhhP1TbN4EUT72CvJzSHfnViin9/w320-h181/IMAG1399.jpg" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption"><br />Archie-pants on day 1, 4 months ago.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtmqej1ZZ3ZCYt8K1jtMRnryZzdmR9UaPYN4PQSyvytVf8mvmTaTLl4q6aabuveIyLaHvgig0YGrm4bUH0AszENIOdwMEFtCglxVtNlFm58Cm-m5DuhzCOUFM1azXZWJYJJ8epoiOPOe5/s1600/DSC_6732.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtmqej1ZZ3ZCYt8K1jtMRnryZzdmR9UaPYN4PQSyvytVf8mvmTaTLl4q6aabuveIyLaHvgig0YGrm4bUH0AszENIOdwMEFtCglxVtNlFm58Cm-m5DuhzCOUFM1azXZWJYJJ8epoiOPOe5/s320/DSC_6732.jpg" width="213" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How is my baby 4.5! Kindergarten applications are in.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnlXywL7e-XuP5D9gsLscADaLeyknfUYygXXwI6rCsayqd8MxuSKFVdGCJ_Aiy5rZmTlVuHMgvVOeXwkMUTfbdcki6rJ2zA9MtfyfhuBTVasBxtenMbYK6bjHyEohjXdNm1bewnFOiF3lR/s1600/DSC_6829.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnlXywL7e-XuP5D9gsLscADaLeyknfUYygXXwI6rCsayqd8MxuSKFVdGCJ_Aiy5rZmTlVuHMgvVOeXwkMUTfbdcki6rJ2zA9MtfyfhuBTVasBxtenMbYK6bjHyEohjXdNm1bewnFOiF3lR/s320/DSC_6829.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cutest stinker out there. We call him Jekyll and Hyde.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kHlfLgynR85K8vznagVXzy2xX_bYapfKZtDcFYuMXVDTzrdz1yjo5IUo72MgSDu-ZKKa6EXXSN5ijU_ZVQjKLRuS2ogHphHsUrn8IDlH8Eg3Wrl2HygiYECUgr2Nf0CJmGh-IEWqbQ41/s1600/DSC_6963.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kHlfLgynR85K8vznagVXzy2xX_bYapfKZtDcFYuMXVDTzrdz1yjo5IUo72MgSDu-ZKKa6EXXSN5ijU_ZVQjKLRuS2ogHphHsUrn8IDlH8Eg3Wrl2HygiYECUgr2Nf0CJmGh-IEWqbQ41/s320/DSC_6963.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traded in the bungalow for a fraternity house. Kappa Beta Epsilon.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlvASkr_EPYPJ865jAWGIeTcZHc74thY4uZlvKa-nmWQUXNOj32hLnTWXnz51vNXdLSVUJ3SxVi_AWc-qeU9k2kFjyjNQFYNIfqOfMJu7SBeAKr0YIpv_czOlssLiSvQ7xuGmIK-FFoPl/s1600/Kate_Evan+Erdel.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlvASkr_EPYPJ865jAWGIeTcZHc74thY4uZlvKa-nmWQUXNOj32hLnTWXnz51vNXdLSVUJ3SxVi_AWc-qeU9k2kFjyjNQFYNIfqOfMJu7SBeAKr0YIpv_czOlssLiSvQ7xuGmIK-FFoPl/s320/Kate_Evan+Erdel.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evan just graduated to the Twos classroom at school. Big boy. Hates pants.</td></tr>
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<br />
Love these kids and our home and Blake. Happy New Year. <br />
<span id="goog_2143468244"></span><span id="goog_2143468245"></span><br />
<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-26491531049446354032015-08-12T10:03:00.000-04:002015-08-12T10:07:04.504-04:00Trying to Savor the Crazy Time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wNpw_f1A70vm0O72UtTZf08HpQBcn7_wOFGordIaIsYe0IUrIVPV6NazyZZHCsDWU3J9cfpaO7gOry_Thb3BqmBkZZ1RTRRPWe7Yan8YubrjA09T8XlcAuSlxHBUC3APorVPoVsbTTfA/s1600/IMG_3024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wNpw_f1A70vm0O72UtTZf08HpQBcn7_wOFGordIaIsYe0IUrIVPV6NazyZZHCsDWU3J9cfpaO7gOry_Thb3BqmBkZZ1RTRRPWe7Yan8YubrjA09T8XlcAuSlxHBUC3APorVPoVsbTTfA/s200/IMG_3024.JPG" width="150" /></a>We bought a new house back in April.<br />
We sold our little, much-loved, little bungalow in June.<br />
We moved in with Blake's parents, Mimi and Poppy.<br />
We played landlords for a few months and then took possession of our new house on August 1st.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORMSJQn28nNrW0Xsl_tkw4YYWcLIDjcuYP_BCncTBR4_zAXHNePxBGEx9VLSGkEpCXy-mkZxmMobnbjk54Y9DeWfwi0oGH8oMePgYi3TiTQTZnbOmvfWVvnRQJlNdGANtMTBTQCd_0o-5/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORMSJQn28nNrW0Xsl_tkw4YYWcLIDjcuYP_BCncTBR4_zAXHNePxBGEx9VLSGkEpCXy-mkZxmMobnbjk54Y9DeWfwi0oGH8oMePgYi3TiTQTZnbOmvfWVvnRQJlNdGANtMTBTQCd_0o-5/s200/FullSizeRender+%25285%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>The next day, a bunch of guys came in and demolished the kitchen and the master closet. <br />
Since then, they've been putting it back together in a most delightful way.<br />
<br />
I've been nesting with no nest, which is not as much fun as nesting with a real nest, but it is nesting all the same. <br />
It involves cleaning the same bathroom over and over again, forcing Blake to paint rooms he doesn't want to paint, buying new towels and shower curtains, planning the kids' rooms in my head, and dusting the pipes and stuff in the unfinished part of the basement. <br />
All totally necessary.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdgPI2ugQGOVflIC85u_-MImLqPG4pjEUQ6j5rzila4nxSFh6gOPrpUth_tvYq5sTM01sC2sT2ctO1u9_9ZvY1CLaUb9TeC5cKNDbtpwvaKfik7CyVXItNtf2Y5iqrydwHUNPJ61OuBuj5/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdgPI2ugQGOVflIC85u_-MImLqPG4pjEUQ6j5rzila4nxSFh6gOPrpUth_tvYq5sTM01sC2sT2ctO1u9_9ZvY1CLaUb9TeC5cKNDbtpwvaKfik7CyVXItNtf2Y5iqrydwHUNPJ61OuBuj5/s200/FullSizeRender+%25283%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>In an attempt to not spend an arm and a leg on professional window cleaning, I bought a nice squeegee, and people, that is where it's at. <br />
The one window I've tackled looks amazing.<br />
I cannot wait to do more. <br />
Seriously. <br />
I'm going to ditch work early today to go wash windows.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I was at Lowe's (for the third time in two days) buying a new curtain rod for the nursery. <br />
The cashier asked me if I knew the gender of the baby.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr8cfhdgLjCWwSt7fff3DlaFzCoJWTbORbglnxQWemSJ78RHr7i2NJv7uFk308G9ipdv55xC-eFNu2acJx45ocAO7pHXzVwYneABiHFf8vcrZuFHpIGAMkoY9KcRXuPhBbtom2Q8F6UbUO/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr8cfhdgLjCWwSt7fff3DlaFzCoJWTbORbglnxQWemSJ78RHr7i2NJv7uFk308G9ipdv55xC-eFNu2acJx45ocAO7pHXzVwYneABiHFf8vcrZuFHpIGAMkoY9KcRXuPhBbtom2Q8F6UbUO/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="200" /></a>I told her "yes, a boy." <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61zzbMTbyw2_ypvosI12d-t8qIFhEnMJbGIo0NtTBej1nZZ0me4zT1fs6GA5_wpmlKkpjrnb0_oVqs8OxvI3qalxy8iGhmc2Ypp9bN0XMpnohGPF3xLpVwk-P7PmR0UxZ-CLBhuWNPmI6/s1600/IMG_3040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61zzbMTbyw2_ypvosI12d-t8qIFhEnMJbGIo0NtTBej1nZZ0me4zT1fs6GA5_wpmlKkpjrnb0_oVqs8OxvI3qalxy8iGhmc2Ypp9bN0XMpnohGPF3xLpVwk-P7PmR0UxZ-CLBhuWNPmI6/s200/IMG_3040.JPG" width="112" /></a>The cashier asked "how much longer."<br />
I said "four weeks."<br />
She said with a gasp - "WEEKS!"<br />
"Yes, weeks." <br />
<br />
It's simultaneously too much and yet not enough time.<br />
It's too much time for my little body, my back, my heartburn, and my sleep requirements.<br />
It at least seems like not enough time for our house to get put back together so we can move in.<br />
It's definitely not enough time to savor with the two little people who already consume my attention and love and, even though I'm super excited to welcome our new baby, I'm already missing my time with the two we have.<br />
<br />
Also, we bought a really sweet minivan. <br />
It's easily the nicest car I've ever owned.<br />
<br />
KateKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-32304576459849805492015-04-28T12:49:00.000-04:002015-04-28T19:44:05.913-04:00Yay > BooIf I don't start to put this stuff down on the blog more regularly, it is going to crumble and blow away in the wind (which maybe is not a bad thing given this busy, overcrowded phase of life we are in). But, I like having a place to put memories, even if it is just a few here and there. So I'll try to blog on.<br />
<br />
Top 10 News Flashes of 2015 (so far):<br />
<br />
10. We had our first run-in with an emergency medical situation earlier in April when Audrey fell off the couch and hit her forehead on the coffee table. I should have known that her announcement - "Daddy you are too big to come into the bounce house" - was a precursor for disaster. She was a champ though in the ER, six stitches and her forehead is healing just fine, and she's back to jumping on the couch, sliding down fireman poles, you name it. She's fearless. Yay.<br />
<br />
9. We bought a new house. It is about a mile south of our current house, still in the Butler Tarkington neighborhood we love. More, much-needed space, a fun backyard, a bathroom that I don't have to share with my kids, and a basement that can host the kids' sleep overs some day. Yay.<br />
<br />
8. We do not move into said new house until August. Boo.<br />
<br />
7. We sold our house. It was only on the market for three days before we got a good offer, so that was great. Still working on the details of the inspection, but I'm hopeful that it's all going to go through. Should close in May. Yay (though I will also really miss our first home).<br />
<br />
6. We will be living with Blake's parents while we are homeless. I think it will be fun to be there over the summer, on the water, and will give the kids a fun chance for more bonding with their Mimi and Poppy. It's a "Yay" for me and hopefully for everyone else involved as well!<br />
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5. Evan and Audrey are now sharing a room and mostly sleeping through the night. They will continue to share a room into the foreseeable future and don't seem to mind. Yay.<br />
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4. I was recognized as an Up and Coming Lawyer by Indiana Lawyer (a news publication for lawyers). I feel very humbled and honored and grateful that my hard work is not going unrecognized. Yay.<br />
<br />
3. We are in the market for a mini van and open to recommendations on the preferred make and model. Cannot wait for sliding doors so that Audrey can get herself in and out of the car. Yay.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwfSVgMAdg1Z2lDPew2AWKvHLw3GYtP50H4sUFzyUp2tPRiEq9_89BpLUILpJAejb8ivY_5JcJ6v7evnxZx32Sw81RwLJl81NbdObicgZIuvAil6vhZGapc_wiukpKiUu_8eSTncNq2X4/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwfSVgMAdg1Z2lDPew2AWKvHLw3GYtP50H4sUFzyUp2tPRiEq9_89BpLUILpJAejb8ivY_5JcJ6v7evnxZx32Sw81RwLJl81NbdObicgZIuvAil6vhZGapc_wiukpKiUu_8eSTncNq2X4/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">20 Weeks!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
2. We are primarily in the market for a mini van because three kids simply will not fit comfortably into either of the cars we currently have. And, said kid no. 3 will be here on September 8, 2015 via repeat C-section (or that's the plan anyways). We have an ultrasound next week and may or may not find out the gender. Yay.<br />
<br />
1. I am overwhelmed by my life and the changes on the horizon. But, we are a go big or go home kind of family. Even when we don't technically have a home. And, more Yays than Boos. So that's another yay.<br />
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Hope your life is full of yays, too.<br />
KateKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-16253382062687189692015-01-11T19:06:00.002-05:002020-07-15T09:35:51.350-04:00What's New With the Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDb943nH2x8vpYHJPi-wjX2JwjDV0q2uOOy-eEzXRdonPOkzgZG9tNAD8HxvS_TsOr0gCwC7MGlQDqGIsSYBB0cMujLZPnBmp9UqCMOeVHIR1qNXEclgQaxUcoD_JQu6Zc0pNH2cWL_8ce/s960/Erdel+Family+Photo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDb943nH2x8vpYHJPi-wjX2JwjDV0q2uOOy-eEzXRdonPOkzgZG9tNAD8HxvS_TsOr0gCwC7MGlQDqGIsSYBB0cMujLZPnBmp9UqCMOeVHIR1qNXEclgQaxUcoD_JQu6Zc0pNH2cWL_8ce/s320/Erdel+Family+Photo2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Kids that is.<br />
Lots.<br />
When we aren't sick (which has been often these last few months), we are having fun.<br />
<br />
Evan is fully mobile. Walking, running, climbing on everything, jumping on everything, and occasionally falling off everything. That's cool. And scary. He loves to dance and eat bananas. If you say "where's Evan?" he covers his eyes. If you call him a monkey, he puts his hands in his armpits and makes an "ooh ooh" noise. He also does an elephant impression and pants like a dog when he sees one. He can dunk like a boss, claps for himself, and laughs hysterically when you put him over your head and tickle his tummy with the top of your head. He walks up to me 47 times a day with a book in his hand and will crawl into my lap to read whenever I give him the chance. He loves to look at family photos. He has a bunch of teeth and would have a mullet except that I've been trimming the back whenever he'll hold still long enough for me to get a little trim in.He likes to take baths, eat dog food, and is so very smart. He got a Christmas ornament in his stocking from Grandpa and Oma and immediately walked over to the tree and set it on a branch. He still sleeps in the pack-n-play in the den on account of the not regularly sleeping through the night thing and is now officially attached to a blue bull (I think it's a bull) lovey. Unfortunately for all of us, it appears that said bull has been discontinued by Little Giraffe, so I'm looking for another acceptable match for back up... He's so frustrating when he's sick, but so cute all of the time. <br />
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Audrey is really fully potty trained as in, wakes up in the middle of the night and takes herself to the bathroom potty trained. That's cool. And also scary. She loves to wear dresses, including but not limited to the Elsa dress she received for Christmas that is already falling apart from over-use. She asked Santa for princesses and princesses only. She can write the letter "A" and knows how to spell her name (though she usually forgets the "e"). She likes to be the first one to see Evan in the morning when he wakes up and maybe that's why she's been waking up at 5:30am? Her favorite food is "rogret" AKA yogurt and breakfast food in general seems to be her weakness. Thank goodness the smoothie phase has passed, I was getting really tired of cleaning the blender 2x a day. She likes to tell stories, play pretend "I'm the mom", talk to herself, play a new game we have called "Zingo" and watch Dora the Explorer. She spontaneously tells us that she loves us and it just makes my day.<br />
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I have to sometimes remind myself, when the days are hard and snotty, that I'm blessed and privileged to get to take care of these two special people. Being their mom (or "the grandma" as Audrey calls me when she's "the mom"...) is awesome.<br />
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Hope you are all having a wonderful 2015. I'm sure ours will be another eventful 365 days. Kate<br />
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-10240906273840146112014-10-09T11:55:00.001-04:002014-10-09T11:56:42.388-04:00Throwback Thursday/Flashback Friday<div style="text-align: center;">
I visited the dentist.</div>
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I ate lunch with my mother in law.</div>
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I was 9 months pregnant.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3k6RibdraEDHvJ_QK09YrvUoy_Dn7Dtac0rnccJL1WcEGAGJjd0nF-kVRVhkJlok0-1GdFJE_MIpRrACOntiMNVQpePXYeP7WFBrbiWCHBCw8EmCx5W1JFxGEpZ_sdGzqt0XWAy371bGe/s1600/Me+pre+surgery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3k6RibdraEDHvJ_QK09YrvUoy_Dn7Dtac0rnccJL1WcEGAGJjd0nF-kVRVhkJlok0-1GdFJE_MIpRrACOntiMNVQpePXYeP7WFBrbiWCHBCw8EmCx5W1JFxGEpZ_sdGzqt0XWAy371bGe/s1600/Me+pre+surgery.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was having contractions.</div>
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I was so excited to meet our baby boy.</div>
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And now, a whole year later,</div>
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I CANNOT BEEN IT IS A WHOLE YEAR LATER</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtCFiPNycvVfnlFjadK1Fpt96smEKXZYjbaIH95mVpbjlDhdFgf7wxLmozdM2n2IJ8AfXV12hYqg7n38OKJkArvhkaAoraacJyOx3PlwBvaHjPGSKAzC72_HZrFuitCGCRVmF7el4y1O1N/s1600/Evan+in+my+arms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtCFiPNycvVfnlFjadK1Fpt96smEKXZYjbaIH95mVpbjlDhdFgf7wxLmozdM2n2IJ8AfXV12hYqg7n38OKJkArvhkaAoraacJyOx3PlwBvaHjPGSKAzC72_HZrFuitCGCRVmF7el4y1O1N/s1600/Evan+in+my+arms.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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That's it.</div>
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I cannot believe it.</div>
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In some ways I am very happy.</div>
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It was a rough year.</div>
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It was a tiring year.</div>
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We all yelled, screamed, and cried.</div>
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Sometimes at each other.</div>
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Sometimes at no one.</div>
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Some of us did not sleep much.</div>
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I did not sleep much.</div>
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So I am happy that we made it through.</div>
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That sleepless nights are on their way out.</div>
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That having to schedule around naps and feedings is over.</div>
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But in other ways I am very sad.</div>
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Our baby boy is not a little baby anymore.</div>
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He rarely snuggles.</div>
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He stopped nursing months ago and my milk dried up.</div>
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He is ready to walk, to run.</div>
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And I'm afraid I don't know him.</div>
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I know Audrey so well.</div>
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When she turned one, I knew her so well.</div>
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We had spent so much time together.</div>
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Nursing together.</div>
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Cuddling together.</div>
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Sleeping side by side.</div>
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But Evan is just out there on his own sometimes.</div>
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Not with his mama.</div>
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He sleeps in the pack-n-play in the den.</div>
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Like he's an afterthought.<br />
Or like we didn't make space for him.</div>
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Audrey talks and we listen.</div>
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Evan talks and we have no idea what he's saying.</div>
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We put him to bed early.</div>
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We rush him off to school.</div>
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We put him in the car seat, the stroller.</div>
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He's a happy guy, but maybe not because of us.</div>
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Not because of me.</div>
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And this makes me sad.<br />
Makes me wish I stayed home with him more.</div>
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Wish I didn't work.</div>
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Wish I only had one child.</div>
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Or 3 more.</div>
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Or 3 more hands.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvw3zVSI3_0TJrDtiozzNUeyHaCb7Vj0U5_zG7rkEHgmjg1nRJNGjklZkSRS1VruZ9rWQROkYEU_KYQ9vfzEpuFXPAOKnYR6xWJZp1lwDoXDdwHzoHKmHuUPHedZop8M1ZbXkEIS899ZW/s1600/photo4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvw3zVSI3_0TJrDtiozzNUeyHaCb7Vj0U5_zG7rkEHgmjg1nRJNGjklZkSRS1VruZ9rWQROkYEU_KYQ9vfzEpuFXPAOKnYR6xWJZp1lwDoXDdwHzoHKmHuUPHedZop8M1ZbXkEIS899ZW/s1600/photo4.JPG" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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One this is certain, though, I do love this little guy.</div>
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He makes me smile.</div>
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And I can't believe that a year ago tomorrow, he'll be one.</div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-79172283319566295722014-08-27T13:41:00.001-04:002014-08-27T13:51:46.113-04:00My Fun(ny) Little GirlA month or so ago, Blake, Audrey and I were eating dinner. It was a typical event... We make dinner after Evan is asleep and while Audrey plays with one of us or entertains herself. She sometimes helps set the table, which is sweet. We call her to dinner and she throws a fit or dawdles, or both. She claims to "I don't like [insert whatever we are serving]!". We threaten that she cannot watch any tv before bed if she doesn't sit down and try to eat. She sits. Then she has to go potty (if not now, then at sometime during the dinner. She will need help. I will go help. The rest of my dinner will be cold.) We hold hands and pray, usually for Mimi and Evan. Sometimes for ourselves. Always for patience. She actually looks at what we are serving and exclaims "Peas! I loooove peas!". She proceeds to eat. I tell her something like "it is good to eat good food like vegetables because it helps us to get strong and stay health... it will help make you big." On this night in question, my sweet three year old responds, deadpan, "it will also help me make poop." We laugh, uncontrollably. She fails to see what is funny. "Mom, I need to go potty."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgekXrfORiOst0z5A25OohxXrFODElciwDQ6ygbdkgiBPJnfvEjeg6PSolCu__LVsHTKxdyHF8PDnRFbBFdIETvQ74eaWY8e2GepIFxv8kxM8p_VbwznOIbBPJvRtkjSAr50QF9bgWIVi/s1600/IMG_0639.mov" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgekXrfORiOst0z5A25OohxXrFODElciwDQ6ygbdkgiBPJnfvEjeg6PSolCu__LVsHTKxdyHF8PDnRFbBFdIETvQ74eaWY8e2GepIFxv8kxM8p_VbwznOIbBPJvRtkjSAr50QF9bgWIVi/s1600/IMG_0639.mov" /></a>Audrey learned to swim this summer. She is not ready to swim a 400 IM by any means, but she can kick and paddle and put her face in the water, propelling herself from point A to a not-so-distant point B pretty quickly. This makes me so proud. I love seeing her learn new things, especially things that are fun and hard for even some adults. After she started doing this the first time, I tried to get back in the pool with her as often as possible so that she could do it again and again. And so that I could feel that parental pride and have her little arms wrap around my neck, her laughter in my ear. So of course, I could not wait for our family trip to Lake Canandaigua in NY. I have such fond memories of swimming there with my cousins, jumping off the dock. And, with Audrey's new-found-love of swimming, I just imagined her having the same fun experience. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDIWDH3DxJOxRfD20WLsdGJ_CUIU9TzK0G4UJbZW5HYJ-dJ49CgM3oDsJnf8IeqKh12DIVh2JQbdQavc3cYIFBc89l8l7_SYwXf6JA-JEG7aJTzUjK4SORW_xf-mqWgIaljLH6k8F_LH_/s1600/IMG_1835.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDIWDH3DxJOxRfD20WLsdGJ_CUIU9TzK0G4UJbZW5HYJ-dJ49CgM3oDsJnf8IeqKh12DIVh2JQbdQavc3cYIFBc89l8l7_SYwXf6JA-JEG7aJTzUjK4SORW_xf-mqWgIaljLH6k8F_LH_/s1600/IMG_1835.jpeg" height="200" width="150" /></a>We get to NY. It is sub 80 all week, mostly cloudy. The water temperature is about 65. Freezing. On the first day, I manage to get us all to the beach with our swimsuits on and Audrey is brave enough to think about swimming. She puts her lifejacket suit on and wants to climb down the ladder. That doesn't go well, as the ladder is slimy. So, I tell her that she doesn't have to swim but that I, for old times sake, am going to jump off the dock. I do. It is cold. But not really that bad. She then immediately wants to jump in. She does. It is a flying leap. She splashes in. I am treading water and kind of catch her. She bobs up screaming - "GET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!!!" Everyone on the dock and the beach clapped for her and I told her how proud I was of her. I was. It was a brave leap for a little girl. She didn't put so much as a big toe in the lake the rest of the week. And now, she won't even venture into the pool here. <br />
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<br />
Lesson learned. My parental pride cannot be more important than my child's confidence and perception of safety and comfort.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
<br />
Blake and I have been brainstorming how to make Audrey's pacifier disappear for months. I thought the problem was solved when Toby chewed her original favorite to pieces last spring. But, she quickly transferred loyalty to another one of similar style. Granted, she only uses it at nap and bed times and only at home, but it's just time. She wakes up at least once a week in the middle of the night crying for it when it gets lost in her sheets and I can't take it anymore. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMe9pw3oPVhwFX6GbHgKt5yvNHFQyTBzkLTOgzzCnWcOO_sBNbj0GRbFbIiULOahVpBYaTUJIlgYmRYZGwWXs4vCTXeEFn6N-DyJcc4wHX6LWBOBSFLQ2RKQZW632NNkTW1LIUfXsUuzF/s1600/IMG_0663.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMe9pw3oPVhwFX6GbHgKt5yvNHFQyTBzkLTOgzzCnWcOO_sBNbj0GRbFbIiULOahVpBYaTUJIlgYmRYZGwWXs4vCTXeEFn6N-DyJcc4wHX6LWBOBSFLQ2RKQZW632NNkTW1LIUfXsUuzF/s1600/IMG_0663.jpeg" height="150" width="200" /></a>So, yesterday, the paci-fairy came while she was at school. The fairy left her a Frozen CD, a magic-clip Cinderella, a stuffed sock monkey, a tooth fairy alligator, and dum-dums. We told her that since she was a big girl, she didn't need her paci anymore and that the fairy would give her old paci to a little baby like Evan to use - we share with people who need something. She was in love with the dum-dums and actually did pretty well at bedtime. She threw a minor tantrum (5 seconds) and then was quiet for the night. I was SO proud this morning when at 7:30, she was still sleeping, and apparently without the paci. But then, I hear her in her room. I go in. She is still laying in bed with one arm up in the air. Triumphant. Holding one of Evan's little baby pacifiers. My pride negated. "Audrey, did you sleep with that pacifier all night." "Yes, I did." "But the pacifier fairy said it was time for no more pacis - you are a big girl. And, that is Evan's." "I know, but we share, mom." <br />
<br />
Pride returns, she is an honest, resourceful, generous little girl.<br />
<br />
Round 2 tonight. Winner TBD.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-9778194128704449082014-06-30T12:44:00.002-04:002014-06-30T12:44:36.113-04:00Why all of my posts (if I had time to post) are about how time flies.<div style="text-align: center;">
Because, just look at these pictures, it just flies. Absolutely flies.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLL0XNwc2Bn_PPtRg6Ugq1t4S7cwZMRkCUYdujkIUW7WNc5UMKNFCRRRR146ARWZDjLAFokAzMvedSpfZ0w_jIBH63-sU7x91pTVM5aGtPVdMePtu0qndUu7gSzTUP8BJXvvERTwXUFW1j/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLL0XNwc2Bn_PPtRg6Ugq1t4S7cwZMRkCUYdujkIUW7WNc5UMKNFCRRRR146ARWZDjLAFokAzMvedSpfZ0w_jIBH63-sU7x91pTVM5aGtPVdMePtu0qndUu7gSzTUP8BJXvvERTwXUFW1j/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We cruised through winter (well, no, we sloshed, slipped on the ice, skated, sledded, and other things, while wishing we were on a cruise) to Easter.</div>
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Then, before we knew it, we were wearing our summer jammies to walk to Starbucks on the weekends for much-needed coffee and "special milk" for the big 3 year old. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ5KBvuVimwyvU73enKir6zQNWOoojSc9a4Cj6psAwhfmunnGfBqV7zPE8DZVmaJE7mifkUo9b0iyY72OoxcX5tMVAliCbAurQn9OG8vYBaoabcAR6Sa8VtD79A0BLia4cb0Ag5BFjfLyO/s1600/photo2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ5KBvuVimwyvU73enKir6zQNWOoojSc9a4Cj6psAwhfmunnGfBqV7zPE8DZVmaJE7mifkUo9b0iyY72OoxcX5tMVAliCbAurQn9OG8vYBaoabcAR6Sa8VtD79A0BLia4cb0Ag5BFjfLyO/s1600/photo2.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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And then Evan could sit up with no problems and is a content water baby.</div>
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Audrey became extremely confused (perhaps we've watched "Frozen" one too many times) and decided that snow Angels in June (complete with the coat, gloves and hat) were fun.</div>
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And then, Evan, at 8+ months, completely lost his mind and started pulling up much sooner than mommy was ready for.</div>
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It flies.</div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-19070765802419928462014-01-15T21:54:00.001-05:002020-07-15T09:36:42.444-04:00Just Like That<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMej3MxDgd2_gF1CFMYGoTco9-ohnzWZQODyAP9LsBdJlc4MfKpQ9QQFW94w8T1wNnhcRm3I7wLglGuVAzN8jFfRnN5-vGTjxZXeB8Wz-JMaPKYLQfyVwzUDHQFWogC-NnlQqx5awp99Gl/s480/Evan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMej3MxDgd2_gF1CFMYGoTco9-ohnzWZQODyAP9LsBdJlc4MfKpQ9QQFW94w8T1wNnhcRm3I7wLglGuVAzN8jFfRnN5-vGTjxZXeB8Wz-JMaPKYLQfyVwzUDHQFWogC-NnlQqx5awp99Gl/s320/Evan.jpg" /></a></div>Just like that. <br />
<br />
The pregnancy that began in the first weeks of the old year is over.<br />
The maternity leave that gloriously covered the best of the holidays is over.<br />
Evan's fourth trimester. Over.<br />
I'm exhausted.<br />
And I'm sad.<br />
<br />
I feel underwhelmed by my life at the office and overwhelmed by my life everywhere else.<br />
I am tired. So very tired. So tired I can't sleep anymore.<br />
When one child goes to bed for the night with a lovely snugly hug, sweet "I love you" and doesn't wake up until morning, the other is just beginning a 12 hour stretch of peek-a-sleep.<br />
<br />
When I go out in the morning to warm up the car and move it closer to the house before loading my most precious passengers, I wonder if there will ever be a day when I "accidentally" back all the way down the driveway and find myself at Starbucks with a latte. <br />
Alone.<br />
Audrey still watching a video on my phone and Evan snoozing in his car seat in the den. <br />
<br />
I mean, I love these babies to the moon and back. <br />
So much it hurts a little bit sometimes.<br />
But it sure is exhausting.<br />
But it's a nice kind of exhausting. A peaceful kind of tired. <br />
This is how it's supposed to be. <br />
<br />
And it goes so fast. <br />
It's going so fast. <br />
Audrey is wearing big-girl underwear and taking herself to the bathroom.<br />
She doesn't want to sit in her highchair and she can reach the table without it.<br />
She's memorizing books and burping her baby-doll ever so gently.<br />
She doesn't want us to sing our goodnight song to her anymore.<br />
And when I close the door after she says "night night" from the twin bed (the one I slept in until college) that surrounds her tiny body, I pause for a minute and fight off tears. <br />
In my mind I hum the song and hold her little body, wrapped in her pink blanket.<br />
So many times I wished she would just get a little bit bigger so that... and now she is.<br />
<br />
Just like that.<br />
<br />
And then I turn my attention, my body, my sleepless nights, my worry, over to my new baby. <br />
And I savor every single minute, every cry, every sigh.<br />
Every bit of baby-ness that I can eek out of him, I do.<br />
Because in just a few days, weeks, months, years it's going to be over. <br />
And I know now that I'm going to miss it when it is.<br />
<br />
Just like that.<br />
<br />
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-26573859161846117452013-11-26T22:15:00.000-05:002013-11-26T22:15:21.814-05:00He's here! {duh}I'm tired and in the middle of laundry and packing to head to Cincinnati for Thanksgiving, so I'm going to cut right to the chase on this one...<br />
<br />
Unlike this overdue post, Baby Boy Erdel was not quite overdue on October 9th when I went into labor the day before I was scheduled for a repeat C-section. I believe it was induced by my dentist appointment earlier that morning. The hygienist telling me that I have signs of gingivitis really ticked me off. Or by the bacon I ate with my lunch. It was really good. Either way, it was for real and I managed the contractions all afternoon and evening. After we tucked Audrey into bed at MiMi and Poppy's and had one last date night, the pressure turned into pain and at about 1:30 in the morning, after no sleep at all, I showered, got Blake out of bed and decided that it was time to get things checked out. So, off we went to the hospital, bags and pillow in tow. The doctor on call (the same one who delivered Blake 32 years ago) confirmed my worst fears - not much progress. Like, 1centimeter. Which may as well have been negative 3 to me. Blake and I pretty quickly decided that the C-section that was scheduled for just a few hours later at 8am sounded like an option that was better than a long labor that may or may not end in surgery anyways. My regular doctor came in at 6am and agreed that, given my past history (long, induced labor with failure to progress and adverse reactions to an epidural), a C-section was still a good option. While I wasn't thrilled about having surgery again (I really had hoped that maybe labor would work the way it was supposed to this time) I was super excited to meet Baby Boy. See? Super excited. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3k6RibdraEDHvJ_QK09YrvUoy_Dn7Dtac0rnccJL1WcEGAGJjd0nF-kVRVhkJlok0-1GdFJE_MIpRrACOntiMNVQpePXYeP7WFBrbiWCHBCw8EmCx5W1JFxGEpZ_sdGzqt0XWAy371bGe/s1600/Me+pre+surgery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3k6RibdraEDHvJ_QK09YrvUoy_Dn7Dtac0rnccJL1WcEGAGJjd0nF-kVRVhkJlok0-1GdFJE_MIpRrACOntiMNVQpePXYeP7WFBrbiWCHBCw8EmCx5W1JFxGEpZ_sdGzqt0XWAy371bGe/s320/Me+pre+surgery.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The best part about a C-section compared to other major surgeries is that the fear of the surgery is outweighed by the excitement. I mean, I was <u>happy</u> to lose feeling in most of my body and hear the clinking of surgical tools. I felt <u>elated</u> (and a little loopy) as they prepped me. I made small talk with the anesthesiologist and laughed with my nurse. Not all of the surgery or the aftermath was glorious (like, I was so cold in the recovery room that they had to take the baby away from me and cover me with heating blankets and other details I will spare you), but, I'm quickly forgetting those details. I will never forget the most important detail though...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKuhSLdEwi4YVqaFOaYzsVzEtvn45_QneCy4FGyWlhMKTl_jBOMw4fzERNQONBq4hwY0SyceamCzj3Mr_cIeRr-nqCJZLEsedFH10tYfHs_NXfMhSStBdF-nd4Nj3nk8dEKsmuH-D-IKMm/s1600/Evan+in+my+arms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKuhSLdEwi4YVqaFOaYzsVzEtvn45_QneCy4FGyWlhMKTl_jBOMw4fzERNQONBq4hwY0SyceamCzj3Mr_cIeRr-nqCJZLEsedFH10tYfHs_NXfMhSStBdF-nd4Nj3nk8dEKsmuH-D-IKMm/s320/Evan+in+my+arms.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Evan Joseph Erdel! Born at 8:15am. Weighed 8lbs, 7oz and measured 21 inches long! Perfectly healthy and super cute. I love him. I was afraid that I wouldn't or couldn't because it was hard to imagine that I could have the same feelings for another person that I already have for Audrey. I wasn't sure my heart was big enough. But I do and it is and life is so good. Even at 3am. No, especially at 3am, when he is all mine.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRYxrKrWkR2qNHofWE8KsavBvcJOENzyMtJq4T5b2lHNjfzbRWdiXIU2SFYMnDxuzoknZjRy8zdQGhuEgNE7fcNRxUgmfIL8nyX39znQQVChgQIScSRLWwTy_iO9J-bxBK8tdaketZS1s/s1600/Audre+v.+Evan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRYxrKrWkR2qNHofWE8KsavBvcJOENzyMtJq4T5b2lHNjfzbRWdiXIU2SFYMnDxuzoknZjRy8zdQGhuEgNE7fcNRxUgmfIL8nyX39znQQVChgQIScSRLWwTy_iO9J-bxBK8tdaketZS1s/s320/Audre+v.+Evan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I did this side-by side to show how much my two babies look alike, not to set them up for a fight for my heart. It's a draw, every time.<br />
<br />
So, this holiday season, we are so thankful for all of our blessings. Thank you for reading and may you be blessed, too.<br />
<br />
Kate<br />
<br />
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-77293720592766899032013-10-07T14:38:00.001-04:002013-10-07T14:38:26.685-04:00Be amused<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm trying to find the humor and happiness in each day, despite the fact that 99% of the time I am thinking about 8am Thursday morning... the day/time that baby boy will be surgically evicted if he doesn't make a move before then. And the other 1% of the time? "Man, I have to pee."</div>
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These classic family photos sure help induce a smile. Labor though? I wish.</div>
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Enjoy!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGe5BF88PGjPCiTtXVM_JfJ0upObetT9r21fa8jFsjtoP86Xa1-b19qXOWsR3QdyDnv9M_deD5dW0VCfclBFh3kaGe14PgHqVLhUhKY0KLD-Xkmf21nbetem1GTcdLGdz0MbyvzDbt0oQ/s1600/466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGe5BF88PGjPCiTtXVM_JfJ0upObetT9r21fa8jFsjtoP86Xa1-b19qXOWsR3QdyDnv9M_deD5dW0VCfclBFh3kaGe14PgHqVLhUhKY0KLD-Xkmf21nbetem1GTcdLGdz0MbyvzDbt0oQ/s320/466.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, those are my underwear. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMjmzKPgz3iAZQWfR-hMz6SzKGxW5ebk48Fr0BtmS7u-j-PUT5mNr52uhJpE5TXjEyf_8MdQLDHikMQ8yTv3XNTNIayQElGQEWDxYEZIaj-3ZTMPqSXigZohn2eCJXThlGp6QVzIbabZ0/s1600/260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMjmzKPgz3iAZQWfR-hMz6SzKGxW5ebk48Fr0BtmS7u-j-PUT5mNr52uhJpE5TXjEyf_8MdQLDHikMQ8yTv3XNTNIayQElGQEWDxYEZIaj-3ZTMPqSXigZohn2eCJXThlGp6QVzIbabZ0/s320/260.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like father, like daughter.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52vX-pcms_NF1c6aYAG04NxxjS9gYgVLE5EkvKOb8bhay6nwSWFjdlz9cBSadhVVQIHj30iUSfaZs4XjnPsWNwhtOo9MSwyhXcEex_w2Avoa9io5XsV-fOdvAGShKlLXw5n0ncrC3imd8/s1600/290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52vX-pcms_NF1c6aYAG04NxxjS9gYgVLE5EkvKOb8bhay6nwSWFjdlz9cBSadhVVQIHj30iUSfaZs4XjnPsWNwhtOo9MSwyhXcEex_w2Avoa9io5XsV-fOdvAGShKlLXw5n0ncrC3imd8/s320/290.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins at the pool!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFD6lCT61JFrcuZbEJju6x55i5C0L8YWEALUJONBq0IyoU_lHkohTiODWSGmW9paBcWf3ugz8fMsaVieRiDjm5D80ywOrElF5WOaCMcAhV6QoDrUCNrFKBWhO7sJAZ5hfK_lA68MR-CgT/s1600/393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFD6lCT61JFrcuZbEJju6x55i5C0L8YWEALUJONBq0IyoU_lHkohTiODWSGmW9paBcWf3ugz8fMsaVieRiDjm5D80ywOrElF5WOaCMcAhV6QoDrUCNrFKBWhO7sJAZ5hfK_lA68MR-CgT/s320/393.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool kids drink milk.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistCQSnAMtC5-6lUMwxnqLxDGlLBA9Lc5vGjyXJ6c3Aii6anss9ctiyphSu8792Drfz5pLafsbeekjWBFouY-aKm0H0vBpwA1ljkSEkAbKQHkK2gPv-VRXaoBb0_7skRO4AGpeoX4nuNqw/s1600/402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistCQSnAMtC5-6lUMwxnqLxDGlLBA9Lc5vGjyXJ6c3Aii6anss9ctiyphSu8792Drfz5pLafsbeekjWBFouY-aKm0H0vBpwA1ljkSEkAbKQHkK2gPv-VRXaoBb0_7skRO4AGpeoX4nuNqw/s320/402.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toby is officially the best, most patient dog on the planet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-51218312093924540222013-09-27T17:21:00.005-04:002020-07-15T09:37:28.950-04:00A Quick Letter to My Baby Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHZCIovIv6_00LN_hixyc2-XdTBbinCGiDdNw8Ho7AC52v_YCM7innWpobM6ukxkqFG_QoPowLcZ2IyOutbsB58NOVBAGA82J5QOIFtcxIq7PB9wWgd7_0AiLdfykMB3__c0Kr2hHcyo_/s208/Capture+%25282%2529.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="208" data-original-width="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHZCIovIv6_00LN_hixyc2-XdTBbinCGiDdNw8Ho7AC52v_YCM7innWpobM6ukxkqFG_QoPowLcZ2IyOutbsB58NOVBAGA82J5QOIFtcxIq7PB9wWgd7_0AiLdfykMB3__c0Kr2hHcyo_/s0/Capture+%25282%2529.PNG" /></a></div>Dear Audrey,<br />
<br />
Your life is about to change. Drastically. You are going to be a big sister! You are going to share your life, your home, our family, the good, the bad, the ugly with your new baby brother. You are going to have someone to play with, to fight with, to grow up with. Someone to teach and learn from. Someone to protect and to protect you. Someone to tease relentlessly and then defend to the death. <br />
<br />
You are a wonderful little girl and daughter and you are going to be a super big sister. I just know it.<br />
<br />
If you and your little brother have a relationship that is anything like the relationship that I had with my little brother growing up, things might be rough from time to time. He will embarrass you in front of your friends. He will tell stories about you that are both unfortunately true and fortunately not true. He will show you up by understanding fractions and decimal points long before you do. He will disrespect your dolls and ruin your big days. He will take your parents' attention when you need it most. He will frustrate you and make you cry. Many of these things will probably continue even into adulthood.<br />
<br />
But, if you and your little brother have a relationship that is anything like the relationship that I have with my (not so) little brother, you and he will also go through things together that only siblings can share. And you will be glad that you have one another. He will respect you and look up to him and you will think he's really pretty neat deep down. Though I hope you never have to say goodbye to me or your dad at a young age, like my brother and I had to say goodbye to our mom, I am so glad that you will have someone to go through that experience with whenever it does happen because you will need someone who understands how you feel and why you feel like that. Only siblings can do that sometimes. <br />
<br />
I know I'm going to love your baby brother, but I'm not sure otherwise how I'm going to feel about him. I guess I'll have to meet him first. But, I do know exactly how I feel about you. I love you to no end. You light up my life and make me want to be a better person. I am more proud to have you as my child at any given moment than I have ever been of all my other accomplishments combined. And, you are only a toddler! I know that you will continue to amaze me for years to come. If you are ever in doubt about just how much I love you, even when things are hard or your baby brother is distracting me from you, remember that I got to love you and only you for two whole years before I even knew your brother existed. You have an advantage :) We have a special relationship and I hope that never goes away, even as it changes. <br />
<br />
I love you, my Audrey.<br />
<br />
Always,<br />
MommyKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-81552243982056295352013-09-24T12:52:00.003-04:002020-07-15T09:38:51.470-04:00Still Standing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbnTQtdXa4AYW5K575CpIF3RKc5EWvbUdcnxgsHcSN7Ut0ovlDiim0IVmRVTfj1FcXY8JARz5haF8-DuGqVOAKT1EkHGnqX9pBq0pHKhRfPoURxW5C2O4uBPPydqHu2dH1nQF-xQpD859/s2048/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbnTQtdXa4AYW5K575CpIF3RKc5EWvbUdcnxgsHcSN7Ut0ovlDiim0IVmRVTfj1FcXY8JARz5haF8-DuGqVOAKT1EkHGnqX9pBq0pHKhRfPoURxW5C2O4uBPPydqHu2dH1nQF-xQpD859/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" /></a></div>And still pregnant. But neither for very long! I'm scheduled for a repeat c-section on October 10th, so the days of this pregnancy are numbered. I figured I should get a quick post in before then, as lots of things have been happening in our little Erdel world!<br />
<br />
<u>Audrey is fantastic</u>. She's the light of my world right now and I really have no idea how Baby Boy is ever going to compete with his big sister for an equal-sized peice of my heart. I'm told that it won't be a problem and that I'll love all of my children... I don't doubt it, it's just hard to imagine. Though she can be kind of terrible sometime, Audrey is mostly amazingly fun. She loves to cuddle, wants me to hold her and show her things and read to her. She loves to jump on the bed (at the same time as singing "no more monkeys jumping on the bed"), sleeps (all night long and) with her head touching the rails of her crib, likes to help clean and cook, prepares picnics for us and pretends to eat food. She asks for ice cream and mac & cheese for breakfast. She's learning and trying new things and now:<br />
<br />
- Puts her own clothes on<br />
- Counts to ten (though she regularly skips three)<br />
- Sings a good portion of the ABCs<br />
- Puts her head under water at the pool <br />
<br />
She's just mostly a joy to be around and we are so blessed to have this happy, healthy little girl in our lives.<br />
<br />
<u>Baby Boy</u>. Is still technically unnamed though we think we know what we will call him. Does that make sense? He's growing just fine and moving about regularly! I'm really excited to meet him. And really excited for this discomfort to to be over!<br />
<br />
And, now, I'm tired. I should do some work.<br />
<br />
KateKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-61193915164460855082013-08-22T14:04:00.001-04:002013-08-22T14:15:30.878-04:00I Think I'm Hanging on Just Fine<a href="http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2013/08/201381615448464851.html" target="_blank">This article</a>, which has been popping up all over my Facebook news feed, really has me thinking. For all this thinking (most of which took place last night between the hours of 2 and 4am) I don't have much yet in the way of conclusions, bright ideas, or solutions. I'm kind of still inputting the questions and data and waiting to run the analysis, if you will. But, I feel like some kind of response is needed and on the tip of my tongue. Until I can spit it out in meaningful way - chew on these nuggets:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFy5j9XOFy3qguQzxvHmHGzFo3LimG5gP9JSZD4V80cat5VycNBtbpJDIJazVVoUxXVSQiavAoop8OQJqPOkobA8PdEJe8o_LJ_LvndFSA01BLlsesaguGBrFc56Q_8WCImQmuHL_6vgDn/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFy5j9XOFy3qguQzxvHmHGzFo3LimG5gP9JSZD4V80cat5VycNBtbpJDIJazVVoUxXVSQiavAoop8OQJqPOkobA8PdEJe8o_LJ_LvndFSA01BLlsesaguGBrFc56Q_8WCImQmuHL_6vgDn/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Audrey experiments with mommy's undergarments.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5Z1EMiYZLu_HcLYUZhQYYi78Q3zh1MwAC6lq9OmAMnA6uZ2iL1P2tygEhpTvYMTjz2ahM3ojmsei6uivnKXn5h8PLpuljmscJdX_hyyYi2Pf9d5s3DpwTjWVj5Dfc2TbmKUI5-LuHfoP/s1600/photo+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5Z1EMiYZLu_HcLYUZhQYYi78Q3zh1MwAC6lq9OmAMnA6uZ2iL1P2tygEhpTvYMTjz2ahM3ojmsei6uivnKXn5h8PLpuljmscJdX_hyyYi2Pf9d5s3DpwTjWVj5Dfc2TbmKUI5-LuHfoP/s320/photo+(4).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Audrey experiments with masks and bird calls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFV4a9Ag9zcmhkQYve_-354CJZz49-MG68zFM_GYpgA9CYF3ljsdsNQAUzbF4rwNuV-9LIXTAiGon770s5KRhU-y9q-yRYuZYhH-gwnhUpNXyjYQOvtfYjDSVLGw5I-3NKlRRphASeLfC/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFV4a9Ag9zcmhkQYve_-354CJZz49-MG68zFM_GYpgA9CYF3ljsdsNQAUzbF4rwNuV-9LIXTAiGon770s5KRhU-y9q-yRYuZYhH-gwnhUpNXyjYQOvtfYjDSVLGw5I-3NKlRRphASeLfC/s320/photo+(3).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Audrey experiments with a future in 4H.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMZ1lm8edrVOiWjCw0TDljXugBixRmC7qTwnYqr1tMcPR78qpOqjR5TtmS0xPiowpBWDkmCubI3Nvo1pQnUtsU0m156Fye53zFIU2zWawxS7yhyzEzmAU_TRST4XJMFe67aRWZG_CxBowA/s1600/photo+(6).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMZ1lm8edrVOiWjCw0TDljXugBixRmC7qTwnYqr1tMcPR78qpOqjR5TtmS0xPiowpBWDkmCubI3Nvo1pQnUtsU0m156Fye53zFIU2zWawxS7yhyzEzmAU_TRST4XJMFe67aRWZG_CxBowA/s320/photo+(6).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Audrey experiments with gravity.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawSayyJUf8KhDHsbUmUBA5JbLJNSJq1R4n1piJ1xQDAlndumVz9V_Ewu-2ZSGzt__HoVhF1lnLPU9hiD_G09FS-W0VIBwgUOcIZl3-TxgfmhAMT_adH0HsVSCDBQNeuYrZ_5A-0NOveGx/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawSayyJUf8KhDHsbUmUBA5JbLJNSJq1R4n1piJ1xQDAlndumVz9V_Ewu-2ZSGzt__HoVhF1lnLPU9hiD_G09FS-W0VIBwgUOcIZl3-TxgfmhAMT_adH0HsVSCDBQNeuYrZ_5A-0NOveGx/s320/photo+(2).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mommy also experiments with undergarments and gravity.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Enjoy. More to come.<br />
<br />
KateKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-9859748740745981482013-07-28T22:10:00.002-04:002013-07-29T11:15:18.566-04:00It's all relative, but this is not hard.Finding a person you want to start a family with is hard.<br />
Deciding that the time is right to try to start a family is hard.<br />
Planning your love life around trying to start a family is hard.<br />
Waiting to see if you are or aren't + is hard.<br />
[Finding our you are pregnant is amazing and terrifying at the same time.]<br />
Waiting again to share the news with people you love is hard.<br />
Wondering whether you are doing the right things for a healthy pregnancy is hard.<br />
Questioning whether you are going to be a good mom is hard.<br />
Being patient is hard.<br />
Being a patient is hard.<br />
Choosing names, nursery colors, carseats, bottles, binkies, mobiles, and all the stuff is [fun but] hard.<br />
Not complaining about the hip pain, heartburn, or never-ending nausea is hard.<br />
Trying to be a good mom/spouse/daughter/friend/sister/employee/co-worker while pregnant is hard.<br />
Labor is hard.<br />
Breastfeeding is hard.<br />
Newborn poop in the middle of the night is [not hard but] hard.<br />
Surviving on little to no sleep is hard.<br />
Being the kind of mom you want to be is hard.<br />
<br />
But even harder than all of those things combined? <br />
<br />
Being so blessed to be facing or have successfully faced each of these hard things while you watch others struggling unimaginably somewhere along the way. Especially when you know how rewarding it is and how much everyone [well, not everyone, but everyone I'm thinking about] deserves to experience this life-altering miracle of parenthood. <br />
<br />
For each of my friends who are lost, hoping, praying, grieving, or just squeaking by somewhere along this journey - you are in my thoughts and prayers. <br />
<br />
What <u>you</u> are going through is hard. <br />
<br />
My life, my family, my choices, this pregnancy [heartburn included], right now - this is not hard. <br />
I am so blessed. <br />
May you be blessed, too.<br />
You will be blessed.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-6771939199408527402013-07-28T09:40:00.000-04:002020-07-15T09:41:15.536-04:00Quick update {Flashback Alert}<div>{This post was originally drafted on July 28, 2013 and posted on July 15, 2020} </div><div><br /></div>Way back in early February when this pregnancy was really sinking in, October sounded so super far away. I knew that the time would fly by and I was of course elated to expand our family again. But, even back then when it was sub-30 out, I was terrified of two impending things: (1) July and (2) August. Why? Because I'm a clammy sweat-er. I hate being too hot. I start sweating just thinking about it. I haven't really worn shorts in years because skirts and dresses are cooler, and hide the sweat better. If it's too hot, I can't sleep. I can't think. I simply hate it. Add to those facts the thought of being pregnant during a summer like we had last year? Terror. And sweaty palms. Uggh.<br />
<br />
But, alas, fear #1 has been averted. July has just about passed us by with not so much of a mention of breaking 100. We've been to the pool, the parks (all the parks), the zoo, baseball games, the lake, the front yard, other people's yards... you name it. And I've barely sweat at all. Its like, with Audrey, being pregnant made me immune from allergies. With this kid, pregnancy has made me immune to heat. And, it sure has helped that Mother Nature has kept her index and humidity in check.<br />
<br />
Sure, I've got a few aches, but seriously, no complaints. I feel so blessed. Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-7042673935730900712013-06-24T15:16:00.001-04:002013-06-24T15:16:25.439-04:00How a couple of strangers brought me to tearsLast Thursday, Blake and I decided at the last minute to eat dinner with Audrey at our old standby Binkley's. We snagged a table outside on the covered patio and hoped that Audrey running around in our little corner, shrieking and touching everything, wasn't annoying the nice looking older couple seated nearby. B and I had a lot to talk about and Audrey was in a pretty cooperative mood, so the evening was off to a good start. She colored and sat on our laps while we waited to order. We played with her and she was laughing about everything. We were happy to be together, outside, with no dishes to do and a fun-filled weekend just a day a way. <br />
<br />
Then. Audrey, who now insists on "I try" for <em>everything </em>from putting on her own shoes and changing her diaper to driving the car (!) and drinking out of a full water glass, spilled said water glass, sending water and ice all over the table. No big deal. We didn't panic or get mad. Just said "uh oh!" and gratefully accepted the napkin that the gentleman-half of the nearby couple immediately offered - it was like, he heard the glass hit the table and his arm instantly shot behind his head with the napkin in it, he didn't even turn around. I caught the woman-half of the couple's eyes and said "thank you!" with a smile. She responded "we've been there." We wiped up the table, placed our order, and moved on with our conversation and coloring. The couple finished their wine and disappeared. Our waitress stopped by our table a minute later and asked us "did you know that couple sitting there?" pointing to the couple's table. We said that no, we didn't, why? <br />
<br />
"They just paid your bill." <br />
<br />
What? Are you kidding? Why? I was stunned and overwhelmed by the graciousness of it, the kindness, the thought, the generosity, the randomness. I started crying as the waitress simply explained that they had asked for our bill and then paid it. That was it. We hadn't even gotten our food yet. And, we couldn't thank them. Shoot, I didn't even take a good enough look at them to pick them out of a crowd.<br />
<br />
I've heard of this kind of thing happening before. And, even though I don't know that Blake and I are especially deserving of such kindness (I mean, they had already done enough by just tolerating us and our 2 year old and sharing a napkin when we needed it) or in need of such generosity (we have plenty of money to pay for our own meals out), that's kind of what made it even more touching. These people didn't care who we were, whether we were good people, or whether we are responsible with our resources. They just saw us and gave. Sure, they might have seen themselves in us, or their own children and grandchildren in us. Maybe they had just received a windfall and decided to share it. Maybe they thought we were having a bad evening (though we weren't) and needed some cheer or that we were clearly working hard to be good parents (which we were) and needed some support. Maybe it just made them feel good. I don't know. <br />
What I do know though is that it made us feel good. Really good. It warmed our souls and reminded us that the world is a good place and that we are lucky to be raising our little girl in this community. <br />
<br />
I think my friend Meggie would call this random act of tear-inducing kindness a <a href="http://thesussyproject.com/" target="_blank">sussy</a> and you can be sure that we will be paying it forward again and again. <br />
<br />
KateKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-15726008945931611812013-06-10T14:13:00.000-04:002013-06-11T17:31:19.643-04:00A few thoughts on privacy.I'm sure that I'm missing some critical points in the privacy debate that this 29-year-old-punk-now- hiding-out-in-Hong-Kong-of-all-places-Edward-Snowden started last week when he "leaked" information about the NSA's collection and potential use of Americans' cell phone records to a newspaper... for example: con law was pretty much my worst subject in law school, I have no idea what kind of information someone could actually get from phone "meta data", I hadn't heard of the NSA until last week, I couldn't really explain to you the difference between probable cause and any other legal standard, and I don't know what the Pfizer Court is. But, my admitted ignorance aside, here's what I think...<br />
<br />
I <u>choose</u> to blog about aspects of my life that are far more important and personal than the fact that I texted my dad last night about Father's Day. Things like miscarriages, my marriage, grief, my mom, my friendships. And I'm not the only one.<br />
<br />
I <u>voluntarily</u> email my friends pictures of my pregnant body in a swimsuit. And I've seen half a dozen similar, even more incriminating photos on Facebook over the last week alone.<br />
<br />
I <u>let</u> my little brother stay in the hospital room when I got fitted for my first nursing bra and didn't hide from my dad or my father-in-law when I nursed Audrey. All with no hesitation whatsoever. None. I didn't even blush.<br />
<br />
In short, so many of us put ourselves out there on a regular basis, I'm not sure how we can really claim that we have an expectation of privacy over much these days. I know there is a line and sure, there are things I'd be unhappy about the government doing, but collecting my phone records? Not one of them at this point.<br />
<br />
In short, our national security (and the safety of my family, friends and neighborhood) is more important to me than whether the government knows or cares where I was when I made a phone call to my hair salon to set up an appointment to have my grey touched up, called my OB not sure whether I was leaking amniotic fluid or had just peed my pants (turns out it was the latter, thank goodness), or dialed the plumbing company about the disgusting sewage problem in my basement.<br />
<br />
If you don't have anything to hide, who cares if someone is looking?<br />
<br />
Counter arguments welcome,<br />
KateKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-91579357265334568872013-05-31T11:32:00.002-04:002013-05-31T11:34:09.075-04:00Dear Blake:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Hard to believe that we have been married for five years today. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We were engaged for two and together for almost six before that. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Seems like an eternity and a millisecond, both at the same time. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There have been</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Break) ups and downs</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sadness</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tears</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Anger</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Loneliness</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Frustration</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Loss</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hopelessness</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fear</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And for each one of those, there has been a perfect counter of</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkQ8fXcCP8KHdVVgs18fdgS4jp3S1-Yxdu2BontCoj2Yk3MVQxmPtKyMWdGaYULNaM5DoWwDS3l4eogBjhga698Thi8ViD2wDJYkiha6kcdJ7NmPEE91XlXZfgYVcet5RcSb07SnQOI0U/s1600/House+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkQ8fXcCP8KHdVVgs18fdgS4jp3S1-Yxdu2BontCoj2Yk3MVQxmPtKyMWdGaYULNaM5DoWwDS3l4eogBjhga698Thi8ViD2wDJYkiha6kcdJ7NmPEE91XlXZfgYVcet5RcSb07SnQOI0U/s320/House+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHToTmjmDNRC0D1YH87iqD94EIrwi_-K0bAWPbmI5wHo3Z2giiGSHnW7y6Nrx0NyavBe5wzcUV93NLdaNtM6ins32WNq5zZ8v2Ut3PsPk-1DE4cB-bZOU0ZwdenBeYFRq1ovEko0sFVY7G/s1600/aruba+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHToTmjmDNRC0D1YH87iqD94EIrwi_-K0bAWPbmI5wHo3Z2giiGSHnW7y6Nrx0NyavBe5wzcUV93NLdaNtM6ins32WNq5zZ8v2Ut3PsPk-1DE4cB-bZOU0ZwdenBeYFRq1ovEko0sFVY7G/s320/aruba+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GVFQI1imkaJV0wcqCpWj6hhMECBNA3WnWZfR6f7zZwWNPx8g_maLsfRUwuxcnwQzbsyEbR2-wYqGgBtiAabF9cak6dOeRfU_iGAVI4tUn9kpg-LiFGQ7VksmeFNIXdWVk5jJBcJhbDtq/s1600/e_%252861%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GVFQI1imkaJV0wcqCpWj6hhMECBNA3WnWZfR6f7zZwWNPx8g_maLsfRUwuxcnwQzbsyEbR2-wYqGgBtiAabF9cak6dOeRfU_iGAVI4tUn9kpg-LiFGQ7VksmeFNIXdWVk5jJBcJhbDtq/s320/e_%252861%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intimacy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutJyT5fyFO__rBkoWOsmI_1Oxnrx2Dp0QU39T3DFGQfh1j-JS_BJV3ZTD51FEw-xeEffFpoDIL-y1XxhXbM4-xp3oOsL0c6HgIT_mn6MUjnU0JQeCRI27wIoIgPWojudzhi0vV0HZQVZt/s1600/TEMP_389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutJyT5fyFO__rBkoWOsmI_1Oxnrx2Dp0QU39T3DFGQfh1j-JS_BJV3ZTD51FEw-xeEffFpoDIL-y1XxhXbM4-xp3oOsL0c6HgIT_mn6MUjnU0JQeCRI27wIoIgPWojudzhi0vV0HZQVZt/s320/TEMP_389.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relief</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLM58OToe4pmZdwL7R0zn-7S7O1oyPqJJOZEMWUz798OHJR6beiRTtBwwjztG_WXP8yTHGlMP4Zcu79dPdYXZAl2WI7CI8suvjEZkCPivsOZo_gtW6fKuvKC3Cc5XeohNe3yakbgGjoaV8/s1600/aruba+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLM58OToe4pmZdwL7R0zn-7S7O1oyPqJJOZEMWUz798OHJR6beiRTtBwwjztG_WXP8yTHGlMP4Zcu79dPdYXZAl2WI7CI8suvjEZkCPivsOZo_gtW6fKuvKC3Cc5XeohNe3yakbgGjoaV8/s320/aruba+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2R_jjk-YS5VW6pr9TZkunzIHiLyqpa2Nm-PNc6K1KMvC2ha-9PT8HvPFT_NePpBvDeGYxe30n5sZuGyiIjvW0pqwvojKiOt3m0qNrs3_B39N8TAO_SV40Pb8Oi6bPXw8gHbXpOpWgJ8IT/s1600/Hofbra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2R_jjk-YS5VW6pr9TZkunzIHiLyqpa2Nm-PNc6K1KMvC2ha-9PT8HvPFT_NePpBvDeGYxe30n5sZuGyiIjvW0pqwvojKiOt3m0qNrs3_B39N8TAO_SV40Pb8Oi6bPXw8gHbXpOpWgJ8IT/s320/Hofbra.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoB9vWPYOXOMdRxJPdNfcPMlj716a7M-xXXreecGrYra1JrPse-ucdqpuSF2MePVPWeMW-ru7Y87SyIgu8aDA_lyOyRpFruFq4ozpBIZ7AYzAbh1w3y3fyIQGqaprmGqreBfE0_QSUCgG/s1600/Caleb's+Birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoB9vWPYOXOMdRxJPdNfcPMlj716a7M-xXXreecGrYra1JrPse-ucdqpuSF2MePVPWeMW-ru7Y87SyIgu8aDA_lyOyRpFruFq4ozpBIZ7AYzAbh1w3y3fyIQGqaprmGqreBfE0_QSUCgG/s320/Caleb's+Birthday.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMgYnYAmeZ8hE0rSFWoYZuKpzaj6fvrMRuOL5NIEO53J1fS-WEpZsy9znCYZeibJ8Z0-DsGvSrLaUmUFuVnJl-edXE80BGCbXCxXrwppQWrfoNWQp7n3VFHc0BJTO239JQ15MrgcOzJ2j/s1600/a+%252860%2529+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMgYnYAmeZ8hE0rSFWoYZuKpzaj6fvrMRuOL5NIEO53J1fS-WEpZsy9znCYZeibJ8Z0-DsGvSrLaUmUFuVnJl-edXE80BGCbXCxXrwppQWrfoNWQp7n3VFHc0BJTO239JQ15MrgcOzJ2j/s320/a+%252860%2529+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laughter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqrZ1U4QAT9vPkkPj7GvGPh2w5Kj2h02L_EVjiKsR4lV0pYCRi9v_89jR69ZY1jho6HCbhsbwSFf5ltJeZIl5ruu6rr3pQ2nSmA7DyOMQ3RareYHI5MkuB966t49AkNiIkshlhpcOE-fw/s1600/IMAG0294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqrZ1U4QAT9vPkkPj7GvGPh2w5Kj2h02L_EVjiKsR4lV0pYCRi9v_89jR69ZY1jho6HCbhsbwSFf5ltJeZIl5ruu6rr3pQ2nSmA7DyOMQ3RareYHI5MkuB966t49AkNiIkshlhpcOE-fw/s320/IMAG0294.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silliness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOGCHWGVr9wUDqXinsSgqkx43Po8GZuVz9wjrC9hmBsROSzVgMnwM0utsewn4CoR3VzMs2nmUvGFfRlu3KYS62sEH0YHAUluPcA244yNTWLI9pOOi9LSg8liYZ6fSn86KZthXo63LAhbO/s1600/March+2011+136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOGCHWGVr9wUDqXinsSgqkx43Po8GZuVz9wjrC9hmBsROSzVgMnwM0utsewn4CoR3VzMs2nmUvGFfRlu3KYS62sEH0YHAUluPcA244yNTWLI9pOOi9LSg8liYZ6fSn86KZthXo63LAhbO/s320/March+2011+136.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Growth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-vDr-by3nJa1eXjxHhorORlU6g-bYgN9sgrv2gEisM0To7sNCxVK14Iadf2D_CMcyxqqCtvC4Skvilm2EAlFVv5tdBCK_qwq7ZY0Qf0Pft-C7diqfZ9HU3P-5PJmvzKHvlDytwPlLErXC/s1600/IMAG0224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-vDr-by3nJa1eXjxHhorORlU6g-bYgN9sgrv2gEisM0To7sNCxVK14Iadf2D_CMcyxqqCtvC4Skvilm2EAlFVv5tdBCK_qwq7ZY0Qf0Pft-C7diqfZ9HU3P-5PJmvzKHvlDytwPlLErXC/s320/IMAG0224.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relaxation</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApN3Q8TxWLfyVH9R4k_f78BeRA-YMF9m-NMd2yKv5SNO89sa1YDhl1S8gXAdLWcyp5kmtEiFH5E5FJRyMlQq6Ywmmb8zIvjuADEdPVsWEwEadIDWv8jIMG_op7tv7FHS8koS7MG-Hptr6/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApN3Q8TxWLfyVH9R4k_f78BeRA-YMF9m-NMd2yKv5SNO89sa1YDhl1S8gXAdLWcyp5kmtEiFH5E5FJRyMlQq6Ywmmb8zIvjuADEdPVsWEwEadIDWv8jIMG_op7tv7FHS8koS7MG-Hptr6/s320/cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweetness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqqO7f6cAilm6IEUu5TcyBjWAMSr08Krdo8LJ4YUF6drw_YBTCR87Cd-flMGttSh7rdktCj_fLd0dcycRJ-OD3Wzbb6ppB-Wg3YxCg3EujKhW1WNX6aqT9mfOdULHb6OwBJ7DMeTyiuDR/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqqO7f6cAilm6IEUu5TcyBjWAMSr08Krdo8LJ4YUF6drw_YBTCR87Cd-flMGttSh7rdktCj_fLd0dcycRJ-OD3Wzbb6ppB-Wg3YxCg3EujKhW1WNX6aqT9mfOdULHb6OwBJ7DMeTyiuDR/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New life</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and above all else</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
LOVE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy Anniversary, Blaker</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
xoxo</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your Kato</div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-22910441740980451182013-05-24T14:45:00.000-04:002013-05-24T14:45:27.341-04:00A Vacation Recap You Don't Want to IgnoreI hate reading other peoples' vacation-related blog posts. Usually because I am reading about them over a luke-warm Lean Cuisine, at my desk, in the office, with stacks of paper and books all around me and a very thick pane of glass (and a 25-story fall) between me and the great outdoors. So, with that, I am very conscious of the fact that you too, my friends and followers, might similarly not want to read about my latest vacation. That's fine. I understand. You can stop soon. But not before you read about the best and most exciting part of our vacation.<br />
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Before I get to that though, I want to at least mention the good parts that happened before the best and most exciting part of our vacation. It all started with a smooth flight to Dallas for me, Blaker, and little A. Why Dallas? Because, that's where my cousin Leslie was getting married. We stayed at a fantastic resort - the Gaylord Texan - with my dad, his wife Mary Anne, my brother, and a handful of other family members from my mom's side of the family. We enjoyed all things Texas - namely swimming, hot dogs, sleeping in the same room with Audrey, fishes, swimming trains, local diners, swimming and several trips to Target. My cousin's wedding was beautiful. I rocked a $25 Target maternity dress. I drank champagne. Oops? Proof of some but not all these things:<br />
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Part two of our Dallas extravaganza involved trips to the Dallas World Aquarium:<br />
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And the Dallas Zoo:<br />
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Both were good but Audrey especially loved the pizza at the Aquarium. And imitating the penguins.<br />
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The next leg of our vacation meant heading back to Indianapolis to celebrate Audrey's 2nd Birthday! I can't believe it's been two years. <br />
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We also took some time in Indianapolis to do laundry, clean our house (we had a few rooms painted while we were away), and see the OB to take a look in on Baby #2. So happy to report that the little one is looking healthy and measuring right on track (now 19+ weeks) and that I'm finally over the nausea that plagued the first few months of this pregnancy. <br />
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This is how great I look at 20 weeks this time around:<br />
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Compare to 19 weeks with Audrey:<br />
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Wowsas. Swears there's only one in there!<br />
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And for the final hurrah? Blake and I traveled sans Audrey to Chicago. We lucked out on raffle tickets to see <em>The Book of Mormon</em>. Our seats were literally in the front row - the actors were sweating on me and I could have plucked a string on the viola in the pit if I wanted to. It was, in a word, hysterical. In another word, it was evil. But, in a hysterical way. Go see it if you ever get a chance. My favorite part? One of the lead actors was the presto magic nerdy roommate in <em>Pitch Perfect</em>. He was great. And extra sweaty.<br />
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We then had a fantastic Saturday at a Cubs game (W!) and exploring with our friends Kelly and Eric. Sunday, the presto magic ended but we happily returned to our big two year old! <br />
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Okay, so that's it. Not such a bad vacation recap post, was it? Thanks for sticking it out. <br />
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Boy, oh boy, what a nice life I have!<br />
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KateKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-53558734098554195592013-04-29T12:41:00.001-04:002013-04-29T12:41:50.065-04:00A Weekend in the Life ofWeekends come in two types around here. The ones where Blake has to work. And the ones where he doesn't. I'm sure I do not need to elaborate on which I prefer. Or why. But I will anyways.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work start earlier.<br />
The ones where he doesn't start later.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work start with Audrey crying and whining for over an hour.<br />
The ones where he doesn't start with us all snuggling and laughing in bed together and then enjoying breakfast and playtime in our pjs.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work find me chasing Toby under the bed with a rogue sock, or toy, or crayon, or hundred dollar bill. <br />
The ones where Blake doesn't find me standing by while the man does all the chasing.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work involve me going to the grocery store with Audrey in tow, sometimes twice.<br />
The ones where he doesn't involve either a family outing or a solo trip, either occurring in half the time of the alternative.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work involve me wracking my brain to come up with activities to keep Audrey busy and happy.<br />
The ones where he doesn't involve seemingly effortless and endless things to do.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work involve me taking Audrey and Toby solo for a 2.5 mile walk around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and Audrey crying for 2.4 miles of the walk.<br />
The ones where Blake doesn't do not involve questionable activities like taking Audrey and Toby solo for a 2.5 mile walk around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and Audrey crying for 2.4 miles of the walk.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work involve me trying to find time to do the laundry, fold clothes, put clothes away, making food for everyone, cleaning the kitchen, all while exhausted and exasperated.<br />
The ones where he doesn't involve me being able to do all of those things without the frustration.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work leave me counting the minutes and seconds until he comes home and wishing that Monday would hurry up already.<br />
The ones where he doesn't leave me happy and looking forward to the next weekend we spend together.<br />
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The ones where Blake has to work simply mean that I know, on a small scale, what it must feel like to (1) be a stay-at-home mom or (2) a single parent. <br />
The ones where Blake doesn't remind me why we are in this family endeavor together.<br />
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This past weekend, like all weekends of any variety with a two-year old (TWO IN JUST TWO WEEKS!!!!), involved fun and frustration, laughter and tears, peace and chaos. Blake worked, so the frustration, tears and chaos were a bit elevated. But, like always, we survived. I love my little bug so much and even when I am just waiting for her daddy to get home so that I can pee in peace or eat my own snack without little fingers poking into it, her smile lights up my life. Shoot, sometimes even her frown lights up my life. And when Audrey's not pulling her weight in lighting up my life? Toby takes over.<br />
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Not exactly doing it for me at Mutt Strut... loved all the woof woofs, but had a hard time appreciating that we could only walk one way on the track. <br />
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This one though? The most perfect angel dog of all angel dogs in town. Rocked the Mutt Strut. Not that it's a competition, but he won.<br />
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Love them both.<br />
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-3595777069924458412013-04-16T09:00:00.003-04:002013-04-16T09:00:32.892-04:00Quick Thoughts on BostonI have mixed emotions about yesterday's bombings at the Boston Marathon. I feel relief that the few people I know who happened to be in Boston, for the marathon, are all safe and sound. I feel angry that this happened. I feel sadness for the families who have lost loved ones and for those who will live with the scars and injuries of the day forever. I feel helpless. I feel scared. I feel annoyed.<br />
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The number one question people were asking on the radio this morning was: "Was the scene chaotic?" It's like, they were trying to get witnesses who were calling in to add to the drama and admit that there was pandemonium, to say that somehow, because there was chaos, terror was achieved, that the Marathon planners weren't prepared, that the city of Boston is full of hot-headed people who can't "STAY CALM" in an emergency. I had to turn the radio off.<br />
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Of course it was chaos, you idiot djs. Bombs went off in the middle of what was otherwise a glorious day. People were killed and injured out of nowhere.What else would you have people do? Sit in their seats and not run away? Pick up their belongings and children and just walk home or to their hotels? Hail a cab? Use their indoor voices rather than calling out about the people nearby with serious, horrific injuries? Yeah, that type of response wouldn't be concerning at all. Chaos is what we should expect. Chaos is a human response to tragedy. It doesn't mean that people weren't prepared, or that people weren't helpful. It just means they were human. I'm not going to listen to the radio again until they stop asking the nonsense questions and giving whoever did this credit and start focusing on the helpers and the heroes and the victims.<br />
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If you've ever run a long race, you know the feeling of euphoria that fills your body as you approach the finish line. If you've ever watched someone you care about finish a long race, you know the feelings of pride and respect that you feel for them as they finish. Long races tear down the body but build up the spirit. The people who were in Boston yesterday - racers and spectators alike - understand that. They and the city of Boston will recover. We all will. Hopefully we will hold on to the feelings of euphoria and pride and want to race again. Hopefully we will all want to move forward together and continue to make our world a safer, more peaceful place. I know that I will, because that feeling you get from being a part of a moving crowd of people all sharing the same goal - whether it be finishing a race or world peace or something else - is powerful. <br />
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And. The people who are responsible will pay. May they never drink chocolate milk again.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-76617106975077227622013-04-10T20:32:00.002-04:002013-04-10T20:32:47.567-04:004 1 96 13+ 11 153 129Most of you who read and/or follow my blog are also either (1) my close family and friends or (2) my facebook friends. Thus, you already know the biggest news that there is to know about the Erdel family right now:<br />
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<br /><strong><em><span style="color: purple; font-size: x-large;">We are expanding again!</span></em></strong> </div>
<br />And we couldn't be happier. Well, I could be happier. If I didn't gag all day long, I would be happier. If I could sleep through the night, I would be happier. But, other than that, we really couldn't be happier. And, the end to those things is in sight. The magical second trimester is right around the corner. And I loved that part of my first pregnancy. And, I plan to love it again this time . And now, your questions answered, by the numbers:<br />
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4. How many months we tried before getting pregnant. Long in the grand scheme of things? No. Long compared to how long it takes many women to get pregnant? No. Do I feel lucky? Yes. But, when you are trying, 14 days between events seems like an eternity and, even though you know it's normal, you start to worry that something is wrong. My prayers and compassion go out to all of those I know who are still trying. Your babies will come when the time is right!<br />
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1. How many miscarriages (we think) we had this time. But, unlike last time, it was so early that it really didn't register. Sad? Yes. Very sad? No. Thank you for not asking the details. We are lucky. And again, prayers out to those who are still waiting.<br />
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96. How many days pregnant I am. Or for those of you who can't do that kind of math, 13 weeks and a few days.<br />
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11. My due date. In October. Probably the day this one will be born as I'm leaning towards a scheduled c-Section this time around. No pitocin, ever again. No labor and then a section, ever again. And the term "VBAC" makes me think of a Dyson. Doesn't exactly evoke smooth-birth-experience feelings. Plus, the 11th is a Friday. A weekend at the hospital sounds awesome.<br />
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153. The baby's heart rate at our ob check-up today.<br />
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129. How much I weighed at today's appointment. That's with my clothes and shoes on. By my estimate and home weigh-ins, I can safely gain 21 more lbs. Sweet.<br />
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The other most frequently asked question (either aloud or in your head): Are you going to find out if it's a boy or a girl? Are you going to trick us again? We don't know. Seriously. We don't. Have until May 16th to decide.<br />
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So, with that, thanks for your good wishes and prayers for a continued smooth pregnancy!<br />
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Kato+1Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-57429684565475775552013-03-26T20:26:00.000-04:002013-03-26T20:26:19.328-04:00We Aren't Here to JudgeI'll keep this as brief as possible. But it's complicated. <br />
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I'm a practicing Catholic. I attended Catholic schools for the first 12 years of my education. I pray. I go to mass. I had Audrey baptized. I try to be a good person. I try to follow the church's teachings. I at one time thought, and at one time even said out loud, something like "I don't care if same-sex couples have the same rights as married people - insurance and stuff like that - but the word 'marriage' should be for a man and a woman." I thought, really thought, that this kind of thinking let me both fit in with my more liberal friends and not be excommunicated or face an eternity in hell. It also let me say, in another breath, "we aren't here to judge." Today, I only still believe one of these statements. <br />
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Here's how I came to it.<br />
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Nine or so years ago, I was a recent college graduate. I lived in St. Louis with a roommate. I taught 7th grade language arts at an inner city public school. My new friends were from California and New York and everywhere in between. I missed Blake, who was in medical school in Indiana. I missed my old friends. I missed my parents. My downstairs neighbor's apartment was broken into. Twice. When I was at home upstairs. My students stole my candy. And my phone. I spent a Sunday afternoon in the hospital after an acute case of "food poisoning". I was miserable. And not just when I was in the hospital. I felt lost and I didn't love myself like I used to. <br />
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Enter, a door-to-door salesperson. Basically selling credit cards. And raising money for the Human Rights Campaign. I was feeling generous that day. I didn't know what the HRC did. Or what kind of human rights we were talking about. But I gave some money. And, since I needed a credit card in my own name and unattached to my parents, I signed up. I received a shiny new VISA with a serious credit limit. I could have bought a new car on credit alone. And, it had this symbol.<br />
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I liked it. I also got a bumper sticker with the same symbol. I liked it, too. I slapped it on my car. I had no idea what I was doing. Or supporting. Or why. None at all. That's what sad, lonely, lost 22 year olds do. They just do stuff without thinking about it. Granted, there are worse things I could have done (ahem, did do - see "food poisoning" above) than stick an equality-themed bumper sticker on my car without knowing fully what it stood for. I guessed it meant "equality" and I liked that idea. It fit with my explanation for how I, as a Catholic, could easily remain friends with and support people who were on birth control, had pre-marital sex, got divorced. "We aren't here to judge," I would tell myself. Plus, I really could never believe that God would ask us to isolate, condemn, or hate people for any reason at all. But even with these kinds of thoughts about my faith and what my church expected of me, I thought that gay people and same-sex couples were different and deserved to be treated differently. That's what my church told me. And I didn't know anyone who could convince me otherwise. <br />
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But, time happened. Friends' marriages happened. Friends' divorces happened. And my own marriage happened. I love my husband. I love the family we have created. I love being married. It is the most rewarding commitment I've ever made. And I plan to stick with it for my entire life. But it is hard. Really hard sometimes. And, over the last five years, my thinking on marriage, and same-sex marriage specifically, have changed. <br />
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Any two people who are in love, committed to one another, and willing to give marriage a real shot deserve it. They deserve the title. They deserve the ceremony. They deserve the government's support. They deserve our support. <br />
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So, long story short, I support marriage equality. I still have some ways to go in terms of figuring out how this effects my Catholicism. Or maybe the church has some ways to go. I don't know. But, I'm not here to judge. We are not here to judge. <br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8713579992884259024.post-59568873455345440142013-02-10T22:14:00.002-05:002013-02-10T22:14:51.173-05:00How having a sick child makes you really appreciate your job...Even though the flu is out in full force this year and kids seem to be oozing snot everywhere I go, Audrey has been healthy enough to go to daycare since Christmas. She's had the sniffles and some loose poop, a minor temp one afternoon, and mega drool that I think is related to some new teeth. But, she's not been sent home from school and I just about made my hours in January. Coincidence. Absolutely not. Sick children are tough. They require full attention and pretty much no one can give it to them but mom and/or dad. Usually just mom. <br />
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But, tonight, Audrey is not healthy enough to go to school tomorrow. She's had really gross, watery poop (AKA diarrhea) all weekend and threw up last night. I know, for a fact know, that she will be sent home from school tomorrow before noon with that poop. And, the teachers will be pissed at us for sending her in the first place. Especially since they've been starring her daily report card for loose poops for a week. Especially since they sent home a little "reminder" about when kids can't come to school just last Thursday... and loose poop is reason number 1.<br />
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So, we're going to keep her home. And we're not even calling in reinforcements (MiMoo) to help. Blake can take the morning shift, I'll come home at 11 and get her fed and down for a nap, and then B will be home to take over again. I'll maybe get a few hours of real work in. I'll do some necessary stuff. I'll show my face to my co-workers. I will appreciate the couple of hours of quiet I can have at the office. And, even more than that, I'll be extra extra thankful that I have the type of education that qualifies me for the type of professional career that takes place in a work environment where I am treated like a responsible adult and I can generally come and go as I please without risking my job. And, they might even ask if my kid is okay. <br />
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So, while I often complain about work, how it keeps me from Audrey, and all things related thereto, thank you God for this job at this moment. I know that others are not so lucky for so many reasons. Because in this job, I get to take care of my sick baby when no one else can, and I get to close my office door for a moment of poop-free silence. Both in the same day.<br />
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Kate<br />
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PS Thank you, too, to Blake. Of course.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16263110309604710799noreply@blogger.com0