<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425</id><updated>2012-02-16T09:52:48.107-08:00</updated><category term='passion'/><category term='siblings'/><category term='Avery'/><category term='vacation'/><category term='family'/><category term='thoughts'/><category term='bravery'/><category term='community'/><category term='marriage'/><category term='relationships'/><category term='blogging'/><category term='faith'/><category term='writing'/><category term='love'/><category term='friends'/><title type='text'>My Offering</title><subtitle type='html'>How can I make today count?</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>56</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-1618064323181860384</id><published>2010-04-28T17:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-28T17:54:50.902-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Forgiveness Doesn't Come with a Debt</title><content type='html'>How often do you feel like you have to earn your relationships with other people?  I do all of the time.  I rationalize and plan, consider and hope that what I do will make up for times that I have failed, times that I have not measured up.  I suppose I try to bank brownies points for those moments when I might not be the true person that I hope to be.  It is exhausting.  And, worse yet, it totally demeans the life that I should be leading.  &lt;div&gt;You see, I believe that my savior died for me, and that when I ask him to forgive me, he does.  Fully.  Wiped clean.  Forgiven.  But, if I don't live in relation with my friends in a way that shows that I believe in full forgiveness and right standing, how can I live this way with Christ?  Seems like I have been fooling myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Early last spring, a person whom I have known since middle school did something really unbelieveable.  An adult asked for my forgiveness for hurting my feelings over a decade and ahlf ago.  Can you believe it?  We never were really friends back then, she didn't owe me anything, but she wanted to make things right.  I was so shocked by her humility, by her honesty and sincerity that my world sort of stood still.  And, while I hadn't thought about it for many years, her gentle asking for forgiveness, did right a wrong.  That hurt that I had buried is gone.  And all that I kept thinking about was how amazing it was for her to have the courgage to be that real with me, to be that mature, to be that kind.  When this woman stood up to make things right with me, I realized a little more what it means to be an adult.  I realized that it really is never too late to say that you are sorry, never to late to try to be friends, never to late to work on making yourself better.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A year has passed, I have talked to this woman, gotten to know her, gotten to love her.  On Easter weekend, she packed a basket of homemade bread and Easter treats for me.  For me.  She showed such love, such care.  Isn't it amazing what God can do?  How carefully he works in our lives to teach us, to show me that forgiveness doesn't come with a debt.  Love really can conquer all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-1618064323181860384?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/1618064323181860384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=1618064323181860384&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/1618064323181860384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/1618064323181860384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2010/04/forgiveness-doesnt-come-with-debt.html' title='Forgiveness Doesn&apos;t Come with a Debt'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6484908207963259223</id><published>2009-11-03T06:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T06:54:41.786-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Self Requires a Savior</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;On a quest towards sanctification, I discovered self:&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;self-sufficiency, self-righteousness, and maybe one other self along with way.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While I was busy trying to be covered in the blood and walking in the spirit, I kept tripping on all of this junk, all of this baggage, all of this me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When I finally realized that it was me that was standing in between God and myself, I wanted, and still am trying to figure out, how to get out of the way.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;I always have a plan, a back up plan, and another pretty sweet plan waiting in the wings of just-in-case.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I consider myself an excellent multi-tasker.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This very moment, I have two huge pots of spaghetti sauce and meatballs cooking, a chocolate cake cooling, icing whipping, coffee brewing, and a load of laundry washing.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;All of this while trying to articulate my need for a savior, as if it isn’t obvious.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I rarely ask for help.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I take pride in doing things well on my own.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And while this keeps me busy enough that I don’t have time to be bored, I am realizing that there is a major issue permeating all areas of my life.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Trust.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t trust people to do things well enough for me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I worry that I will have to do it all over again, anyways.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While I pride myself for being self sufficient, I push those that I love away.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have hurt friends, my husband, and my God by trying to do life on my own.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not only do I need earthly and practical help of the people in my every day life, but I need my Savior in my everyday life.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I can no longer fool myself into believing that I can do all things through me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am pretty sure that isn’t what Philippians 4:13 says at all.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;Following, I stumbled on the harsh words of self-righteousness.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Me?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Really?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I love God.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want him in my life.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I need God.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But, the reality is that I don’t really know how much I need God.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t realize my need for a savior because I ignore and brush off a lot of my sin.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My sins – anger, being judgmental, impatience, gluttony, lustfulness, etc.- are so everyday, so minute by minute that they are easy to brush off, easy to justify.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;However, I realize that this is a lie.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;No matter the human view of a sin and its depth, a sin is a sin.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And, for that very reason, I need a savior.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And while it is hard for me to do, I trust in Him for my forgiveness.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I trust in Him to fill me with more of himself as I make room for Him.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I trust in Him.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I trust.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:150%"&gt;Trust.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It isn’t easy for me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to do it all on my own.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be in control.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to be the boss.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But, if I am to be a follower of Christ, that isn’t possible.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have to surrender to Him.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have to be happy about the fact that God is in control.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to find joy in that.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to find peace in that.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Really, I need to.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I need to trust.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And, as I want to be wholly committed, overwhelmingly joyful, and truly excited about following Christ, I have to keep working on getting rid of those ugly “self” words that keep getting in the way.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Self-sufficiency and self-righteousness are a lie.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The only self I want is self-awareness so that I can be sure that I am allowing God to work fully in my life, less of me and more of Him.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; T&lt;i&gt;his was my third and last installment of my thoughts during my membership classes at church.  This Sunday I will be baptized and made an official member.  &lt;/i&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6484908207963259223?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6484908207963259223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6484908207963259223&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6484908207963259223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6484908207963259223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-self-requires-savior.html' title='My Self Requires a Savior'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-5841802271676494498</id><published>2009-10-26T11:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T12:06:37.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Gotta Take This Call</title><content type='html'>You know, when God has a call on your husband's life, in any area of employment, that means that God has a call the wife's life as well.  In our house, we believe that Ryan has been called to help people who are hurting.  Wrapping our heads around what that will exactly look like isn't any easy thing, especially for our kids.  &lt;div&gt;Avery often asks why daddy has to go to school, why he has to work so much, why he can't play all of the time.  I was telling her how he is going to be a doctor and that he has to learn a lot in order to be a good one.  She flipped out about not wanting him to be a doctor, as she doesn't want him to give shots.  I told her he wasn't going to be that kind of doctor, but a doctor who helps people who feel sad, feel angry, feel lost, feel upset with hopes of making them feel better.  She just didn't get it.  And, to be honest, some adults don't get it.  And, being even more honest, sometimes I don't get how it is all going to work out and I just want to say For-get-it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, what I do know is that as I trust God with the life of my husband and with my own life, I don't have to understand as much.  I don't have to figure it all out.  I don't have to make all of the plans.  I can just trust and hope and watch as God makes the paths straight.  And while I don't have lots of letters after my name stating what I am qualified to do, I know that the support and love that I provide to my husband working towards those special letters is even more valuable.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If I believe that God has a plan for Ryan, that God wants to use Ryan to His good, than I have to believe that God has a plan for me as well.  And, if supporting Ryan and helping him to see this dream become a reality is my job right now, I want to do it well.  While I may have lots of plans and wishes for my own life, while it is natural for me to want to stay in a comfortable place surrounded by the people that I love, &lt;i&gt;I Gotta Take This Call&lt;/i&gt;.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-5841802271676494498?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/5841802271676494498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=5841802271676494498&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5841802271676494498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5841802271676494498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-gotta-take-this-call.html' title='I Gotta Take This Call'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6218495888050754876</id><published>2009-10-21T12:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T13:01:04.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gray Matters</title><content type='html'>I am joining a church.  Gasp.  I know.  I have gone to church my whole life and have been a part of many great churches; however, I have never been an official member.  So, huge deal for me.  My homework for this week was to write a quick thing about faith in my life, how I have seen Christ working in my life.  I had to make a chart of the ups and downs of my faith as well, which was an interesting assignment.  Here is what I came up with.  I feel that it is kind of weak, but I am not sure what I want to change yet.  Gray matters may be popping up here again, but this is the first draft:&lt;div&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Bodoni SvtyTwo OS ITC TT-Book&amp;quot;"&gt;Gray Matters&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Bodoni SvtyTwo OS ITC TT-Book&amp;quot;"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Bodoni SvtyTwo OS ITC TT-Book&amp;quot;"&gt;There isn’t a time that I can recall where Jesus wasn’t a part of my life.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was raised in a home where faith, hope, and love were the center of our being, where attending church was more important than sports, where we prayed together everyday, where we shared our issues, where we ate dinner as a family, and traipsed around town supporting one another in our various individual activities.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My parents became radically saved, a term familiar to me as we attended an evangelical church, about a year before my birth.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Prior to this new lifestyle with Christ, they had been sowing their wild oats and living a life of self that ended not working out as planned.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My mother recalls how my dad was speaking in tongues and making sure that she was “really saved” during my birth.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not may people can say that they had an entrance like this.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Out I popped into a world that looked fairly black and white.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Bodoni SvtyTwo OS ITC TT-Book&amp;quot;"&gt;While my father was quite loud about his faith, my mother was more reserved or reverent.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Together I was raised by an oil and vinegar type of faith, both different, both unique, both good.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For this most part, this was an awesome experience, but at times I wondered how I was to live out my faith.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Like dad or like mom.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Today, I am finding more and more that I need my own style and I am excited about that.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And, so, from the early days of my life, God was present in my everyday life.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am thankful for this foundation.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Like black and white, I was raised by two extreme styles of faith, and I sort of became gray.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Bodoni SvtyTwo OS ITC TT-Book&amp;quot;"&gt;As I grew into adolescence, I believed that the world was black and white: a sin was a sin.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There seemed to be no middle ground.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I prayed, mostly out of fear, for the salvation of everyone that I knew.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I invited kids, who I now believe to be Christians, to my church because I wanted the to be “more saved”.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While I know now that worship services might look and sound different, and what matters is who is being worshipped, I didn’t get that then.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was a faith lesson that I wish I had learned earlier.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;It was during this time that I realized that the Church was made up of man, not always a good thing.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I had to get back to the fact that my identity needed to be in Christ, not in man.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Bodoni SvtyTwo OS ITC TT-Book&amp;quot;"&gt;It seems that soon enough I was at Grove City College, where I met Ryan and things started to really change for me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My world of black and white was starting to find hues of different shades.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ryan is a thinker.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He challenges me to do the same.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For good, he wrecked my world of neat and clean concepts.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Out of his love of man and compassion for the hurting, he showed me that I needed to redefine a few things.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Christ brought to me a partner in life who would not make me comfortable with the easy way out.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;To this day, we continue to work on a faith that is unlike anything I have ever experienced.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Boy, it is difficult sometimes to be stretched this much.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:&amp;quot;Bodoni SvtyTwo OS ITC TT-Book&amp;quot;"&gt;Now, I wait for Christ.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I wait to hear what he has for me today.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This outlook of compassion and kindness helps me to focus on showing the love of Christ.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I continue to need the reminder that my identity is in Christ, that my desire is to honor Him, that my every day needs to be about Him.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I get dazed and stunned by the world at times.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Out of balance I become, focusing on pleasing man, about being good enough, smart enough, and I have to be re-centered.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Thankfully, as you might know, Christ welcomes me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So, here I am today, out of obedience, out of a desire to know Him and be known by Him,&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And, gray matters.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;That’s where people fall, in the cracks of life, needing love, needing Him.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I’m excited about that.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6218495888050754876?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6218495888050754876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6218495888050754876&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6218495888050754876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6218495888050754876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/10/gray-matters.html' title='Gray Matters'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6500966185681348460</id><published>2009-10-20T07:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T07:30:30.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Identity Crisis</title><content type='html'>Remember how I told you that this play group thing was a big deal?  How it was more than about healthy play time for toddlers?  How possibly it was about me needing to have some work done?  Well, I was right.  And, I haven't even scratched the surface of it.  &lt;div&gt;Amongst 20 toddlers playing dress up, tooting a trolly whistle, stacking groceries, and scooping pretend ice cream cones, I got a sermon in seconds.  A friend that I have known for nearly two decades opened her mouth and out came truth.  I got smacked in the face with the reality of me, and that slap just kept rerunning in my mind all day long.  I couldn't get over it.  Because, as you might have guessed, I'm not over it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You see, I asked her child to come play with my girls one day last week.  She took some time to do some shopping and possibly just get some of that precious alone time that moms desperately need and rarely get.  I was so happy to help her.  My girls liked having a friend over.  To me, it was a pleasure to do.  I didn't really think a second about it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Being the kind woman that she is, this friend of mine immediately offered to return the favor.  I brushed her off, saying how busy my girls are, how Emery can't be trusted, how it would be too much work.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Can you guess what this friend said?  She told me that I have an issue with being self-sufficient, that I always have to do things on my own, that I don't let people help me.  Wow.  How did she get into my head?  She cut right to the core of most all of my issues with that sermon of seconds.  For the next 12 hours, I mulled over what she had to say.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night, last night, I was listening to TD Jakes once again, and while I liked the sermon, I kept waiting for something just for me.  When the podcast was nearly over and my eyes were getting heavy, I heard confirmation of my issue.  Bishop talked about how my debt is owed to Christ, about how it doesn't matter who loves me on Earth, but that what really matters is who I am in Christ.  Slap, slap, slap.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It just keeps coming back to this.  This is the lesson I keep hearing and fail to really learn.  Who am I in Christ?  I guess I am having an identity crisis and I need to find the answer.  I thought I knew, I thought my identity was in Him, but looking back I can see where I was wanting the favor of man, the love of man, the praise of man.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God, you are my God.  There is no other before you.  It is my desire to be found in your will, to be the person who you know that I can be.  I want to be full and complete in you.  I want to look to serve you only.  I know that by doing this, all of my voids will be made full.  I trust in you.  I seek you first.  Thank you for my friend who spoke your truth to me.  Thank you for using her.  God, may this gathering of parents and their sweet kids continue to be a place where you are uplifted, where you light can be seen, where your love can be shared.  God, I continue to be excited about what you are doing.  Please continue to put people into my life who will hold me accountable.  Teach us to be true friends.  Thank you.  Amen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6500966185681348460?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6500966185681348460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6500966185681348460&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6500966185681348460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6500966185681348460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/10/identity-crisis.html' title='Identity Crisis'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-5788893410309266117</id><published>2009-10-17T11:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T12:18:09.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Setback or Comeback</title><content type='html'>I have been away trying to live out some of the things that I have been writing about, leaving much less time for typing.  The blogs have been running through my mind, just not making it on to the screen.  &lt;div&gt;One thing new in our family life has to do with the radio.  We love music in our house, all kinds of it.  Ryan leans towards Classic Rock; I like anything smooth and soulful.  I don't want you to get a purist impression here, but we are trying to filter out some unnecessary evils from little ears.  Quickly, I am only playing Christian music in the car, and at home we are listening to Christian music about 85% of the time.  This has really helped me to stay focused on good and uplifting things, while not having to worry about the little people in my house getting a mind full, and then a mouth full, and then a body full of things that just aren't worth their lives.  We have been doing this for a month, and now I am ready for a new challenge.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are two other areas of my life where I was using secular music or media to fill my time:  exercising and down time in the evening.  Let me tell you, some of my workout songs have some sweet beats and can really push me to the next level; however, I would be embarassed if you caught me singing along in public as their lyrics are not so sweet.  And, during my down time, I usually facebook a million times, check various pop gossip sites, and virtual shop.  Pointless, most of the time.  So, my new goal for this month is replacing one half hour of this type of media with a more positive brand.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday, I watched a podcast of TD Jakes entitled "Do It Again" while doing the elliptical at the gym.  Seriously, I was so excited about what he was saying that my three miles passed right by.  I only wish I had the balance to raise my hands a couple times, especially when he said, "sometimes a setback is just an opportunity for a comeback"!  Really, look that podcast up.  It is life changing.  I am excited to see how replacing this not-so-good media with something positive and potentially life changing works out.  You know I will keep you posted.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Get out there and live life.  Want to join in some replacing?  I would love to encourage you!  And, just like the Bishop says, "that setback might be an opportunity for a comeback".  I love it.  Go live it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-5788893410309266117?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/5788893410309266117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=5788893410309266117&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5788893410309266117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5788893410309266117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/10/setback-or-comeback.html' title='Setback or Comeback'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7121346100491416348</id><published>2009-09-30T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T11:55:44.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What are You Doing?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God, I often wonder what You are doing in my life.  I wonder why you and how you are so careful with me.  In my everydayness, you are present.  I see you working right now and I know that it isn't just for today or just for me.  Thank you for being present in my life, always.  Amen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;When our pool closed this summer, I was at a loss.  What was I going to do with all of my time?  How was I going to stay sane with two kids ALL WINTER LONG?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;September came and brought many warm and sunny days.  And, I kept running into the same moms around town, trying to keep busy, trying to make the most of their days at home with small children.  And, so, I got the idea to start a play group.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our group is called Park Play Group, as my hope was that we would be able to meet at parks around town for the most of fall...And, really, I didn't think that more than a handful of moms would want to come, so I thought they could come to my house when the weather got bad.  In just a few weeks, I have over 2o moms (and two dads), making for over 35 kids on my list.  Wow.  To say the least, I am thrilled.  But, I am overwhelmed, too.  We don't have a winter home.  We have plans for fun things like zoos and museums, etc., but I want to keep this simple and inexpensive.  So, I have called my PPG counsel to prayer, and I anticipate great things.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I haven't felt this excited or passionate about anything in such a long time.  I know that God has called me to lead this play group.  I don't know the full reason why, but I know some of the answer.  I need mom friends.  Period.  I want to surround myself with a core of moms who love God and love their kids and love their husbands.  I want to learn from them, I want their kids to be friends with my kids, I want parents with whom I can do life.  And, I think I can see God working on that.  I really want my life to count.  I know that I am called to stay at home with my kids right now.  I really feel strongly about that.  But, my life can be about more than just them.  And, I don't think that this is all about me either.  Something is going on in someone else's life.  I just don't know who or what.  And, that doesn't really matter.  What matters is that I am being available to be used.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I sit here really excited and really anxious all at the same time.  I feel very responsible for this group.  I love what is happening here in our little town.  I want it to last.  So, I'm prayer for our winter home.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God,  Thank you for what you are doing in Park Play Group.  Thank you for the people who are coming out to be involved.  Thank you for the people who are praying for our group and for our winter home.  You have created this group.  You have put together parents as friends, as teachers, as supporters.  You are watching as our kids play.  You are listening as we talk.  Work in all of us.  Let our group be an honor to you.  God, provide a home for us.  Let our group be used to show love, to show generosity, to show kindness.  God let our group show others You.  Amen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7121346100491416348?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7121346100491416348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7121346100491416348&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7121346100491416348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7121346100491416348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/09/what-are-you-doing.html' title='What are You Doing?'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7069667707476611400</id><published>2009-09-12T07:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T07:53:33.632-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Partner</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Squ0seKn3sI/AAAAAAAAAJY/5LYAM0hKKS8/s1600-h/IMG_2841.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Squ0sEUZZVI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/-ZzuD_z5tq8/s1600-h/IMG_2804.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Squ0sEUZZVI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/-ZzuD_z5tq8/s320/IMG_2804.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380592848990725458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Marriage.  It is the most unexpected journey that I have ever been on.  I had ideas about what being married would be like.  I had a good example in my parents who sat at the kitchen table after work, shared a cup of coffee, and talked about their day.  I peaked at my dad kneeling beside my mom's bedside to pray with her.  I saw them grin at one another when a favorite song would come on the radio.  The grin was followed by songs and swaying, their minds drifting to a time of early love and simpler times.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;My brother and sister had working marriages.  I was there to witness their lives change from newly weds, to foundational partners, to new parents, to established spouses.  I was surrounded by people who worked on their relationships.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Squ0seKn3sI/AAAAAAAAAJY/5LYAM0hKKS8/s320/IMG_2841.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380592855929052866" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was exposed to the reality that love takes work.  I saw my brother and sister come to my parents, seeking wisdom in how to make love work.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;In their vulnerability, I found strength.  In their resistance to complacency, my heart was etched with the truth that love is an action.  Still, with all of this, I had no idea what I was getting into.  &lt;div&gt;Ryan and I have been married for over eight years.  We have lived in three different states and had five totally different financial situations.  We have had spiritual highs and we have been in the depths of fear and questioning.  We have faced infertility, joblessness, and a devoid marital vision.  We have screamed, begged, cried, searched for answers.  We have seen glory, peace, and hope in answered prayers.  We have two beautiful girls.  We have a safe and warm home.  We eat well and sleep well.  While there have been sharp turns, unpaved roads, and dark alleys, this journey is sweet.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My partner and I feel an urgency to look to The Father for our direction.  We call to prayer, the Bible, and His Spirit to be our GPS along the way.  There are many wishes and wants that I have for my family and for myself, but, above all, I want each of us to know God and to be known by Him.  Then, the rest all sort of falls in place.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you haven't already, you should watch &lt;a href="http://www.fireproofmymarriage.com/"&gt;Fireproof&lt;/a&gt;.  It has challenged me to be more direct and purposeful in my love for Ryan.  But, I learned more than this from the film.  I learned that parents need to hold their children up to a standard when dealing with relationships of all kinds.  Besides setting an example, parents need to have an open dialogue with their kids about their actions and their feelings.  Just watch the movie, you'll see what I am talking about.  Go in with the right attitude, and it just might change your life.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7069667707476611400?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7069667707476611400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7069667707476611400&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7069667707476611400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7069667707476611400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/09/partner.html' title='Partner'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Squ0sEUZZVI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/-ZzuD_z5tq8/s72-c/IMG_2804.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-2199333886834350957</id><published>2009-09-09T12:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T12:33:37.035-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yo Big Sisser</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SqgDApPLWUI/AAAAAAAAAJA/oHeNaeuOkP8/s1600-h/IMG_1067.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SqgDApPLWUI/AAAAAAAAAJA/oHeNaeuOkP8/s320/IMG_1067.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379553064498452802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know.  What is this, sibling week or something?  But, I've been doing some thinking.  I mean, really.  Why do I like my brother and sister?  Sure, they're family.  But, what about them is great, is unique, is wonderful?  Were they not blood, what about them would make me want to have them in my life?  You see, I think that people should be more aware about relationships.  Being mindful of other people, being knowledgeable about who they are and why you love them, helps to refine your friendship.  And, so I have been thinking about the people in my life.  And, why not start with family?&lt;div&gt;Leah is my older sister by 10 years.  She is kind and thoughtful.  She is funny without trying.  She is a delightful hostess, wonderful cook, and a great task manager.  Let me elaborate.  If you ask Leah to do something for you, she gets the job done.  She makes the phone calls, she sets the meetings, she takes the notes, makes the coffee, and cleans up afterwards.  She is as reliable as they come.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, what a party planner this girl can be.  She welcomes people into her home openly.  If you are hungry, she feeds you.  If you are lonely, she will hug you and love on you until you feel well again.  If you need a laugh, the girl has got some stories (Now, it will take her a long time to tell them, as she is a bit of a bunny trailer, but part of that is humorous, too.).  And, if you can get her to laugh really hard - eyes shut, nostrils flaring, foot stomping - you are nearly guaranteed to pee your pants.  The girl is a good time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There have been many long days for me this season in my life.  Ryan has had long hours and night classes, and I have been "stuck" with two kids for too long.  Leah is always there to invite me for lunch and even to stay for dinner if we need to.  She makes sure that my kids know that they are loved by her, and I mean LOVED.  She watched Avery for me when I had to work at Starbucks a few years ago.  She did that for me.  She watched my baby so that I wouldn't have to put her in daycare.  Her kids have no idea how great they have it.  She is so supportive of them.  And, Danny, wow, he's got a great wife.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Seriously, I have never heard someone say anything bad about my sister.  Never.  Instead, they always want to know what she is doing and how she is doing.  Because she cares about people, they care about her.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Leah is my sister and all of the goodness that comes with being sisters.  We have never fought.  And, I know, we are 10 years apart.  But, I love her too much to ever see her down.  She's my girl.  And just like she used to write on all of those packages she would send to Grove City, she is my BIG SISSER.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope you have some thinking to do about who you love and why you love them.  Gossip all about that kind of good stuff.  Hug them so hard.  Love all over them.  That's the good stuff of life.  Live it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-2199333886834350957?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/2199333886834350957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=2199333886834350957&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2199333886834350957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2199333886834350957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/09/yo-big-sisser.html' title='Yo Big Sisser'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SqgDApPLWUI/AAAAAAAAAJA/oHeNaeuOkP8/s72-c/IMG_1067.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7255435759713159449</id><published>2009-09-08T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T06:53:58.844-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Jumped to my Feet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sqef9BTzb0I/AAAAAAAAAI4/e3Rc0ekOy4g/s1600-h/IMG_2882.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sqef9BTzb0I/AAAAAAAAAI4/e3Rc0ekOy4g/s320/IMG_2882.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379444150589681474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SqajUJTUi2I/AAAAAAAAAIw/yfeY5S9Xjhg/s1600-h/IMG_2971.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although he likes to tell people otherwise, my brother is 11 years older than me.  While he was lifetimes ahead of me, I loved trying to keep up with him and all that he had going on.  I remember asking my parents if I could do my homework while watching &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tv&lt;/span&gt;, if I could have a Walk-man, and if I could wear my tennis shoes untied.  All, of course, were no.  The best option I had was to follow him when ever he would allow it.  When I was in third grade, my brother left for college and I couldn't really follow him there.  &lt;div&gt;Off he went to the University of Pittsburgh, where he would learn to be a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;metallurgist&lt;/span&gt;, a leader, an individual, where he would play soccer for the blue and gold, where he would live far away and I would be sad without him.  I was so proud of him.  I didn't really know what college meant, but I knew that it was a big deal.  And, so that first fall, we made several trips to Pittsburgh to visit my brother.   I recall the trips going something like this:  Being picked up early from school, my mom having packed my Cabbage Patch Kids lunch box with lots of snacks, the family wearing Polo shirts, sweats, and sweaters all in blue and gold.   We would get to the game early, finding a seat was easy in the huge stadium, as soccer didn't get much support.  I would spend the next few hours doing cartwheels and running around the arena, being sure to make friends with everyone.  Afterwards, we would follow my brother up to the field house so that he could change before going out to dinner.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This tradition went on for the next four years.  My brother earned honors both on and off the soccer field.  Years later, ten years to be exact, I found myself at that same arena.  My brother was on the field playing with another alumni and the current Panther team.  I watched as he took the ball down the field and scored an awesome goal.  And, just like all of those times before, I jumped to my feet and yelled, "That's my brother!"  I guess it was sort of loud as the players on the field all looked up to see who this sister must be.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While I don't get to watch him play soccer much anymore, the cheers haven't stopped.  I watch him with greater pride now.  As a dad, as a husband, as a son, as a friend - I still get the urge to jump and yell.  He's my brother, and I am really proud of that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7255435759713159449?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7255435759713159449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7255435759713159449&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7255435759713159449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7255435759713159449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-jumped-to-my-feet.html' title='I Jumped to my Feet'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sqef9BTzb0I/AAAAAAAAAI4/e3Rc0ekOy4g/s72-c/IMG_2882.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6244208437901115889</id><published>2009-09-01T18:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T07:46:52.905-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Avery Goes to School</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sp3OVva09sI/AAAAAAAAAIo/WJNCi4i8W5c/s1600-h/IMG_3243.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sp3OVva09sI/AAAAAAAAAIo/WJNCi4i8W5c/s320/IMG_3243.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376680403051804354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sp3OVfO2FVI/AAAAAAAAAIg/ltWmnStPEOs/s1600-h/IMG_3238.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Avery, my baby girl, my three year old, had her first day of school today.  We have been talking about school, driving by school, visiting school since January when we registered, but, I think for both of us, it was a time somewhere off in the distance.  Even last night, it still seemed unrealistically close.  &lt;div&gt;And, so this morning, we got dressed a lot faster than normal.  I worked on keeping everything as calm and relaxed as possible.  And, by the time 8:30 rolled around and she started asking, "Mama, what-we-goin' do-a-day", I knew it was time to ease her into what was really going on.  School, Avery.  You are going to school today.  Crying, came.  I told her it was a special day just for us, just for Avery and Mommy and Daddy.  The idea of it being something special that we were all going to do together, made it better, for all of us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we arrived at "the castle school" as Avery likes to say, there were fun signs and balloons all over.  Avery was asking about a party going on and if we could go.  I will keep it short.  Her teachers were great, her class seems nice (there were 9 kids there, I guess two were sick or something, and it seems that it is half boys and half girls), and she only cried for a few minutes when we went up for the parents meeting.  I fought back tears walking down the hall and during the meeting.  I kept wondering how she was doing.  I was praying for her to mind a friend.  Her teachers said that she asked for me often, but that she played well and was kind.  I think her favorite part was her cubby where she has a shelf and some hooks for her things.  That's my girl.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sp3OVfO2FVI/AAAAAAAAAIg/ltWmnStPEOs/s320/IMG_3238.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376680398706578770" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;She said tonight that she didn't want to go back to school tomorrow, so it is good that she has a day off.  I will report about how Thursday goes when she will be there by herself.  Thanks for all of the prayers and well wishes.  She sure is special to me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6244208437901115889?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6244208437901115889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6244208437901115889&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6244208437901115889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6244208437901115889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/09/avery-goes-to-school.html' title='Avery Goes to School'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sp3OVva09sI/AAAAAAAAAIo/WJNCi4i8W5c/s72-c/IMG_3243.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-151838597512390090</id><published>2009-08-29T14:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-29T14:08:48.329-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mom's Apple Dumplings</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i.ehow.com/images/GlobalPhoto/Articles/5293526/303766-SpriteAppleDumplings-main_Full.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 361px;" src="http://i.ehow.com/images/GlobalPhoto/Articles/5293526/303766-SpriteAppleDumplings-main_Full.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i.ehow.com/images/GlobalPhoto/Articles/5293526/303766-SpriteAppleDumplings-main_Full.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;'m a little teary-eyed looking at the recipe for these apple dumplings. I have them on an old card, hand-written by my mother, as a gift when I got married. She used to make them for us for dinner some nights when my dad had a meeting. We would eat them warm, out of the oven, with milk or cream overtop. My brother and I both just love these. Here is something to try as apples come into a wonderful season. PS Skip making the dough and use a frozen pie crust. I won't tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 C. sugar&lt;br /&gt;2C. Water&lt;br /&gt;1/4 t cinnamon&lt;br /&gt;1/4 t nutmeg&lt;br /&gt;1/4 C Butter&lt;br /&gt;2 C flour&lt;br /&gt;1 t salt&lt;br /&gt;2 t baking powder&lt;br /&gt;3/4 C shortening&lt;br /&gt;1/2 C milk&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Make syrup by combining sugar, water, spices, and butter. Bring to a boil and cook for five minutes. Let simmer while making dumplings.&lt;br /&gt;Make pastry by cutting shortening into flour, salt, and baking powered. Stir in milk and blend. SKIP THE PASTRY AND USE FROZEN PIE DOUGH FOR A REALLY FAST TREAT.&lt;br /&gt;Cut pastry into 6 squares. Sprinkle with sugar, fill with sliced apples. Fold corners over. Put into a baking dish. Cover with entire amount of syrup. Bake at 375 for 35 minutes. Fall in love. For a real treat, eat while warm and cover with milk or cream.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="line-height: 14px; font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);  line-height: 14px;font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);  line-height: normal; font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i.ehow.com/images/GlobalPhoto/Articles/5293526/303766-SpriteAppleDumplings-main_Full.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-151838597512390090?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/151838597512390090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=151838597512390090&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/151838597512390090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/151838597512390090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/08/moms-apple-dumplings.html' title='Mom&apos;s Apple Dumplings'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6944637876395602068</id><published>2009-08-12T11:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T18:48:15.754-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When I Was 18</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNww6WIyFI/AAAAAAAAAIY/J2Li9lU2fmA/s1600-h/IMG_3100.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNug3d_avI/AAAAAAAAAII/gOkGZEVNw_A/s1600-h/IMG_3144.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNuJsoQJoI/AAAAAAAAAIA/gGYJnECHwbk/s1600-h/IMG_3128.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNtk3z4iBI/AAAAAAAAAH4/XohHHNgPu-o/s1600-h/IMG_3130.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNtk3z4iBI/AAAAAAAAAH4/XohHHNgPu-o/s320/IMG_3130.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369255660980045842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My niece, Lauren, turns 18 today.  She is such a joy.  I was only 12 when she was born, so she is part sister, part daughter, part friend.  I love having her in my life.  I enjoy going through life - ups and downs - with her.  Mean girls, boyfriends, high school, college plans, learning to drive - I have had the opportunity to digest life with her.&lt;div&gt;And, it got me thinking.  What was life like for me when I was her age?  What were my wishes, my fears, my hopes, my secrets?  What would the me today say to the me of then?  In my mind, I sit on my bed - old and new me- and old me says this to young me:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  What you do now really does matter.  The choices, they matter, big and small.  Not to make you feel more pressure, but that is the reality.  Who you date, who you allow to be your friends, where you go, how you spend your money, how you treat people, how you act in school - it all matters.  People are watching.  People remember.  And, so the good news is that making good choices will pay off.  And, if you need some second chances, there is room for those as well.  But life always seems to trickle down to its origin.  You will find yourself with these same people in your life again, so having them on your "team" will be a good thing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNuJsoQJoI/AAAAAAAAAIA/gGYJnECHwbk/s320/IMG_3128.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369256293633631874" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  While seeming to contradict what I just said about securing your foundation, be sure to branch out a bit.  You don't have to do what is predicted.  Just do what you love.  Go with your gut.  Trust your own instincts.  Sometimes we allow the voices of people we love and respect to mute the sounds our own souls make.  Adjust your sound and listen accordingly.  If you are not going to do your own thing, you will probably find yourself unhappy and having to start all over again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  College is a big deal.  BIG DEAL.  Academically speaking, having that paper is essential.  But, there is much more to learn at college than what is taught in the classroom.  College is an opportunity to refine yourself.  You can leave behind much of the baggage of your old life and start anew.  I would tell myself to be more open to different people and different things.  I would have had more fun.  I would have taken myself less seriously.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  First Love.  Gosh, that's fun.  What a time of life.  I spent a great deal of my first love worrying about it not lasting.  What a waste.  I should have just enjoyed it for what it was.  It was sweet, fun, exciting.  But, that boy did more than become my first love.  He showed me that I was lovable, that I was smart, that I was funny, that I had a good thing going for me.  My family told me this over and over, but that boy made me believe it.  And, no.  I didn't marry him.  And, I'm not sad about that.  Things worked out, for both of us.  You could have never told me this when I was 18.  I was set on that boy for life.  A few years later, it ended, and I was devastated.  All that energy, all that effort, all of that time - none of it went to waste.  The time I spent in that relationship, as with all relationships, had a major impact on me.  Part of my confidence, part of my sense of humor, most of my relationship skills matured during that time of life.  So, first loves can be great, even if they don't last forever.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNvIUx6z1I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Cf7VgZXhqH8/s1600-h/IMG_3129.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNvIUx6z1I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Cf7VgZXhqH8/s1600-h/IMG_3129.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNvIUx6z1I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Cf7VgZXhqH8/s320/IMG_3129.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369257369563483986" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  Don't party.  It's tacky.  There will always be mistakes, but drugs and drinking sort of ensure disaster.  Wait until you have kids, then you will really need a drink.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  Sex.  Wait.  I know that I am SO GLAD that Ryan and I never have to compare anyone else with what we are working with.  The mind and the heart can go some crazy places, so keep life less complicated by holding off.  True love really does wait.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  Priorities.  Get them straight.  During the last year of high school, you are going to be sick of most people and cling to your best friends.  Then, in a few months, you will have a dozen new friends, and a few hundred more by the end of that year.  Be kind.  Show love.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNug3d_avI/AAAAAAAAAII/gOkGZEVNw_A/s320/IMG_3144.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369256691680373490" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, this goes for your family as well.  When you are on the verge of more independence, it is easy to get annoyed and cranky with the old life.  But, when it all comes down, family matters.  They are there for life, all ages, all stages.  Love on them and let them love on you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This seems so dumb, or stupid (which is now Avery's favorite word), now that I have written it.  Seems like I should have more exact and precise words of wisdom.  But, it's what I seemed to be consumed by when I was the big one-eight.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lauren, I love you.  I love your sense of style.  I love your confidence.  I love your ability to speak your mind.  I love how you remember things so well.  I love your creative side.  I love your tender touch.  I love when you do my hair and we talk about clothes.  I love when you make me Cd's and bring DVDs over to watch with me.  I love sharing my life with you.  Thank you for being you and for allowing me the opportunity to love on you.  Happy Birthday, girl.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6944637876395602068?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6944637876395602068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6944637876395602068&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6944637876395602068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6944637876395602068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/08/when-i-was-18.html' title='When I Was 18'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SoNtk3z4iBI/AAAAAAAAAH4/XohHHNgPu-o/s72-c/IMG_3130.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-8240246796409354441</id><published>2009-08-10T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T11:04:13.778-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just as You Are</title><content type='html'>Just as you are.  Isn't that the best way to be loved?  Isn't it wonderful to know that there are people on this earth who love, even like, you for just being you.  It is such a secure, empowering feeling to sense this, to have it be part of your composition, part of your existence, made of that kind of love and support.  It really does matter.  It really does make a difference.  &lt;div&gt;Knowing this, I, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;unfortunately&lt;/span&gt;, find myself wanting other people to live up to a standard that I have set for them.  Most of the time, this level of excellence is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;unattainable&lt;/span&gt;.  My vision for who they should be most of the time doesn't exist in reality.  Most of the time, I feel that I am too hard on other people.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is something that makes me sad about myself.  I noticed it about 1o years ago, mainly because Ryan pointed it out to me.  He suggest that I was setting myself up for disappointment and that maybe I should just love people as they are, simply.  Hum.  What a concept.  And, so I started working on that.  After meeting new people, I didn't analyze what they said or how they looked.  I stopped assuming things about people, stopped studying their every move.  I ceased to be so mindful of the worlds of other people and became more present in my own life.  Hum.  There's another great idea.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, I became a mother.  My expectations for my girls are high.  And, a great deal of the time, they make the mark (Yes, I realize how awful that sounds, but I am being honest here).  But, several times a day I find myself rolling my eyes, wishing for silence, hoping to not have to wait out a tantrum, hoping that the word "stupid" will just disappear from my toddler's mouth, praying that I won't be consumed by my anger.  And I fail.  And they fail.  And, I expect and hope for their mercy, just as they do my own.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, I won't even bring God into this.  The guilt that I experience from a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;religious&lt;/span&gt; standard that I wish focused more on God's grace and mercy than on his hatred of sin, messes with my mind minute by minute.  We will save that subject for another entry.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Therefore, I am trying to love people for being themselves.  Trying.  Really trying.  Be patient with me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-8240246796409354441?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/8240246796409354441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=8240246796409354441&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8240246796409354441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8240246796409354441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/08/just-as-you-are.html' title='Just as You Are'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-4938145738688432994</id><published>2009-08-03T11:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T11:27:45.641-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We all Have Bad Days</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SncsBrauykI/AAAAAAAAAGw/C99i2ulK30A/s1600-h/IMG_2688.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SncsBrauykI/AAAAAAAAAGw/C99i2ulK30A/s320/IMG_2688.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365805888381569602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nights aren't always pretty at our house.  We put our kids to be at 8pm.  We have a routine that we follow every night.  We sit as a family, plopped in front of the tv, watching a DVD, snacking on something semi-healthy.  This lasts for about 30 minutes.  Then, as a family, we march upstairs.  Ryan takes Avery in the bathroom for potty time and brushing of the teeth.  I start nursing Emery.  We read a few books, sing some songs, cuddle, put the girls in bed, and leave.  We have done this exact routine for months.  Most of the time the girls go to sleep within the hour.  They do lots of chatting, playing, and laughing.  As long as they are in their room being fairly quiet, we are okay.  (There are times of potty breaks, Avery taking Emery's clothes off, forgetting something, etc.  But, we try to avoid those at all cost and ignore most requests.)  &lt;div&gt;You would think that since this is our norm, that every night would go about the same.  At least that is what I think.  But we have some hiccups.  One huge, UGLY, awful night happened last week.  Avery flipped out, kept coming out of her bed, demands were coming like crazy, I was mad, Ryan was mad - it was bad.  Four hours later, she finally fell asleep.  Four hours.  It was exhausting.  Then, she got up at 5am.  What?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, seeing that we were going to the pediatricians anyway, I asked Dr. Amy about this.  And, to sum up, she basically told me that I need to be aware that kids have bad days.  She suggested that if it was taking more than 30 minutes to "put her to bed" that I needed to try something new.  She suggested pulling Avery out of the room and giving her some special attention.  She thinks watching some tv for mom while holding a cranky kid for a while, just sitting quietly, just showing some love and support may really help.  That instead of forcing her and fighting her, that I should be loving her.  Hum.  Who would have thought?! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I get so stuck in my routines that I fail to see that some flexibility might just be the cure.  See, kids have bad days, too.  I need to remember this.  I am working on it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-4938145738688432994?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/4938145738688432994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=4938145738688432994&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4938145738688432994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4938145738688432994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/08/we-all-have-bad-days.html' title='We all Have Bad Days'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SncsBrauykI/AAAAAAAAAGw/C99i2ulK30A/s72-c/IMG_2688.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7942463438376047977</id><published>2009-07-28T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T10:20:29.985-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Puzzle</title><content type='html'>I suppose I feel that this title of "puzzle" fits for today as I have much to tell you.  We finally arrived home after a 12 hour trip.  Emery decided that she had enough somewhere just past Berkley Springs, WV, about 3 hours away, and cried to prove it to us.  She has never been a big crier, so that was her worst yet.  We all had a great vacation but were happy to be home.  The girls were buzzing around, trying out their missed toys and favorite seats, jumping in their beds, and motoring about.  It seems like they both of gotten even busier in just one week's time.  For sure, Emery is toddling everywhere, making her seem less and less like a baby.  &lt;div&gt;I last left off with the beginning of vacation and how things were going.  Here is an update over the last few days:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*  Avery now likes boys, much, much older boys.  First, she discovered Matthew, a boy from our pool.  He's nine, I think.  She loves to chase him around the pool, and, luckily, he is really nice to her.  Then, Tyler, my nephew, brought his friend, Jake, on vacation.  He's 16.  Loves him.  She calls them her "big boys".  We're in trouble.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*  Emery is a piece of work.  She loves getting into trouble, looking a me with a smile only to share her head, proving that she knows she is up to no good.  Also, she cries every time I hold Avery.  Jealous girl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* Ryan thinks he knows why my family has vacation success.  He thinks that we do well because no one relies on anyone else to plan their day.  People just do what they want.  This is good for us because we can then do what we want.  Most of the time other family members follow along, but there isn't any pressure.  It is working for us.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*  I got great news while on vacation.  MY HOUSE IS BEING PAINTED!  As you may know, we rent our house from my grandparents.  It isn't your normal landlord situation.  Basically, we pay for everything, we are charged rent, and we are responsible for the upkeep of the house.  We don't really want to waste any of our savings on home improvement because it will just be lost money when we move out.  But, as all of you home owners know, a house naturally needs to be spruced.  Well, the grandparents hired my uncle and his crew to do some work.  They painted our back siding, cleaned our gutters, painted our front dormer, painted our main hallways, and are just doing some other painting inside.  I AM BEYOND THRILLED.  I had gotten used to having a really nice home.  We have owned two really great homes before Ryan went back to school, and we remodeled each of those to our liking.  I thought I was going to have to deal with grimy walls for two more years, but no!  Clean and bright, here I come.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*  I am going to the Weight Watcher points system.  I really haven't been working out or dieting since early spring and I need to get back to it.  I still have 15 lbs to lose and I want it gone.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*  Water.  I don't drink enough.  This is my August goal.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* And, the missing link is Avery's sudden sleep issue.  She is freaking out about bedtime.  Last night it took her 4 hours to fall asleep, and that didn't happen until 12:30.  Emery got up three times wondering what all the drama was about, so I put her back in our "closet" so that she could sleep.  I was hoping that Avery would at least sleep in, but she was up and out of her room by 5:30.  Insane.  I have no idea what is going on with her.  My guess is three things:  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  she is overly tired from vacation &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  she thinks she is hot stuff after being with her big cousins last week &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  she isn't getting enough alone time with me.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am only hoping this is an isolated event and not a new pattern as I may self-destruct on that little sleep and that much anger.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's about all that is going on here.  Piece that puzzle together!  Have a great day.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7942463438376047977?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7942463438376047977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7942463438376047977&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7942463438376047977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7942463438376047977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/puzzle.html' title='Puzzle'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-8860162384689913207</id><published>2009-07-27T18:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T19:27:27.615-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Worry</title><content type='html'>I have been reading &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=121704859600&amp;amp;h=zuYQr&amp;amp;u=Mptoj&amp;amp;ref=mf"&gt;MckMama'&lt;/a&gt;s blog for a few months now, obsessively, somewhat refreshed by her color and attitude.  And, this weekend, I was shocked to read how seriously, seriously, seriously ill her baby boy, Stellan, had become.  Through her blog, I sort of found an imaginary friend.  I look to her for advice, humor, inspiration.  And, my friend is going through a heart wrenching time.  Once again I get a little perspective.&lt;div&gt;Lately, my concerns have been about babies sleeping, toddlers using "mean words", not losing my cool too many times during the day, looking good (or better) in my bathing suit, and here is my imaginary friend having her heart broken a million times a day watching her baby boy fight for his life.  I try to figure out how to get dinner on the table without having a child get hurt or upset;  MckMama works on plans to meet her baby in Boston where he has been life-flighted.  I pray for wisdom about teaching Avery to listen to me; MckMama prays to hear Stellan's heart beat normally.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't imagine it.  I feel guilty knowing that the worse thing I have had to face with my girls is a broken leg.  The nightmares that every parent faces at some point is her reality.  And, I will take that perspective.  I will realize that my issues are not huge, overwhelming.  They are doable, workable, possible.  At the same time, I must realize that they are worth fighting for, working on, working with.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, when I feel frustrated by a simple matter between my girls and me, I will pray for my MckMama friend.  I will pray for her baby boy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-8860162384689913207?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/8860162384689913207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=8860162384689913207&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8860162384689913207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8860162384689913207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-worry.html' title='My Worry'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-636719817529400022</id><published>2009-07-21T18:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T07:06:48.437-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blending Family</title><content type='html'>Well, it's Tuesday night.  The family, minus Mimi and Pappy, who are sleeping, is being noisy in the living room.  They are filling the room with bad jokes, old stories, and laughs.  Isabella is bouncing from person to person for hugs and cuddles.  Shelly is smothering pretzels in fudge.  Ryan and I are having some coffee.  Kelly and Lauren are in the hot tub.  Many boys are lounging on the couch and floor.  The buzz of this house is sweet and constant until late at night when the teenagers finally crash.  &lt;div&gt;We have found that we have people of every stage of life in this house.  The range is great and interesting.  We can all see where we have been and where we are going.  I suppose the hard part is being aware of where we are currently in life.  There is a strange comfort in knowing that every phase of life has its ups and downs.  For us, having babies means early morning and early bedtimes.  We have to constantly supervise and wonder where they are and where they are going next.  We concern ourselves with thoughts of our kids making too much noise, too much mess, too much distraction.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My brother has a whole other set of concerns.  His kids are able to take care of themselves for the most part, but they walk that fine line of being independent and still dependent.  I can imagine that Scott and Shelly wish for their kids to feel autonomous but still need to watch over them very carefully without hovering.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My sister has kids on the verge.  Lauren will be 18 next month.  She and Tyler are behind the wheel, given many responsibilities, but still have many self-centered sensibilities.  As I hope that they won't sneak out at night, I can only imagine the fears that Leah feels with her kids of this age.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my parents, I am sure they still worry about all of us.  Do we feel accomplished?  Are we happy?  Do we feel safe in our lives?  Are we happy with our choices?  I am made very much aware, when my family is together, that being  a parent is a job that never ends.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I enjoy the blending of our little families when we are all together.  Kids seem to fluctuate between different sets of parents.  It makes me wonder what life would be like with a child of that age or this age, imagine what a family of this many or that many would be like.  I watch my girls interact with this family of mine and I am glad that they have them.  I am pleased that they will grow up knowing that there are many people who love them, many people who would protect and provide for them, many people who love them as I do.  I think of the mark that my family has made on my life and I look forward to watching their extended family nurture them as well.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And this just makes me wonder, who are you loving?  Who are you investing in, caring for, spending your time with?  And, who loved you well?  Who made you feel special?  We only have this one life.  What are you doing with it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-636719817529400022?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/636719817529400022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=636719817529400022&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/636719817529400022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/636719817529400022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/blending-family.html' title='Blending Family'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-8812442528715108375</id><published>2009-07-20T08:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T08:46:38.458-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We're on Vacation</title><content type='html'>The house, usually filled with the noise of 16 people, is now fairly silent.  The white noise of the dishwasher and baby monitor are the only sounds I hear.  I am alone with the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;exception&lt;/span&gt; of a sleeping Emery, and it is nice.  To say that I feel full, complete, joyous seems vague, subtle.  In fact, I am quieted by my blessings.  My mind, usually buzzing, is still.  And, it is so nice.&lt;br /&gt;We took two days to drive here, stopping in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Williamsburgh&lt;/span&gt;, VA for one night.  The girls did so well.  They really only fussed the last half our of our 8 hour day.  They didn't sleep well at the hotel, but that was more of my issue than theirs ( I kept worrying that Avery was going to turn the stove on in our suite or escape out of the main door.  I tried sleeping with her to solve this, but it only made her more hyper.  So, around midnight, they finally fell asleep.)  We left after breakfast and had a smooth trip down to the Outer Banks.  The house is just great.  Every one has a bedroom and we can all sit down to eat.  If I may make one recommendation:  If you have small children and are going on a vacation with others who may be noisy or stay up late, do yourself a favor and get a steel fan.  We bought our fan at Sam's for forty dollars and it is loud enough to block out 6 adolescents playing &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Rockband&lt;/span&gt;.  This forty dollars may be the insurance we need for a great vacation.&lt;br /&gt;This morning it was so nice to be around my family.  Lots of people were around to cuddle my kids and feed them breakfast.  We made bead necklaces, went for a long bike ride, and had some great laughs.  I am so looking forward to the rest of the week.  I am hoping to take lots of time to digest all that is my family.  I want to savor them, allow them to become a part of me and me a part of them.  I want to love on my brother and sister's kids.  I want to invest in the lives of the people that I love.  I want to slow down. &lt;br /&gt;I am amazed, really, by the calmness in my mind.  It has been so good to see my husband relax and even be silly.  I loved seeing Avery put her arm around Emery in their bike wagon.  I feel full.  I feel good.  Who makes you feel this way?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-8812442528715108375?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/8812442528715108375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=8812442528715108375&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8812442528715108375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8812442528715108375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/were-on-vacation.html' title='We&apos;re on Vacation'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6660767866059791942</id><published>2009-07-14T18:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T19:16:18.704-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Gotta Go Number Two.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sl07prNBrOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/7Oa6a-S5Nv8/s1600-h/IMG_2679.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sl07pcEltUI/AAAAAAAAAGg/eEoRU4VIctc/s1600-h/IMG_0385.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sl07ow6yLxI/AAAAAAAAAGY/TdHhFroq8_c/s1600-h/IMG_0392_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 203px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sl07ow6yLxI/AAAAAAAAAGY/TdHhFroq8_c/s320/IMG_0392_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358504703153024786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I Gotta Go Number Two.  And, I'm not talking about the bathroom.  I'm talking about Emery. This  time last year I was fully pregnant, having those mixed emotions about wanting to preserve my special time with Avery and wanting to meet my sweet Emery.  Soon, I left Avery for the first time, headed to the hospital, and within a few hours Emery was ready for my hugs.  That night, Ryan, Emery, and I had our only alone time as of yet. &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sl07pcEltUI/AAAAAAAAAGg/eEoRU4VIctc/s320/IMG_0385.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358504714736874818" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Those few sweet hours in the hospital are so romantic.  It seems magical to have your husband and your baby there, tucked into a little corner of the world, where time and noise seem non existent.  But, then, gotta go!  Number two is here!  Life, as we know it, starts all over again.  The noise, the speed - they all return.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Emery turns a year old next Friday.  And, to be honest, it seems like it has been non stop since then.  Someone always needs something, wants something, wants me, faster, better, more, endlessly.  I can't believe that she is growing so quickly.  I think I am going to hold her tightly this week, somehow try to preserve my baby just a little while longer.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sl07prNBrOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/7Oa6a-S5Nv8/s320/IMG_2679.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358504718798793954" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6660767866059791942?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6660767866059791942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6660767866059791942&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6660767866059791942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6660767866059791942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-gotta-go-number-two.html' title='I Gotta Go Number Two.'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sl07ow6yLxI/AAAAAAAAAGY/TdHhFroq8_c/s72-c/IMG_0392_2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-1198282878310889572</id><published>2009-07-13T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T12:50:23.744-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Progressing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluPilhFU6I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/6lZCf-HvWGo/s1600-h/IMG_2682.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluPiN4oEUI/AAAAAAAAAGI/mPk7pIa4Myo/s1600-h/IMG_2679.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluPhyRoZhI/AAAAAAAAAGA/5NowCtVU7yU/s1600-h/IMG_2672.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluPhyRoZhI/AAAAAAAAAGA/5NowCtVU7yU/s320/IMG_2672.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358033992281515538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, two posts in one day.  Take what you can get.  I'm in the mood to catch up on technology items and the girls are napping.  I wanted to fill you all in, as I know you await anxiously to hear the BIG NEWS here are our house.  I will start where I last left off, just when Avery and Ryan had gone to the lake.&lt;div&gt;Well, having Avery at the lake was great.  I needed the break from her, needed some time alone with Emery, and needed to think through a few things.  And her is what I learned while they were gone:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  While I kept using excuses like she's three and she's a baby, she's tired and she's teething, etc., the reality of my life is that I have two girls who want my full attention.  And, as you know, it ain't happenin'.  I can't please them both all of the time.  So, usually one of them is unhappy.  Somehow, admitting this to myself has made things better.  I don't make excuses for us any longer.  I just do my best to meet their needs, keep myself sane, and we go from there.  It took Avery being away for a while for me to really see this, our truth, our reality.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Having one child is so much easier than having more than one.  I have no idea how moms with more than two handle it.  It must get easier as they get older, or you just get used to it.  I am not sure, but I give you all some serious credit.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  There are things in life that I just have to do.  I was pouting about the girls having to share a room, how hard it was going to be to have them in there together...pout, pout, pout.  I was really angry about being stuck in this seemingly no-progressive state of our life.  Five years seems like a long time to put life on hold for a degree when you are in the middle of it.  We are half way through, but I still get bogged down by it sometimes.  So, I gave myself some resolve for when they returned that we were going to make this situation work.  Better yet, we are going to make it work for US!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, so how have things been going since then.  Here are some highlights of the past two weeks:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.   The room sharing has been a success.  Emery still gets up around 5am for a feeding, but she sleeps through other than that.  They go to bed at the same time.  We put them in their room around 8 and they are usually asleep by 9.  They do all kinds of singing, talking, and playing for an hour, which is fine with me.  Emery cries sometimes, but Avery seems to sleep right through it.  Our only issue now is teaching Avery not to wake Emmy is she is still asleep.  I will say that it has gone much better than expected.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Avery gave up her pacifier.  We wrapped them up for the "mailman" to take to the "hospital" for Baby Kate and Baby Steve (we made these kiddos up).  That was four days ago.  We made a huge deal about it, and she fell for it all.  Again, this went much better than I expected it to.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Emery is walking.  She thinks she is hot stuff.  Well, I think she is too!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluPiN4oEUI/AAAAAAAAAGI/mPk7pIa4Myo/s320/IMG_2679.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358033999692828994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Avery is swimming like a fish.  She jumps in the water, swims under water, and has even learned how to "breathe" underwater.  I am really proud of her success.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluPilhFU6I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/6lZCf-HvWGo/s320/IMG_2682.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358034006036534178" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, yeah.  We have lots going on around here.  All good stuff.  We are slowly packing for vacation.  Really good stuff.  I will keep you posted on life here in these parts.  What is new with you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-1198282878310889572?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/1198282878310889572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=1198282878310889572&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/1198282878310889572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/1198282878310889572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/progressing.html' title='Progressing'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluPhyRoZhI/AAAAAAAAAGA/5NowCtVU7yU/s72-c/IMG_2672.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-3698873721053139045</id><published>2009-07-13T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T11:49:29.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Chill!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluBrdnZgGI/AAAAAAAAAF4/_8SfVxB1uQQ/s1600-h/IMG_2635.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluBrdnZgGI/AAAAAAAAAF4/_8SfVxB1uQQ/s320/IMG_2635.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358018765371572322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once, a few months ago, in a moment of rage, I told Avery, "Just Chill"!  Now, she uses that as ammo against me.  Today, while I was again in a bad mood because of losing some sleep to teething, Avery reminded me in her sweet voice to "just chill, be happy, no in bad mood mommy".  She was right.  I was choosing my attitude, picking a bad one, and we were all paying the price.  It took me about an hour, but I got out of my funk, thankfully.  Since then, I have been fully aware of how my attitude was influencing the attitude of my children.  &lt;div&gt;It seems so simple.  Be nice, your kids will be nice.  Relax, your kids will relax.  Seems so simple.  But, as I am trying to get the laundry done, blow my hair dry (at least once a week), have a clean kitchen, play with my kids, read to my kids, check to see that my husband is having a good day, talk to my sister, check in with my mom, I lose control.  I get overwhelmed.  I get sidetracked.  I forget.  I forget that I need to check in with myself.  I need to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ease on down, ease on down this road&lt;/span&gt;.  Those girls, my babies, are so small.  They need me to be their refuge and their teacher.  They look to me for everything.  I want them to see a happy, healthy, less stressed mom than they do on most days.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I have been mindful this month about my state of being and how it correlates to their state of being.  And, most of the time, I have to "just chill" and positive results follow.  How is your emotional status influencing those around you?  Are you giving off "good vibrations" or are you contaminating the environment?  Just Chill.  I'm trying it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-3698873721053139045?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/3698873721053139045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=3698873721053139045&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3698873721053139045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3698873721053139045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/just-chill.html' title='Just Chill!'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SluBrdnZgGI/AAAAAAAAAF4/_8SfVxB1uQQ/s72-c/IMG_2635.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-2579688319724971208</id><published>2009-07-03T07:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T07:26:39.156-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Everybody Needs A little Time Away</title><content type='html'>"Everybody needs a little time away.  I heard her say.  Even lovers need a holiday far away from each other."  Chicago sure had it right, didn't they?  Geesh.  I need a break.  Seriously.  Seriously!  The three year old is driving me out of my mind.  Please tell me it gets better.  Lie if you have to.  Lie away.  &lt;div&gt;Ryan is taking Avery to his parents for the weekend.  It will only be the second time we have not slept in the same house.  The first time was when I was in the hospital having Emery, just about a year ago.  But, this is the first time she will be leaving me.  I think we are both ready for it and in need of "a little time away".  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think autonomy has a lot to do with it.  That girl is one independent child, one opinionated, controlling girl.  And, I know this because she gets it from me.  For about the past week we have been trying to control one another and then freaking out because we both feel out of control.  I know that she needs a break from me as much as I need one from her.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That leaves me and the Em-ster at home, alone.  That means that I am going to have some actual alone time while she naps and sleeps.  What am I going to do with myself?  Here are a few ideas:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  Go over to the McCracken home library and pick out a book to sink myself into.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Clean like the dickens and have the house stay "nice" for more than 10 seconds.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Download music, legally.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Catch up on season two of Gilmore Girls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  Cook what I want to eat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  Go shopping with only one child in tow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  Work on the basement for long periods of time while not entertaining a toddler, who would be making a mess in another part of the basement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.  Gather tons of stuff to donate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9.  Work on some picture stuff - albums, clearing the hard drive of the 1700 photos that it carries daily, practice taking pictures, etc.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10.  Number ten is the most important and so deserves its own paragraph...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Number ten is all about phase two of sleep training.  Emery is pretty much sleeping through the night.  Now we must move her into her real bedroom, the one she is to share with Avery.  This weekend that crib is going to become a haven for Emery.  She is going to sleep in there at all times.  I am even taking down the crib in her closet room so that I will not be tempted.  I want that girl to love that crib by the time Sunday comes and sister is home.  Let's get to work!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, yes.  I do have high aspirations for this weekend.  I will report back to let you know how it is going.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-2579688319724971208?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/2579688319724971208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=2579688319724971208&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2579688319724971208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2579688319724971208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/everybody-needs-little-time-away.html' title='Everybody Needs A little Time Away'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-5377340215529445915</id><published>2009-07-02T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T15:10:53.074-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Over-Thinker</title><content type='html'>Hi.  I'm Bethany and I'm an over-thinker.  Seriously, I am addicted to my thoughts.  I have been my whole life.  I recall my first obsession: the origin of my food.  I wanted to know where my mom had bought the food.  Did she get it at the store or from a farmer's market.  Could they trace back to the dairy where my milk was processed?  And, the real kicker, what did the face of the animal from which this meat came from look like?  Meat still bothers me.  I have had to learn to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;disassociate&lt;/span&gt; myself from the reality of its roots.  And, as I prepare meals for my family, make my cup of coffee, mix in my raw sugar, I wonder what the farm looks like, what the farmers look like, what the air is like in the place of their origins.  Confession number one of an over-thinker.&lt;div&gt;And, yes.  It gets in the way of my life.  I obsess over many things.  Here are just a few fresh from my mind this minute:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  Will Avery ever go to sleep quietly enough so that Emery can join her in their bedroom?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Will this one car situation work out or am I too set in my ways to be flexible (thanks mom for letting me borrow your car when I feel the urge to go come on)?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Will I ever lose these last 15 pounds?  I mean, really.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Just how awful will the 10 hour drive to the beach be?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  Oh, here it comes again.  Will my kids ever share a room or will I have to share my bedroom with Emery for the next two years?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  Just how messed up are my kids going to be?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  Is the world coming to an end, because people seem to be really sad this week?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.  Why is my alone time so important to me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9.  Why can't I be more assertive?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10.  Will the chicken thaw enough?...oh, crap.  I forgot to take it out of the freezer.  Be back in one minute.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There.  10.  That's enough.  Trust me, there are more.  I suppose I find it impossible to rest my mind unless I am sleeping.  I am a good sleeper.  Once I am asleep, I am good to go.  Lights out, baby.  But, during the waking hours, there is no shutting down.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Take the past 24 hours as an example.  Wednesday morning.  Up at 6:30am.  Morning feeding routine.  7am "playing" with the girls in their room turned into me cleaning out their closet.  I moved all of their hanging clothes into the "closet"/sewing room where Emery sleeps.  Four tension rods full of frills and pinkness all organized nicely.  I took 8 diaper boxes filled with hand-me-downs and out-of-season clothes to the basement.  Moved furniture.  Scrubbed floors.  Put Emery down for her nap at 9am.  Moved all of their toys into the new closet system.  Make Avery and Emery a small library in the closet.  11am took the girls to Target to get out of the house for an hour.  Noon.  Lunch and a quick &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;dvd&lt;/span&gt; of Little Bear.  Nap time chaos begins.  I wanted to shoot for day 2 of the girls napping together.  After 45 minutes of nonsense, I gave up and put Emery in her closet room.  I needed the break.  2pm both girls are sleeping.  I go to the basement to clean and organize down there until 4pm when the girls wake up and I have to start dinner.  5-6:30pm dinner and family play time....bedtime at 8pm for the girls, movie time for Ryan and me.  Bedtime for us at 11:30.  6:15am girls are up and ready to go.  7am back up to play and finish cleaning the girls room.  8:20 drive Ryan to work....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ryan calls it "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Philling&lt;/span&gt;" around when I am like this, always on a project.  When I try to sit and let's say listen to music and relax, my mind starts racing with the millions of things that might better be done than rest.  Over-Thinking.  I think it's in my nature and in my nurture.  What's a mom to do?  And, you bet.  I can post pics of the girls room just as soon as Ryan gets around to hanging her ballet mirror, which will hopefully happen during this year.  It should be cute.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-5377340215529445915?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/5377340215529445915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=5377340215529445915&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5377340215529445915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5377340215529445915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/07/over-thinkert.html' title='Over-Thinker'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-2040455391257986543</id><published>2009-06-29T11:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T11:41:01.263-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Duel Sleepers</title><content type='html'>Well, the time has come.  Emery is making her journey into the big girls room.  Her crib has been in there for over a year and it is ready for her now.  For the most part, Emery sleeps through the night.  The past few nights she has gotten up because of her teeth, but she does okay other than that.  Her naps are good; Avery's naps are great.  So, today I took them to the pool to tire them out, fed them a great lunch, tried to give them each some special attention, and then put them to bed in the same room.  &lt;div&gt;It took about fifteen minutes, but they both fell asleep.  Emery cried for a while and Avery kept telling her to go to bed, which sounds about right.  We have a big fan in there to provide some noise cushion.  I was even able to sneek in their room, look at their sweet, sleeping faces, and cover them both with warm blankets.  I have never been able to do this before.  I seem to have light sleepers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would consider it a success if they both get an hour and a half of sleep in today.  We still have to go to the grocery store before dad comes home for dinner, so that might just work out perfectly.  I know many of you have co-sleepers.  Any advice for me?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-2040455391257986543?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/2040455391257986543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=2040455391257986543&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2040455391257986543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2040455391257986543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/06/duel-sleepers.html' title='Duel Sleepers'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7873683204984069594</id><published>2009-06-21T06:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T19:25:07.274-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pie and Pavarotti</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sj5AVU1WGmI/AAAAAAAAAFw/yQnV8E4szzY/s1600-h/Photo+235.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sj5AVU1WGmI/AAAAAAAAAFw/yQnV8E4szzY/s320/Photo+235.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349784142476614242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many marks that a father leaves on the life of his child.  Many.  I am fortunate to have a loving and kind, hard working and brave, sweet and funny father.  Really, I never call him father, that is a term I use more for my Heavenly Father, but to me, he is dad and daddy.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My dad and I have always had a good relationship.  I often felt understood, even praised, by him.  I knew that he loved me and that he liked having me around, even when others felt that I was somewhat bothersome.  My siblings have even confided that daddy and share a special bond.  There really wasn't anything that I didn't want to do with him.  Chopping wood, scraping paint, mowing the grass - these were all opportunities to be with him.  Of course we did special things together - making sassafras tea that we grew in our woods, swinging with underduckies at the farm, painting lessons on my homemade easel.  How he honed in on my loves of creativity and art.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As I got older, we would listen to opera while I helped him cook.  The Italian in us naturally came out, both of us longing to learn the language so sing along, to feel more connected.  When the most beautiful song of all - Nessun Dorma via Pavarotti - would come on, we would pause.  The song can bring tears to my eyes this minute.  I always had this dream of taking my dad to Italy to hear Pav live, now we will have to wait for Heaven.  There were other songs, dancing songs, singing songs, heart songs that I hear and can only think of those times in the kitchen with my dad.  My husband really appreciates my cooking.  I love my cooking.  It is my expression, my creative contribution, and I have my dad to thank for bringing that out in me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, there is one cooking lesson that has left the greatest mark on my life.  My first pie.  Pies - now that is something I can rely on for a crowd pleasing time.  I feel so comfortable turning that flour and fat into a crust that melts in your mouth.  My hands know just when to stop the mixing, the rolling, the tucking, the pinching.  I know the perfect color of gold for oven removal.  But, I know most of all the warm, comforting, welcoming feeling that one bite of a homemade pie can bring to a person.  Moreover, I know that a simple offering of a baked good can open a door to a life in need of love.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our family farm, right across the street from our house, was sold to a horsemen.  The new owner had a trainer and his family move into a home on the lot.  This was all very different for me, a ten year old, and my dad.  That land that was his playground and it now belonged to someone else.  While many would become bitter, turned their back on these new residents, dad took this opportunity to love, really love.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At my parents kitchen table, the hands of a young girl and a steel worker, rolled out a pie, filled it with cherries, wove a crust-top, and baked with love.  We carried a warm cherry pie to our new neighbors and made some new friends.  To make a very long story short, a family in turmoil, one about to call it quits, started coming to our church, started making changes for the better, began choosing love.  One family on the brink of destruction, blossomed.  This family now serves God in churches in our area.  I often wonder how the world would be different if my dad hadn't made that pie.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The lessons that my dad taught are numerous, too many to count.  And, the good news is that the lessons go on.  My daughters will bake pies and they will know Pavarotti.  More importantly that will know that an extended hand, an offering, to a person in need makes a mark for good.  Thank you, dad.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7873683204984069594?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7873683204984069594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7873683204984069594&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7873683204984069594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7873683204984069594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/06/pie-and-pavarotti.html' title='Pie and Pavarotti'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sj5AVU1WGmI/AAAAAAAAAFw/yQnV8E4szzY/s72-c/Photo+235.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7254061657750949512</id><published>2009-06-18T11:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T11:24:20.293-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Take 'Em As They Come</title><content type='html'>I can remember it so clearly.  My belly was full of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Averyness&lt;/span&gt;.  I had so many thoughts about what she would look like, what type of person she would be.  I wondered who she would resemble, what her voice would sound like, how big her feet would be, what color eyes she would have.  Would she have my hair or Ryan's?  Would she be pale like me or have his nice tan coloring?  Would she be a cup half full or half empty kind of person?  The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;wonderings&lt;/span&gt; went on and on.  &lt;div&gt;And, wouldn't you know it, she is nothing like I imagined her to be.  Nothing.  Not that this is a bad thing.  More like, she is more than I could ever comprehend like of thing.  She is more complex in her looks and her personality than I could have thought.  Isn't that just great?  So, when Emery was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;in utero&lt;/span&gt;, I didn't even ponder much about what she would look like or be like.  I guess I wondered if she would be like Avery more than anything.  And, once again, I am amazed by the little person that Emery came out to be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; As with most parents, I am in awe of the wonder of our Creator when I look at my babies.  And, what do I do with this wonder?  How do I respond to it?  How do I respect the Creator?  Well, I suppose I respect his work.  I don't try to change it, try to force it to be something it's not, try to make it into what I want it to be.  I take this child, this little life, and love it for what it is.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, it's a challenge for me.  I want to force my child to be the best sharer, the best listener, the cleanest, the nicest, the sweetest, and those of you who know her, know she isn't the best at all of these things.  She does well most of the time, but she's three and we all know what fun that is.  While I want her to pick out the pink shoes, she wants purple.  When I want her to want her hair curled, she likes to mess it up.  The dress she wants to wear isn't what I had in mind.  When I introduce her to some people, she turns her head.  When I want to do something quiet and creative, she wants to run around the house.  It goes on and on.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What I must remember is that she is her own person.  I am responsible in helping her to learn to make good choices, but I can't choose her life.  Even though she is just three, the messages I send to her about her choices and their consequences (or rewards) are vital.  Will she learn &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;responsibility&lt;/span&gt; or rejection?  Will she learn independence of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;dependence&lt;/span&gt; on me for the answers?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love my girls.  I want them to grow to be loving, smart women of God.  Today matters.  How I make them feel matters.  The example I set for them matters.  So if you see me around working really hard to help my kids make good choices, support me.  Support them.  Be an example for them.  They are created by my Creator to be what He desires of them...we are all still a work in progress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7254061657750949512?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7254061657750949512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7254061657750949512&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7254061657750949512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7254061657750949512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/06/take-em-as-they-come.html' title='Take &apos;Em As They Come'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-5984740467788429024</id><published>2009-06-18T10:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T11:21:24.385-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Slow. Things. Down.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/104/281532760_cd76010a9a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 500px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/104/281532760_cd76010a9a.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is tempting to try to keep up with life, to try to do all that is available, to attempt to make the most of every moment.  I feel this pressure, too often for my liking.  Possibly this has something to do with my situation, as being a mom to two small people can eat up a great deal of time and energy, but more so I believe that it is just in my nature.  I like to do and I was raised by some family members who also have this drive.  &lt;div&gt;For example, Ryan and I are playing in the yard with the girls.  I will probably start working in the garden, sweeping the porch, arranging the patio furniture.  Before I know it, one child is crying, Ryan is frustrated from tending to both little lambs, and I am in my own world of "doing".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the problem that I have with this has nothing to do with the fact that I don't get a ton of time to do the chores that I love to do, but that this isn't the life that I want to live.  I desire to be present in the lives of my children, in my marriage, and in my friendships.  I don't want to be too busy to there, to be close, to be near to the lives that matter to me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Being around and being present are to totally different things.  Trust me.  My toddler's mommy time alarm rings loudly when she hasn't had real time with me.  The need could not be more clear.  And, I am just wondering if I have missed the alarms of other people while merely existing in our relationship instead of being alive in them.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This summer is providing an great opportunity for me to Slow. Things. Down.  Ryan's car died.  He sold it and it will be gone as of this weekend, leaving us as a single car family.  Now, it's not as bad as it sounds.  The next few weeks will be a little crazy, but once Ryan starts his new position in our town, there will really only be two days a week that I will &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;carless&lt;/span&gt;.  I am not looking forward to this venture, but I can see it as an opportunity to do some home-work.  I am making the choice to spin this for the positive.  Here is how I am going to use this situation to my advantage.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First off, I have great neighbors.  Liz and Katie could and will probably entertain me and my girls most days.  This shows my daughters, and their kids, that neighbors can be dear friends.  They will learn how moms can stick together (their husbands are interns at the hospital by our house, so they feel the "my husband works all of the time" pain).  They will learn how fun and sweet it is to have girlfriends in their lives.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Secondly, I am going to do some cooking.  I love to cook and bake, but the hour before dinner time can be crunch time.  Kids are hungry, we are all excited to Ryan to come home, and yet someone has to be in that kitchen working away.  I figure that I can do some food prep on my days at home.  Chopping, washing, dicing, marinating - all these tasks can be done ahead of time so that I have more time to play in the afternoon when both girls need me to be really present.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thirdly, I am learning once again the importance of being flexible.  When I married Ryan, I married his dreams, his desires, his plans.  I won't lie and say that I knew what I was signing on for, but I knew with whom I was signing.  This dream of being a psychologist is sort of fogging and nightmarish right now, but I know that we keep getting closer to "things getting easier".  I want a new car, a really nice new car with all kinds of neat things and tricks, but for now, that isn't going to happen.  And, I have to be okay with that.  By not putting up a fight, by not being bossy and mean about it, I am showing my husband that I am in agreement with the life he is leading.  I could go get a job, put the kids in day care, and then we could afford a new car (that would be about all that we could afford after the daycare).  But, that isn't what we want for our family.  And, there is no slowing down in that idea.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What was this all about again?  Oh, yes.  Slowing things down.  See, life is busy.  You get thrown things you weren't expecting.   Things get messy and complicated.  So, what do you do?  Do you get frantic and freak out?  Do you shut down and shut out?  I am going to try to avoid those messes and opt for a slow down.  Maybe I should put up some construction signs around my life.  Warning:  Bethany at Work.  Slow down or fines will double.  Sounds like a plan.  Who wants to go steal, I mean borrow, a few of those for me?  Live life.  Be present.  Slow down.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-5984740467788429024?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/5984740467788429024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=5984740467788429024&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5984740467788429024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5984740467788429024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/06/slow-things-down.html' title='Slow. Things. Down.'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm1.static.flickr.com/104/281532760_cd76010a9a_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-1100019276088154757</id><published>2009-06-17T12:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T13:14:39.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>She's Three</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlK9G0oOAI/AAAAAAAAAFo/cL5erukB07Q/s1600-h/IMG_2212.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlK9G0oOAI/AAAAAAAAAFo/cL5erukB07Q/s320/IMG_2212.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348388446143002626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlJVkLYYKI/AAAAAAAAAFg/9v7heY9cAJ8/s1600-h/IMG_2456.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlFvbLHwBI/AAAAAAAAAE4/VmX623SimyY/s1600-h/IMG_2437.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really, I can't even believe it.  When she turned two, that seemed about right. But three, that's a whole other part of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;toddlerhood&lt;/span&gt;, and I can't believe that she is there already.  What a great time we had today celebrating with her friends.  We are so fortunate to be surrounded by such sweet people, who love us, even when we are bossy (Avery put Amelia in time out today at her party).&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlFvDT4_zI/AAAAAAAAAEw/g4__DZxB8Xo/s320/IMG_2425.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348382707124076338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;The theme was pirates and princesses.  We sent messages in bottles to friends and the invitations were sort of like treasure maps.  I think finding old beer bottles on their front porches was interesting for most moms.  I found all kinds of fun &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;piratey&lt;/span&gt; things about - really, more than I could handle.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlJURjGUUI/AAAAAAAAAFA/WRVpCgI8Rsc/s320/IMG_2443.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348386645136003394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, the best find of all, especially since I wanted it to be kind of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt;, was the pink, white, and black pirate plates.  SO CUTE.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlFubvHSsI/AAAAAAAAAEg/YK0WS8gDZpg/s320/IMG_2415.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348382696500841154" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;They just pulled everything together.  Avery and I baked her cupcakes.  Chocolate, of course.  She is the original Naked Chef, Free Range baby, as neighbor Liz calls her.  She even helped with the dishes afterwards.  I like having her help in the kitchen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlFt6InfjI/AAAAAAAAAEY/sIXS-XGsilg/s320/IMG_2404.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348382687481003570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlFu-1ga3I/AAAAAAAAAEo/_SSUwjA2pxo/s320/IMG_2424.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348382705922894706" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;Avery got to go on a special trip today with my sister, Cookie.  They shopped with Lauren for her present.  She came home with a DVD and bubble gum.  She was thrilled.  And, people, if you want to make a party throwers day, offer to take the kids while she sets up.  SO VERY NICE.  My mom came over early to help get the final touches ready.  Let's just say that without the help of a sister and a mom, this hostess would have been spent before the party even started.  But, with their help, it all came together and I was ready to party.  Once the friends arrived, it became dress up madness.  Costumes of pirates, princesses, and dancers were everywhere.  There was lots of noise, and it sure sounded fun.  We had lunch and some nice talks.  The kids sat at the table in the living room and the moms and babies were in the dining room.  Leah and Jan, also known as Cookie and Mimi, said that the conversation at the kid table was priceless.  We played Walk the Plank and had a treasure hunt. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlJUqAiy7I/AAAAAAAAAFI/_pnxCUXcsw4/s320/IMG_2434.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348386651701955506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlFvbLHwBI/AAAAAAAAAE4/VmX623SimyY/s320/IMG_2437.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348382713529745426" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt; I think the kids had fun, and I know that I did. I put on a movie (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;piratey&lt;/span&gt; for sure) to end on a sort of quiet note.  Some kids were quite, my kid was not.  Right after trying to steal the sleeping bag from Zeke, she lifted his shirt for a big sloppy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;zerbert&lt;/span&gt;.  Those two - Babe and Buddy - are so funny.    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlJVW0XpQI/AAAAAAAAAFY/H_RMp3LqhL0/s320/IMG_2465.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348386663730488578" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;What can I say, we tried.  Now the house is pretty quiet and I am missing those little buggers running around.  I am hoping Avery will have these friends for life.  I love their moms and they are so special to me.  It was our first kid party, and I loved it.  Now, Avery's special day has a few more hours in it...I am sure her dad and I can figure out some fun to have.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlJVkLYYKI/AAAAAAAAAFg/9v7heY9cAJ8/s320/IMG_2456.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348386667316666530" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;Moms, one great reason why the pirate theme is a plus, you don't have to do your hair.  I highly recommend it, Matey.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlJU2WBeTI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/sX_IK59aXtU/s320/IMG_2466.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348386655013271858" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-1100019276088154757?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/1100019276088154757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=1100019276088154757&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/1100019276088154757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/1100019276088154757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/06/shes-three.html' title='She&apos;s Three'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SjlK9G0oOAI/AAAAAAAAAFo/cL5erukB07Q/s72-c/IMG_2212.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-3012841650086431905</id><published>2009-06-15T11:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T16:57:39.647-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='siblings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Family Vacation</title><content type='html'>This week marks one month until we head to the beach for vacation.  To say that it has been easy to get this trip planned would be a total lie.  There have been hoops, trust me.  The Armstrong family has grown from a family of five to now fourteen.  And, I know that 14 really isn't that many, but these 14 have lots going on - jobs, varsity sports, dance lessons, teething, turning three, building apartments, jobs, and jobs.  But, the good news is that it looks like it is going to happen, making me and my mama happy.  I guess I just want to talk about why I like going on vacation and what I have learned the past few years while traveling with my clan.  Here are some lessons that I have learned:&lt;div&gt;1.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;We are all on vacation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Getting back to the fourteen issue.  One thing I try to keep in mind when on vacation is that this is a vacation for each person.  Dads have got to be considered.  It is one of the few weeks they get off for the whole year, so if they want to veg out on the couch, fry on the beach, play BORING golf, or just surf the net, it is really up to them.  I shouldn't suggest things for them to do, they can do what ever pleases their hardworking hearts.  And moms, we get a little rest as well.  I think it is an adjustment to go from normal life to vacation life.  It takes me about three days to get in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;vaca&lt;/span&gt;-mode (a little drink in the afternoon helps, or so I have learned).  I am going to try to work this time around on easing up a little sooner, while TOTALLY KEEPING MY KIDS ON SCHEDULE SO THAT THEY SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT.  I see your heads nodding, moms.  Just keep telling yourself, "I'm on vacation".  And the kids, this is a special time for them as well.  They get to be surrounded by the people who love them the most in the world.  I know it seems like it is always about them, but they need a little vacation love as well.  What is my point?  I guess it is good to be aware of the fact that this is a vacation for everyone and so letting others do what they want, even if it isn't what I had in mind, is for the best.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; Small Groups.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;If you know me, you know I love to plan and follow that plan.  But, that might not work for my siblings, their spouses, or even my parents.  It is my responsibility to keep my little family happy and functioning.  So, I have learned to make a plan for my family of four, do our thing, and include anyone else who would like to come along.  It is too much to think that a plan for 14 would ever work out.  Support the ideas of other family members, try new things, be flexible, but don't try to do everything together.  It just is unrealistic.  Be happy that you have the opportunity to be together for this time, but aware that you don't have to be all together all of the time in order for it to be a good family vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; Focus on What you Love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Since it is impossible to have the vacation of your dreams - everyone rises and sleeps at the same time, everyone eats all meals together around a big table laughing and chatting, perfect weather everyday, no one being annoying (like me and my planning), on and on - love what is available.  The following list contains a few of my favorite things about a family vacation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;a.  My brother being so excited about vacation that he is the first at our meeting place with a little belly ache of excitement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;b.  Talking for hours in the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;c.  My dad making coffee and bacon early in the morning.  The early risers - Scott, dad, Ryan, Austin, and me - all up sharing a quiet morning.  Scott and dad read the paper, Austin and I sit on the couch and watch &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tv&lt;/span&gt;, Ryan scopes out the weather outside.  Soon little footsteps come out for more morning cuddles than they can handle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;d.  Playing in the pool with my girls all day while the rest of the family is at the beach (we all know I need my alone time).  Those hours of sun and the pool make me feel like a SUPERSTAR.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;e.  Riding bikes with my nieces and nephews makes me feel alive.  We ride around and around.  It is one of the most relaxing things on earth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;f.  Seeing my girls play and be taken care of by my siblings makes me get all misty.  Makes me want more kids so that they can have brothers and sisters like I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;g.  Cracking up at Shelly cleaning the clean house, just in case.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;h.  Seeing my parents hug as they realize that they are lucky to have kids that love each other.  I imagine that is just a wonderful feeling.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, I'll stop.  I could go to "Z" but you would all be bored.  There is much more about teasing, eating, cheer leading, pool games, sneaky tricks, shopping, etc.  My heart is just excited thinking about it.  Yeah, so back to the lessons...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mind your Business.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;One big family is made up of lots of small families.  These small families are used to functioning on their own.  Give people some space.  Let people do their own thing.  You don't have to entertain, organize, soothe, provide.  Conflict will arise.  Someone will have a bad day.  Someone will get a work call.  Someone will miss a nap.  Someone will need a time out.  Someone will make a bad choice.  It's going to happen.  You just don't have to fix it.  Let the little family work it out on their own.  This helps to keep a little problem from becoming a mess of a huge problem.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's all I can think of for now.  To &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;summarize&lt;/span&gt;, as in Cliff's Notes version:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  Let people do their own thing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Drink before dinner to prevent that long day kind of feeling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Focus on your favorite parts&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  "Mind your business, mama, mind your business"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I will read this again and again over the next few weeks to help ensure a good family vacation.  Wish me luck, as you might have noticed most of this is about me learning not to have to be in control all of the time.  I hope this helps you survive, I mean enjoy, your next family vacation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-3012841650086431905?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/3012841650086431905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=3012841650086431905&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3012841650086431905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3012841650086431905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/06/family-vacation.html' title='Family Vacation'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-4062405029563447571</id><published>2009-06-15T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T11:53:36.649-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Late Slip</title><content type='html'>So, I know, it has been two weeks since I have last posted.  Forgive me.  I have a few things going on and much on my mind.  I have so many posts that I want to write, yet they are just not making it onto the page.  They'll get there, eventually.  I guess I will start anew with vacation concepts.  Check it out&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-4062405029563447571?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/4062405029563447571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=4062405029563447571&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4062405029563447571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4062405029563447571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/06/late-slip.html' title='Late Slip'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-4744900034587768807</id><published>2009-05-29T19:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-29T19:56:11.314-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What a Day!</title><content type='html'>Ryan took today off, a rare, meaning nearly extinct, occasion.  We wanted to take the girls to the Pittsburgh Zoo as we are zoo members and want to make sure we get our worth out of our pass.  And, so this is what went on today, sort of in order as I can recall at this point in the evening:&lt;div&gt;1.  Emery was up lots last night with those darn two front teeth coming in (which, let me tell you, has made nursing real fun).  Her up = me tired.  Really, I must look like hell.  I am saying that because it is how it really must be.  I haven't slept a full night in 10 months people.  The skin and looking dull, the eyes not so bright...oh, this is for another post.  Back to today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Avery wakes up at 6am because she is so excited.  She wakes Emery up, and now we are all up.  Two wild and excited kids; two tired and cranky parents.  You've been there.  Not a pretty picture.  I told Ryan on the way over that I wouldn't have wanted to go to the zoo with us if I were our kids.  Good thing they forgive quickly.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  We, along with most elementary school kids in the tri-state area, made it to the zoo by 10.  Wow.  I am going on every field trip that I can.  What chaos!  I have no idea how they kept track of all of those kids, even if they were dressed alike and wearing silly name tags.  Who votes for mircochips in our kids?  Me! Me!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Having much fun at the zoo.  Kids were so good.  We decided to skip the down under part of the animal trail and head to The Strip District for lunch.  Love this idea.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  On the way out of the zoo, we got the dreaded phone call from the mechanic.  Ryan's Jetta is pretty much a goner.  Engine is dead.  THIRTY FIVE HUNDRED kind of dead.  Ouch.  And, it's in Morgantown.  That towing bill should be great!  So, we're ditching the Jetta.  Now what?  A new car really wasn't in the plan.  Huge bummer.  I guess that money we had saved for vacation is going towards a new ride.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  The Strip - total success.  La Prima and Enrico nearly saved the day.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  Girls napped in the car on the way home.  Ruined my idea of the afternoon.  I wanted to make spaghetti sauce while they slept.  More about this later.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.  Ryan was upset about the car = can't stay home and think about it = Cabela's trip for a fishing pole for Avery.  Live animals in the am; stuffed animals in the pm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9.  FFW to 10pm when I started making the spaghetti sauce that would have been done by now if the car nap hadn't ruined it all.  All is ready to go for tomorrow, only needing a few hours to simmer.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am totally exhausted.  Lots of ups and downs today.  Bed in a few minutes, please.  Emery sleep all night, please.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-4744900034587768807?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/4744900034587768807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=4744900034587768807&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4744900034587768807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4744900034587768807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/what-day.html' title='What a Day!'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-9106217839487665203</id><published>2009-05-28T19:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-28T20:11:08.989-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Thinking about God</title><content type='html'>I have just been thinking about God a lot today, about who he is to me, especially right now.  And, I feel like I am setting myself up for failure with the post, as I know I won't even touch the entirety of God, but that really isn't my purpose for this blog.  I just want to talk a minute about God and what I am really loving about him right now.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwWYfwuTeaw"&gt;He's mighty to save (click here to hear a song by this title)&lt;/a&gt;.  What does that mean?  Save as in save me from my sins?  Save as in save my life?  Save as in save me from _________?  Yeah, I guess all of that.  He is so mighty to save.  He is my savior.  And, what a sweet joy that is!  There is no condemnation.  None.  He loves me that much.  Amazing.  But, just today, he saved me from sadness.  I believe that God knew that I was sad today, that I needed &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;confirmation&lt;/span&gt; that my life matters.  So he confirmed it.  Nothing like what I expected or from someone who I would expect to be shown love, but it was kind love non-the-less.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He answers my prayers.  Well, he always answers, but maybe not with what I specifically had in mind (see above paragraph).  Sometimes he changes my heart or my mind, so that I can see how his idea, his plan is better, bigger, just much, much better.  He knows my needs.  He sees my hurts.  He understands my fears.  My God cares for me.  Just this week I have seen him heal, protect, preserve, prosper people for whom I have prayed.  And, he hears my secret prayers.  The ones I utter when I am on the verge of tears and screams because my day just isn't going so great.  He knows I fear losing a child, literally and figuratively. He knows that I am frustrated, scared, annoyed, tired, sad.  He fills me with hope and trust and faith.  He reminds me of who he is, and that perspective makes things better.  He brings people into my life to show me, to teach me more about his character, his love.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To sum up, I just want to say a little prayer of thanks.  God, you are so good.  You know me.  You love me.  You care about all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;facets&lt;/span&gt; of my life.  You are not far from me.  You are God.  You answer prayers.  And, you are mighty to save.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what do I do with this?  What is my response?  If God loves me in my current condition, if he cares about me, about my ENTIRE life, how does this change how I treat people?  Couldn't I be more sensitive, more caring, more concerned, more helpful, more encouraging, more supportive?  Couldn't I try to listen more attentively, be more patient, speak &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;upliftingly&lt;/span&gt;, judge less, be more vulnerable.  Because to be honest, sometimes I feel like I am putting myself out there and no one really cares, no one is really responding.  Oh, pity party me.  Gosh, I bet God really feels this way.  He totally put himself out there, as in on the cross, and I am sure he was hoping for a bigger response.  I sure would be, wouldn't you?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-9106217839487665203?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/9106217839487665203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=9106217839487665203&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/9106217839487665203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/9106217839487665203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/just-thinking-about-god.html' title='Just Thinking about God'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7135033952941582550</id><published>2009-05-27T11:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-27T11:55:02.781-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='passion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bravery'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Love Bravely</title><content type='html'>There are many things that I hope to teach my children.  I want them to be polite, to speak for themselves, to follow dreams, to know how to cook, to be self sufficient, to appreciate family and the value of a dollar.  Adding to this list of practical knowledge is an attribute that I find a must - to be able to love bravely.  &lt;div&gt;We can't choose who we love.  It just happens.  You see a person, and they look different to you than all of the others.  You like the way they talk.  Both the sound of their voice and what they have to say is pleasing to you.  You want to spend your time, all of it really, with them.  You become willing to give up some of your own wants to please them.  It often feels as if there are magnets pulling the two of you together, as if forces your whole life have been working to make that connection.  We can't choose to not love them.  It just happens.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, sometimes, love doesn't happen in the easiest of circumstances.  Maybe you love someone who lives far away, who has different dreams, who comes from a difficult family, who doesn't have any money, who has made some choices that have lead to tricky consequences.  Maybe the person doesn't even love you back or just doesn't know how to.  It happens.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most likely my girls are going to fall in love, hard, many times, and get their sweet, little hearts broken.  And, I hope that I can teach them that being certain about how you feel towards a person is a really good thing, and that if they really love someone, then the risk is worth it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We all desire to be loved wildly, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;passionately&lt;/span&gt;, even, dare I say, senselessly.  But, do we love that way in return?  Does my love know undoubtedly that he is my dream?  Does he feel that my love is strong and thriving?  Do those magnets still pull us together?  Does the force still feel &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;uncontrollable&lt;/span&gt;?  Does he feel that I love him bravely?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love is a risk.  And, what a story, what a life to lead, what a dream to make if I can still love that way.  Because I do have something to prove.  Because I do want to love.  And, I do want to be brave about it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7135033952941582550?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7135033952941582550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7135033952941582550&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7135033952941582550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7135033952941582550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/love-bravely.html' title='Love Bravely'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-962686654430728223</id><published>2009-05-22T19:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-23T07:45:28.658-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Once a Mom</title><content type='html'>Once you become a mom, the whole world changes.  People become more human, stories become more personal, life becomes more complicated.  Every child you see, good or bad, beautiful or not, seems lovable.  And, every mother you see, well maybe not &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ever&lt;/span&gt;y mother,  is a potential friend.  Catty pasts, differing cultural or religious differences, parenting styles, marital status, economic ladder position, clothing store preference - none of these things matter much.  One mom looks another mother in the eyes and just knows -- she's held a sick baby, she's wiped tears, she's been up all night, she's had it and kept smiling and playing anyways, she's given up her idea of a fun day to appease a toddler, she's waited to hear the sweet sound of a baby crying after too long of silence in the crib, she's...she's... she's...The list just goes on and on.  Becoming a mom is like joining an amazing, exclusive club, and one of the major perks of membership is compassion.&lt;div&gt;And, when I heard about baby &lt;a href="http://adamjstewart.wordpress.com/"&gt;Silas&lt;/a&gt; (just click on his name to read his story), I found myself crying.  And, it took me a few days to figure out why I was hit so hard by this, why I was so emotionally involved, why I couldn't stop thinking about him and praying for him.  While I am sure that more will surface, I have come up with a few ideas.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First of all, it brought up a lot of memories of Avery's birth.  While Avery didn't have anything nearly, nearly, nearly as serious as Silas, I could relate to the feeling of having your baby abruptly taken from you and rushed to the NICU.  I could relate to the waiting on and wondering when your baby would be returned to you.  I could relate to the scary and awful feeling of wondering if your new baby was going to be alright.  In fact, I think that this is the main reason why I can't stop thinking about Silas.  I was so busy, so trying to put on a good face, so hormonal, so tired, so scared those first few days with Avery, that I wasn't really present.  I suppose I allowed myself to emotionally respond hearing a similar story, even if it is nearly three years later.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then there's the question of why.  Why God would you let this happen?  What good is going to come from this?  Why does this baby have to struggle?  I wondered about Avery's birth.  Why was it so hard for her, for us?  What was really going on that we weren't being told by the doctors?  And, then there comes the questions like:  What will Avery think of her birth story?  What will she think of those marks that will be on her back for life from her delivery?  Would either of us be alive if we had lived in a previous time?  Parents must have these questions running through our minds constantly.  And, when we pray, when we beg of God for mercy and protection, and don't get the answer we were asking for, how do we then respond?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have to believe that even small struggles have meaning.  While I prayed for a smooth and easy delivery of Avery, I got just about the opposite.  The end result is still amazing, still wonderful, but not how I had imagined it would be.  And, I believe that something awesome is going to come from Avery's birth struggle.  Someday.  She has a special story and I am sure it will influence her life.  And, Silas, while we try to pray perfectly for you, we know that God has an amazing plan for your life.  Our words can't even touch the greatness that God has in mind for you.  Who knows how God is going to us this part of your life for His glory.  You are all probably already singing it, but I will go ahead and quote Sage Garth "some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers".  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lastly, I have a bit of a confession.  I worry.  Alot.  Deep inside of me, I feel that I would like to have another child.  (Ryan, on the other hand, is totally fine with two and never wants to have to cater to a crying infant again.) However, I keep thinking that there's one more little girl inside of me.  And, I worry that odds are against me.  I worry that I already have two really healthy girls and that there's a big chance of something going wrong if there's a next time.  Ryan studies statistics, we talk about odds and percentages all of the time.  I hear stories like that of Silas and I am scared.  Could I handle that fear, that worry?  Would it break me, beat me?  The things that I can imagine going wrong are just awful.  How selfish of a response is this!  Why is it all about me?  About my worries?  There is a young, sweet family facing such hardship and I am nightmaring about my own life.  But, I needed to be honest with you.  After all, most of you are in my mom club and have these same kind of thoughts, and honesty keeps me sane. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, so Silas, I am sure that there are so many people who have already been touched by your story, and one of those is me.  You have made me reflect once again about being a mom, about being a mom of faith, of hope, and of love. I was able to face some fears and confront some emotions because of you.  I don't know why this has happened to you or your family, but I am sure that you are going to be told stories like mine for years to come.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Silas is still fighting to be fully well.  Join me in praying for him and his family.  I pray especially for his mom, as she is part of my club.  We are forever forged by motherhood.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-962686654430728223?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/962686654430728223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=962686654430728223&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/962686654430728223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/962686654430728223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/once-mom.html' title='Once a Mom'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6792824522772146580</id><published>2009-05-20T12:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T13:27:01.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lemon Lover</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.hipecuador.com/images/ups/lemon.jpg" alt="Lemon" name="p" width="200" height="159" hspace="5" vspace="3" id="p" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I have never been a citrus girl until now.  Suddenly, all things lemon, lime, and orange are just lovely.  It all started with a Yankee candle and since then I have found so many great citrus things to enjoy.  I love the freshness, crispness, and color that citrus supplies.  And, it is a great time of year for those attributes.&lt;div&gt;The Yankee candle is Sparkling Lemon.  My mother-in-law brought it for me a few months ago, really when it was still chilly outside.  While she and my father-in-law played with the kids, I whizzed around the house dusting, scrubbing, and vacuuming.  When I was finished, I put a match to the wick and fell in love.  It smells like every lemon should.  My whole house filled with that fresh and clean smell, even in the girls room, which can often smell of old sippy cups, diapers, and baby dolls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, about a month ago, I was in line at Giant Eagle.  The woman behind me loaded two six packs of San Pellegrino Limonata onto the belt.  They were the faintest yellow in the sweetest blueish-green bottles.  Being that I am always thirsty at the grocery store, these looked especially appealing.  I just had to try it.  When I went back a week later, I picked up one six pack of the Limonata and one of the Aranciata.  I am in love.  First I tried the lemon, delish and cold.  Really liked it.  Then, the orange - wow!  You really must try them.  They are pricey, but I don't drink alcohol, so this is my adult beverage.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, since I like the smell of lemons and the taste of lemons, why wasn't I using fresh lemons in my cooking?  I have added those balls of sweet and sour yellowness to some pasta dishes, and they have worked wonderfully especially with chicken and artichokes.  But, the real kicker, came this past weekend.  I wanted to take two fruit pies - a peach and a strawberry rhubarb- to a party.  I added fresh lemon juice to each and the fruit flavors just popped.  I had known about this baking "trick" for years, but never had fresh lemons on hand.  Now, I think I am going to have to make lemons a regular on my grocery list.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ah, summer, sun, and citrus.  Doesn't sound too bad to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6792824522772146580?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6792824522772146580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6792824522772146580&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6792824522772146580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6792824522772146580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/lemon-lover.html' title='Lemon Lover'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-3620817215249177445</id><published>2009-05-20T05:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T05:20:02.347-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You may have noticed that I haven't blogged this week.  I am a little swamped.  Emery is having some rough nights because of her top teeth coming in, making for noisy nights and parents with sleep deprivation.  I almost was in an accident yesterday because my mind is so dull from this.  I couldn't even really hold a conversation a dinner last night.  I went to be early and was sleeping so hard that I didn't even hear Emery screaming 5 feet away from me.  Ryan had to wake me as he heard her from the basement.  I guess I was really tired.  And, then there are those &lt;a href="http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/before-summer-comes.html"&gt;chores&lt;/a&gt; that I mentioned earlier.  I have started all of them and progress is being made, but what used to take me a day now takes me a week.  This is really frustrating for me, but I realize it is just how things are now.  On top of this, I am planning Avery's birthday party, working on the garden, and trying to keep my house from looking like a toddler bomb has exploded.  So, here are some random mentionings:&lt;div&gt;1.  I highly recommend Eating Well magazine.  I have so much fun making the recipes out of there and they are all geared towards eating in a healthy way.  After reading it cover to cover, I can't wait to cook.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  I am in the mood to remove.  I took a load of old items to the Mission this week, gave some things to family members, and am trying to use up things hanging out in our cabinets.   We went to a party at the home of one of Ryan's professors last week.  Their home was so clean and minimal.  They had pictures and other items (everything matched a theme, mostly all based on the color blue) but no clutter.  I just loved how calming it was.  The kids didn't have TONS of stuff to get in to, and there was lots of room for them to play.  I was inspired by this, and am doing some work on my own home because of them.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  No poo is about done.  We are nearing week four and I think I am done.  Here is why:  My face is broken out.  This never happens.  I am not a pimple person, really ever.  Thank, God!  So, when my face started feeling bumpy near the forehead and my chin grew some hills, I started to worry.  I like the idea of no poo; it makes total, logical sense.  But, I am a girl and I like to look pretty.  This phase may be over in total.  The vinegar rinse may be a weekly thing.  I will continue to use organic shampoo, but need to find better organic styling products.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't think of anything else that will work for just a list.  Maybe another day I will have time to elaborate on Vivian's beauty, June Belle's arrival, my love for all things citrus, etc.  Don't give up on me.  How about you offer me some sleep and sanity?  I don't have much to give today...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-3620817215249177445?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/3620817215249177445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=3620817215249177445&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3620817215249177445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3620817215249177445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/you-may-have-noticed-that-i-havent.html' title=''/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-3173226530519316018</id><published>2009-05-14T04:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T04:52:42.599-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy Front</title><content type='html'>Motherhood can seem a lonely road.  There are many long days of giving and receiving only a sticky handed hug of a toddler or an open mouthed kiss of a 10 month old as reward.  Good thing those tiny offerings of love are pure and sweet and make the endless sacrifice somehow worth it.  I often picture myself with words like "two is a zoo" written on my head, but I am trying to erase those and replace them with something more along the lines of t&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;he work is hard but the love is easy.  &lt;/span&gt;There is a slight shift in positivity in the latter, incase you missed it.&lt;div&gt;And while it can seem like an eternity before daddy comes home to offer a hand, I have found another army of comrades to aid in my daily duties.  Moms, gals, sisters, friends are all offering their support and love to me while I raise my girls.  Phone calls, play group conversations, emails filled with cheers, advice, warnings, ideas.  I am surrounded by women encouraging me to be the best mom that I can be.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, this concept of many uniting to work together isn't  a new idea by any means but one that I am finally utilizing in my own life.  I would not really say, looking back on my life, that I have ever really been a girls girl.  I have had a few "select" friends that I allowed to be involved in my true life, but most people I held at arms length.  I suppose I always assumed the worst - that I would be let down, that I would discover a gossip, a liar, a fake.  And, this I regret.  I have missed out on many wonderful friendships because of this fear.  I don't want to live an isolated life any longer, nor do I want my daughters grow up thinking this way.  So, since becoming a mother, this is one of the major changes that I have made in my life.  I need women to make a positive mark, to help me understand what is happening, to help me cope, to laugh with me, to teach me about motherhood, to help me work out all of the crazy emotions that I face on a daily, if not hourly, basis.  I need friends.  I need you.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What a wonderful vision to see mothers joining together in love to raise this generation of children.  I feel more able to do what is right for my family knowing that all of you are with me. And while we band together, not only are we helping one another, but we are teaching our children the power of friendship.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What do you have to offer to a mom today?  Did you really tell your mom that you loved her last Sunday?  Did you help that mom in the Walmart line when her baby was screaming or did you give her a dirty look?  Have you told that mom of teenagers that she is going a great job?  Moms need encouragement and support shown to them more than just on one Sunday a year.  What do you have to offer?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-3173226530519316018?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/3173226530519316018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=3173226530519316018&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3173226530519316018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3173226530519316018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/mommy-front.html' title='Mommy Front'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-4392175612085638352</id><published>2009-05-09T07:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-09T12:59:39.620-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother's Day</title><content type='html'>Mother's Day wasn't always a happy day for me. When I heard my doctor warn of possible infertility, a whole new silence entered my world. To me, it was unfathomable. I had always wanted to be a mother, people always commented on how I would make a good mom, my heart knew I was a natural mommy. This couldn't be right. This isn't what my life looks like. This isn't what I had planned.&lt;br /&gt;The following months of trying, while not as difficult as some have, were trying for me. The medicine, the diet, the timing and scheduling. The bloodwork, waiting for results, the failures, the trying again. The tears, the hope, the anger, the frustration, the shame. I still could not fathome it. I still would not accept it.&lt;br /&gt;Those months were times of uncertainity for me to become certain of one thing: that God would be enough. Period. That while my heart was broken, I could praise him. That while I could not believe what was happening, that I could accept it. That while I felt hopeless, I would persue hope. I wrote in my journal, I made cds, I wrote prayers, I made up songs, I laid hands on my belly. I waited and trusted; I spoke firmly and loudly while accepting silence.&lt;br /&gt;Months passed. It was devestating to even see children. Pregnant women brought me to tears. I mourned. We kept trying. And, somehow, God made a miracle in my womb. A baby for us. That is the Mother's Day that I celebrate, the day when I became a mother.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I faced infertility for that phase in my life. I don't know why it was hard for us and so easy for others. But, I know that it matters. That those months were character shaping. That those times of longing make me appreciative everyday for my babies.&lt;br /&gt;I know some of you reading this are struggling now with a loss of hope. To you, I just want to hug you and cry with you. And, I know some of you have been in my shoes and are now mothers to children born of other parents. And, to you I just want to cheer. What an honor to be friends with you and your children. The adoption process seems so painstaking, like a treat is being dangled before you, making you jump and do tricks for your reward. I cheer you on. I hug you for the triumph that is yours and your childs.&lt;br /&gt;I know that being a mom is not easy. And, I know we would all like a little pampering and appreciation on our speical Mother's Day, but tomorrow I am going to celebrate my girls. They make me a mom.&lt;br /&gt;God, you answered my prayer to become a mother. You did this for me in such a big way. I know that my struggle is worth something to you. Let me be used for this in some way. This is my offering...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-4392175612085638352?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/4392175612085638352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=4392175612085638352&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4392175612085638352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4392175612085638352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/mothers-day.html' title='Mother&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-8778866391003788930</id><published>2009-05-07T18:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T18:44:02.041-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mean Girls</title><content type='html'>At the grocery store yesterday, Avery was bullied for the first time.  &lt;div&gt;We pulled our cart up to the meat counter.  There a man and a 4 year old girl waited in front of us.  I smiled at the girl.  She looked right at Avery, bugged out her eyes, and made a nasty tongue-sticking-out-face.  I looked her dead in the eyes, she lowered her head.  I put Avery's face in my hands and whispered to her that she need not worry about the girl being rude.  And, that her response should be to smile and just look away.  You would think that since I caught the nasty brat, and I will call her this because she was being mean to my baby and I don't know her name, that she would stop.  No!  She went around her father to try to get around my back to make the faces at Avery again.  I moved my back to protect Avery and tried to distract my girls from the bully.  Luckily, the girl left with her father before the mean teacher in me had to come out.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I told Avery I was proud of her for not making the faces back at the girl and for being kind.  I really couldn't be proud of myself.  I wanted to put that nasty brat in her place.  And, here I am the adult.  The mother in me was ready to protect not turn the other cheek!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night Avery brought the girl up at dinner and we explained the situation to Ryan.  I told Avery that I wasn't going to let anyone treat her that way.  Ryan chimed in, in all his wisdom and reality, and told her that no matter how much we protect her, she is going to get picked on at some point.  He's right, once again.  This makes me sad.  I want to be able to protect her from all kinds of hurt, especially mean girls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was bullied by mean girls in middle school and even a little in high school.  I recall days of dreading school, of dreading life.  I have no idea why they picked on me, why they chose me to emotionally beat up.  I do know that who I am today would have said something to them about it instead of just taking it.  And, I have to wonder if there are girls out there who feel like I bullied them at some point.  This makes me really sad to think about.  How foolish of us to tear one another down just so we can feel better about ourselves. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ryan's right.  I can't protect Avery from meanness.  But, I can create a relationship with her where she can come to me when she feels sad or angry.  I can be aware of how she is feeling about herself.  I can teach my girls not be "mean girls".  I can...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, so my offering today is about being mean.  Are you still a mean girl?  Do you still bully? Is there someone out there that you need to befriend?  Just wondering...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-8778866391003788930?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/8778866391003788930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=8778866391003788930&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8778866391003788930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8778866391003788930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/mean-girls.html' title='Mean Girls'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7234769937328831877</id><published>2009-05-05T08:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-05T08:46:52.038-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thoughts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='community'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blogging'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><title type='text'>This is for Me</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I struggled to come up with a blog topic.  And, once I did, I struggled to write it.  The post seemed too vague, then too personal, too preachy, too vindictive.  I couldn't say what I wanted because I was worried about how it was going to come across to you.  &lt;div&gt;Over the past few weeks I have run into a few of you and had some Woe moments.  Some of you mentioned a post, a funny thing that happened this week, or recognized my children without ever meeting them before.  In those moments, I was taken back.  Shocked a little.  Maybe the fact that you read my ramblings wasn't a reality to me until then.  And, it got me thinking.  Am I being careful about what I put on here?  Am I exposing my family?  Am I making safe choices (we've all seen those Lifetime movies that put fear into our everyday lives)?  Am I being sensitive to how what I say effects you, influences you, makes you feel about yourself?  And, those are just the scary, negative feelings that came.  To be honest, I was flattered as well.  You took time out of your day to see what I had to say, you felt a connection to me, you wanted me to know that you cared.  This is just wonderful.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, this leads me to the title of my post.  This blog is for me.  For me.  Not you.  This is a therapy of sorts to help me gather my thoughts, to consider my feelings, to express myself when no one is around to listen.  I write for me.  If along the way you get something good out of it, bonus.  But, I can't filter what I write because I am concerned about you and what you will think of it.  That's not a blog.  At least that's not a blog without advertising.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To end, keep reading.  Keep mentioning things when you see me.  Help me to understand my life.  Help me to find connections in my community.  Be my friend.  Blog with me.  Talk to me.  And, in return, I will keep writing, for myself, for the mother in me, the girl, the child, the wife, the scared, the excited, the creative, the bored, the stressed woman that I am.  I love that you read, but it's not why I write.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7234769937328831877?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7234769937328831877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7234769937328831877&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7234769937328831877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7234769937328831877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-is-for-me.html' title='This is for Me'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6470044410067987051</id><published>2009-05-01T10:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T11:32:14.773-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Poo Movement</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sfs-iYyM9PI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/ORbmX0EFA-c/s1600-h/Photo+200.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have replaced my reading of celebrity gossip sites with the reading of blogs.  I love hearing about the daily lives of real people and their reactions to reality.  I have found that my mommy life - full of creating, cleaning, conserving, and consuming - is not so unique in its uniqueness.  This does not sadden me, but sort of adds comfort and higher aspirations.  &lt;div&gt;One thing we are working on in our home is being more green.  I know, so is the rest of the country.  And, good for all of us for jumping on this kind of bandwagon.  I was reading my friend &lt;a href="http://hkeenan.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-am-green.html"&gt;Heather's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;blo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;g and she recommended some great green cleaners.  I have tried a few of the Method products this week and have really liked the Pink Grapefruit All Purpose cleaner and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Eucalyptus&lt;/span&gt; Mint Bathroom cleaner.  &lt;div&gt;And, besides trying to use better cleaning products for my home, I have been thinking about those which I use for my body.  I have never been a shower every day kind of person.  Never.  It just isn't my style.  I probably wash my hair 3 times a week and only blow it dry two of those times.  I haven't worn deodorant (except when it is terribly hot and I am doing hard work) since middle school.  With my mom's breast cancer, I don't want anything toxic being rubbed into my breast tissue on a daily basis.  I haven't used hair conditioner in over a year because my hair just didn't seem to need it.  So, this week, I am attempting to join the no poo movement.  It makes total sense to me from a scientific and earthy friendly side, and I am trying to convince my I-like-to-look-nice side to join in.  I washed my hair with a baking soda solution and then rinsed with a vinegar and water mixture.  I didn't apply any styling products afterward, but simply dried it with a round brush.  It feels really soft and "looks a little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;poofy&lt;/span&gt;", as Ryan said.  I am going to give it a shot.  Some of you may gag, but to each his own.  I will let you know how it goes.  Here is a picture of me now (not impressive, I know, but it really doesn't look much different from my every day, filled with toxins look): &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sfs-iYyM9PI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/ORbmX0EFA-c/s320/Photo+200.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330923344412603634" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you want more details, check out an &lt;a href="http://thephoenix.com/Boston/Life/40141-No-Poo-Do"&gt;article&lt;/a&gt; or two.  Ryan's going to try it with me, too.  Isn't he a great guy?  Could I be offering up my desire to be as pretty as possible (in the eyes of the world) in order to be a healthier, more responsible to the Earth kind of person?  We'll see.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6470044410067987051?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6470044410067987051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6470044410067987051&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6470044410067987051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6470044410067987051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/05/poo-movement.html' title='Poo Movement'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Sfs-iYyM9PI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/ORbmX0EFA-c/s72-c/Photo+200.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-774900315200971974</id><published>2009-04-29T13:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T13:45:50.102-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Community</title><content type='html'>When asked where you live, what is your response?  Most people offer a town, a street name, a development title.  Why do we define our life by where we live?  Why do we base our home on where our house is?  I am not brick, or wood, nor plaster and paint.  I am me.  A person.  And I am part of a community.  &lt;div&gt;My girls and I are very fortunate to have found a wonderful play group.  Today I watched as three moms found safety, found community, in the commonality of their children.  I watched as they took turns talking and listening, showing concern and respect.  And like all mothers must learn to do, they did this while putting together a puzzle, pushing trains, and finding snacks.  Around the room, moms of new babies sat on the floor discussing breast feeding, diapers, sleep habits.  One rocked a bundle of baby in her arms, another played peek-a-boo, and another gently rubbed her sons so soft and bald head.  At the playhouse, one mother played Big Bad Wolf with a group of toddlers.  And, at a group of tables sat even more mothers talking coupons and vacations, doctors and church.  I am a part of this community.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After play group we drive directly to the library for story hour.  I watched a mother help her son pick out his books for the week, another mom read Richard Scary stories aloud to a few kids, and another grandma help her grandson play a learning game on the computer.  In the classroom, a dad danced and sang along with his daughter,  teachers taught us to fish for goldfish crackers with cheese and pretzels, and toddlers counted loudly while wiggling and chatting.  I am a part of this community.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We attend church.  We are a part of a swimming pool.  We go to the gym.  We talk to people at the grocery store.  We know our neighbors. We spend time with our families.  I am a part of all of these communities.  But, it isn't the place that draws me in, that makes me stay, that calls me to return.  The people of these places - they, in their friendliness and uniqueness, in their commonality and character, are why I belong to these places.  I am a part of their community.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realize that many nice &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;labels&lt;/span&gt; of status &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;quo&lt;/span&gt; can be attached to a person based upon their home builder, their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;neighborhood&lt;/span&gt;, their zip code.  But, it isn't where they live that gives life.  Life comes from joining in, from becoming a part of, from being vulnerable to a community.   This is where I live, in my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-774900315200971974?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/774900315200971974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=774900315200971974&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/774900315200971974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/774900315200971974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/community.html' title='Community'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-3978867082408802414</id><published>2009-04-28T10:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T10:42:41.016-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lake Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdJQu2Xl5I/AAAAAAAAAEI/1UDFiUaKIGA/s1600-h/IMG_2130.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdJQu2Xl5I/AAAAAAAAAEI/1UDFiUaKIGA/s320/IMG_2130.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329809235819075474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ryan's parents live on a lake a little less than three hours from us.  It is far enough away that it feels like a road trip but not too far for travel with kids.  We went for a visit this past weekend to celebrate my father-in-law's birthday.  And, I like going to visit my in-laws, I like that my kids love to go, but the real reason that I like to go is because it makes Ryan do this:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdEiBl0xNI/AAAAAAAAAD4/sE8oGZ4bTZk/s1600-h/IMG_2066.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdEiBl0xNI/AAAAAAAAAD4/sE8oGZ4bTZk/s320/IMG_2066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329804035349595346" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;No, I don't mean that he carries Emery around and this makes me happy.  I mean that smile.  Between the pressures at school and running the clinic, along with trying to keep our home nice, on top of making time for the girls and I, that smile doesn't come out too often.  Ryan smiles, lots, everyday.  But, this is a special smile.  It is his I am really happy and relaxed at the same time smile.  I just love it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Besides that smile, there are many other reasons why the lake is fun.  Ryan saved up his birthday and Christmas money for over a year and bought a canoe. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdEiabvnxI/AAAAAAAAAEA/0T25cTNPwSU/s1600-h/IMG_2108.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdEiabvnxI/AAAAAAAAAEA/0T25cTNPwSU/s320/IMG_2108.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329804042018201362" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; He just loves to paddle around the lake, watching fish jump, talking to Avery, exercising, and enjoying the fresh air.  Avery likes to ride along but mostly likes that she gets to wear her life vest.  Emery has a matching one and I look forward to the four of us getting out on the water this summer.  Avery also gets to play all sorts of fun things like playdough, hop scotch, sidewalk chalk, tee ball - you name it, and she can pretty much talk her grandparents into doing it.  Emery loves crawling around and watching her sister have so much fun.  And, by the middle of summer, she will probably be able to join in on the activities.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, you might be thinking, but what do you love about the lake Bethany?  I am so glad you asked.  There are a few things that I love, but I will just name my top few.  One, there are two shops that I adore downtown.  The White Picket Fence (so cool cooking, home, and toy store with a very organic, eco-friendly vibe) and Skilmen's (if I am wearing something cool, I probably bought it there).  I save my money for these two stores.  I go twice a day most of the time.  And, this year I am going to be able to ride my cruiser bike down.  I am placing my order for my bell and basket this week.  Look out!  There is one other store in the area that I love to frequent as well.  Good ole' Wegmans.  I just love to walk around in that grocery store, without a list of things I need, with just some time of my own to check out all of their neat products.  It is such a cool store that I bought this great organic t-shirt there last year (actually Susan bought it for me, thanks again).  I usually get sent to Weggies to pick up Sushi for the guys, and I don't mind one bit.  And, the last part that I will mention is something that I discovered along with Corrie, chair wading in the water.  Put your favorite chair a few feet in the water, put your ipod on, and relax away.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We are going up over Mother's Day weekend to do the "lake chores" all at once so that we can play the rest of the summer.  I like this idea.  Good one Ryan.  And, if you are reading this Ryan, take me to one of those stores I mentioned and let me pick out my own Mother's Day gift.  Sounds like a plan to me.  Susan, do you like this idea as well?  Then, besides all of the other fun times I am looking forward to at the lake this summer, my whole family is coming up to celebrate the fourth of July.  So fun.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, this my friend, is an offering of thanks.  Thanks to Al and Susan for allowing us several mini-vacations at the lake.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdEh0VJpfI/AAAAAAAAADw/oUOkcLd8vOg/s1600-h/IMG_2145.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdEh0VJpfI/AAAAAAAAADw/oUOkcLd8vOg/s320/IMG_2145.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329804031789999602" style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And, really, thanks to God for meeting even my fun needs and those of my family.  Where do you love to go?  Did you offer a bug thank you to the person who make that opportunity possible (even if it is yourself or your spouse)?  Did you say thanks to God today for something fun that He has brought into your life?  Thanks, God.  Thanks for knowing me, for knowing my desires, and for wanting to care for me.  I love you.  B&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-3978867082408802414?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/3978867082408802414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=3978867082408802414&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3978867082408802414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3978867082408802414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/lake-life.html' title='Lake Life'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SfdJQu2Xl5I/AAAAAAAAAEI/1UDFiUaKIGA/s72-c/IMG_2130.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-3795468675312374356</id><published>2009-04-28T04:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T05:13:13.820-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Before Summer Comes</title><content type='html'>I have a list of "things to do" before summer, and in our little world summer begins when our pool opens in three and a half weeks.  I consider most of these small jobs fun, but finding the time to get them done is my problem.  With two small children, my world revolves around their nap schedules, but I also have my time consumers such as cleaning, cooking, and going to the gym.  I am the type who stresses when her house is a mess, and since the girls are both getting toys out, dirtying clothes, dropping food on the floor, etc., it is a mess most of  the time.  Cooking healthy food is another top priority for my household.  I try to make dinner most everynight (except on Mondays when the girls and I eat with my parents while Ryan works late), and I work hard to make sure that dinner is yummy and as healthy as it should be.  And then there's the gym.  The gym is my favorite part, but at times the hardest part.  Getting the girls dressed, out the door, and still having some sanity to go into pilates or yoga without my stress level totally destroying the atmosphere isn't easy.  But, do I ever feel like it is worth it every time!  More about this later.  I am thinking that if I list my hopes to do before summer, it will be a great reminder when I am checking my facebook page too often and have the time to do something a little more productive.  Here it is:&lt;div&gt;1.  Complete fall through present pages for Avery and Emery's scrapbooks.  I ordered all of my pictures yesterday, and they should arrive in a few days.  I have all of my supplies, and now I just need to come up with some page ideas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Make some yo-yo's (or pon poms) for a quilting project.  I found some OLD fabric that was my grandma's, and I have some ideas for using it.  Seriously, the fabric is from when my mom was little.  It is still in great shape.  I will take some shots when they come to life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Flowers, herbs, and veggies need to be planted in my gardens.  I still have some weeding to do, but the major prework is done.  When you live in the "city" it's hard to know what to do with all of the scraps of gardening and yard work.  I was raised in the country and we just too it down by the creek.  I hate throwing it away, and I can't afford a compost system yet.  Any ideas?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Put my winter clothes away.  My summer wardrobe is out, but winter remains.  I am still uncertain that the warmth is here to stay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  My goal.  I don't think I have mentioned my goal on my blog yet, so here it goes.  After having Emery, I wanted to lose my weight more quickly than I did with Avery.  I set the date for June 1 and I have currently lost 30 pounds.  But, that isn't my goal.  I still have 13 pounds left in order to meet my goal.  As you can see, I have some work left to do.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so you can see how goals 1-4 are hard to accomplish with my everyday things to do, especially when I want to meet my 5th goal so badly.  Cheer me on, okay?  I already have tons of ideas for my summer goals, so I really need to stay focused so I can meet these first.  Thanks for listening.  My offering today is encouragement to you.  Do something that you really want to do today.  Make some headway with a project, take a walk, show love to someone who needs to be loved - make a mark in the world today, make an offering.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-3795468675312374356?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/3795468675312374356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=3795468675312374356&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3795468675312374356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/3795468675312374356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/before-summer-comes.html' title='Before Summer Comes'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-20896769816465756</id><published>2009-04-22T12:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T13:07:35.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Were I a Rich Man</title><content type='html'>I have been thinking about this list for about five years, and see how funny life is about answering them.  Were I a rich man (I mean REALLY rich), I would spend some of my money on the following:&lt;div&gt;1.  A Personal Physician  This would be a medical doctor who I could see once a week and call whenever I wanted.  I would want this person to help me set goals for physical health as I am all about preventative medicine.  For instance, my hips click and cause me minor pain after doing floor exercises or running for an extended time.  Why is this?  Help me fix it before I have to have hip replacement surgery at 40.  Also, I would want help with my pcos and how to work with this syndrome (and how to help my daughters in case of their development of it).  And, how handy would this be with having kids?  Really, this is a must.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  An Personal Psychiatrist  This person would be there for a weekly session or on call for emergency situations.  I just like talking things, good and bad, out.  I like learning about people and how they work.  I am raising two daughters and doing my best to have a very healthy marriage, hence someone skilled in relationship building would be so nice.  And, really, I need someone to walk me through those I'm-about-to-lose moments, like sleep training for instance.  3.  A Personal Photographer.  This artist would be around to take pictures every week or so to help me document my life.  I love pictures and love when people know what they are going behind a lens.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, here is what I have in my "rich" life (seriously, this all happened after I had these wishes):&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  My sister in law, Corrie, is in medical school.  I can call her anytime I want, so she says now.  And, I live on residence row here in Washington where all of the residents live for our hometown hospital.  ER is in my backyard.  If I really needed them, I know those neighbors would help.  I'd rather have Corrie be my personal doctor because I tell her most everything already.  It may have to be long distance for a while, but we're good at communicating.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se94pYaSAhI/AAAAAAAAADo/Bo11E9C2qGg/s1600-h/IMG_0513.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se94pYaSAhI/AAAAAAAAADo/Bo11E9C2qGg/s320/IMG_0513.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327609536525238802" style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Ryan will be a psychologist in two more years.  He can't prescribe meds, but I don't want them.  I just want the talks, and he's good at that.  He is my partner is raising our girls and working on our marriage.  Sometimes it's like living with the Super Nanny but I love it.  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se94paqr4OI/AAAAAAAAADg/GO97H7sjcSk/s1600-h/IMG_1894.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se94paqr4OI/AAAAAAAAADg/GO97H7sjcSk/s320/IMG_1894.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327609537130914018" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  I want to be my own photographer.  I have the camera, I can get more equipment, I have the desire to learn.  Let's do it baby.  Shoot and capture.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are many more of these little wishes that I have, but I have a kitchen to clean and dinner to make.  We will save those for another day.  This makes one week of blogging here for me, and I have loved every day of it.  Thanks for reading, become a follower, and comment away.  Better yet, blog.  I'll read yours.  Love and Thanks.  I know it's not much of an "offering" for you all today, but a way for me to see how when my heart is in line with God's plan for my life, so are my desires.  May my wants be His wants...even if it is just to show the people that I love that I need them in my life, want them in my life, and support their dreams as well.  Go Ryan and Corrie, my future doctors.  I am so proud.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-20896769816465756?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/20896769816465756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=20896769816465756&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/20896769816465756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/20896769816465756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/were-i-rich-man.html' title='Were I a Rich Man'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se94pYaSAhI/AAAAAAAAADo/Bo11E9C2qGg/s72-c/IMG_0513.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7580606913532322813</id><published>2009-04-21T10:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T10:59:46.020-07:00</updated><title type='text'>She is My Body and I will Share Her</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se4Ikno-zxI/AAAAAAAAADQ/I37sULro9Tc/s1600-h/IMG_0253.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se4Ikno-zxI/AAAAAAAAADQ/I37sULro9Tc/s320/IMG_0253.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327204834435059474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My body was once my own.  I fed her what I wanted and when I wanted.  I worked her to my liking.  She responded nicely, kindly.  For years I tried to hide her shapes and scrolls, covering her, protecting her, protecting me.  And when I finally saw her clearly, in her beauty and uniqueness, in her firmness and softness, I loved her.  She, my young body, added confidence.  &lt;div&gt;My body is no longer my own.  Two lives have come from her.  My torso held life, twice, for nine months.  Skin and bones moved, stretched to make room for daughters.  Hips opened as wide as they could for the exit of Avery and Emery, only to be told they were not good enough, wide enough, welcoming enough.  The detoured route left a purple line across the mid section of her, a halfway mark of sorts, a line drawn to open for life.  My breasts, still full of nourishment, carry the weight of life in them.  My mind wonders if she will be able to restore them to their previous post.  My legs and back lift and carry those daughters daily, for hugs, for rest, for comfort, for protection.  My arms wrap so nicely around their soft, little bodies, showing love and respect.  And, this body, my body, I see even more clearly now.  Her beauty and uniqueness, in all of her firmness and softness, make me love her even more.  She has given me two lives to love, two daughters to teach to love themselves, confidently.  She is my body and I will share her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7580606913532322813?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7580606913532322813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7580606913532322813&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7580606913532322813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7580606913532322813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/she-is-my-body-and-i-will-share-her.html' title='She is My Body and I will Share Her'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Se4Ikno-zxI/AAAAAAAAADQ/I37sULro9Tc/s72-c/IMG_0253.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-4650424074022070646</id><published>2009-04-19T12:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T13:09:34.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'>She Stands</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDU4ltt-I/AAAAAAAAACQ/C5Q1eP3RPn4/s1600-h/IMG_1883.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDU4ltt-I/AAAAAAAAACQ/C5Q1eP3RPn4/s320/IMG_1883.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326495379106936802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emery is my 9 month old, sweet baby girl.  She broke her femur about 6 weeks ago, has made a full recovery, been cast free for two weeks, and now she stands.  I found her like this after her nap yesterday which made her feel so happy (I think she likes being big like her sister).  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDVMoy2pI/AAAAAAAAACY/VPfvT_EXSNk/s1600-h/IMG_1887.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDVMoy2pI/AAAAAAAAACY/VPfvT_EXSNk/s320/IMG_1887.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326495384488565394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We celebrated by having a pretzel and wearing our sunglasses inside.  Avery is teaching her to put her glasses on upside down, just like she does.  I knew they were going to love being sisters. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDVehXOWI/AAAAAAAAACg/3aQ2r7F65kg/s1600-h/IMG_1888.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDVehXOWI/AAAAAAAAACg/3aQ2r7F65kg/s320/IMG_1888.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326495389289232738" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Emery is a really nice baby, but she does have her cranky moments, like the rest of us.  (Avery must be given credit for capturing this oh-so-real moment in our lives...the face of a cranky Emmy).  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDVZE8YPI/AAAAAAAAACo/mZxuwu8nL3w/s1600-h/IMG_1904.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDVZE8YPI/AAAAAAAAACo/mZxuwu8nL3w/s320/IMG_1904.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326495387827855602" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I just love my girls.  And, things are going to get a little crazy around here with two girls on the loose.  Look out, mommy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-4650424074022070646?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/4650424074022070646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=4650424074022070646&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4650424074022070646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4650424074022070646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/she-stands.html' title='She Stands'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeuDU4ltt-I/AAAAAAAAACQ/C5Q1eP3RPn4/s72-c/IMG_1883.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-5998420490921390760</id><published>2009-04-19T12:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T12:53:52.266-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flowers and Chocolate</title><content type='html'>I spent most of my weekend digging up dirt.  What a wonderfully cathartic exercise for both the mind and body.  Sitting in the damp yard, pulling weeds from my garden is nearly as restful as my Pilate's class.  I breathe in through my nose and out of my mouth, a ritual of calm and place, a habit of peace and purpose.  My hands, protected by my gloves, scrape the dirt, cradle the bulbs, and toss the weeds. &lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Set-8sXkE2I/AAAAAAAAABw/SZtsUS92glw/s320/IMG_1908.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326490565462987618" /&gt; I love to see the darkness of the dark once uncovered.  I only wish it could stay so raw, so cool, so moist.  I work steadily, for I know too soon someone will need me more than I need this time of self indulgence.  Gardening is something that I have fallen for, that and cooking.  I feel allowed to pursue my creative side while still having the opportunity to spoil the ones I love with my end result.  &lt;div&gt;As we have our first official spring rain - heavy drops of moisture, air is calm, sun still trying to shine, birds and creatures making their chirps and rattles - my yard is surrounded in daffodils &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;and tulips.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Set-8TpZacI/AAAAAAAAABo/Ka9v0j5uUVM/s320/IMG_1906.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326490558826899906" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Green is sprouting&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; up in beds, bushes, and trees.  The hydrangea, who shall be named Vivian, rescued from certain death (a garbage pile), fits nicely on the corner of my garage.  &lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Set-9LoYi0I/AAAAAAAAACA/_qk5_hr5qqw/s320/IMG_1913.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326490573855034178" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;I cannot wait to see what she has in store for me, as I did save her life.  I have a bouquet of my first cuttings in the kitchen and my helper, Avery, was paid with a bedside glassful of her own.  While the girls napped, I filled our kitchen with smells of dark chocolate and coffee (I like to spoil their dad as well). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And this, flowers and chocolate, is my offering today.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Set-9UjkozI/AAAAAAAAACI/fVdNTufw58U/s1600-h/IMG_1916.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Set-9UjkozI/AAAAAAAAACI/fVdNTufw58U/s320/IMG_1916.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326490576250774322" style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-5998420490921390760?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/5998420490921390760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=5998420490921390760&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5998420490921390760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/5998420490921390760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/flowers-and-chocolate.html' title='Flowers and Chocolate'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/Set-8sXkE2I/AAAAAAAAABw/SZtsUS92glw/s72-c/IMG_1908.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-8065457064280610208</id><published>2009-04-16T09:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T13:16:35.325-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>We Could All Use A Little Work</title><content type='html'>The title of this blog may make you think of a few things.  Jobs, plastic surgery, remodeling - these are just a few that pop out, but they are really only temporary.  I was thinking of something a little more lasting, like communication.  &lt;div&gt;I am very fortunate to have the family that I do.  I have one brother, one sister, two married parents - we are about as normal of a family as you could imagine.  I was told that I broke the mold when I had two daughters instead of one boy and one girl, like my siblings both have.  I know, radical.  We all live in the same town, and we enjoy getting together often.  We may be normal, but we aren't perfect.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There seem to be two teams, we will call them, in my family.  We have the team that I am on - the let's talk about it and get it out there kind - and the other team - the let's avoid any confrontation and stuff it under the rug players.  You could imagine where this may cause some bumps in the road.  I will admit, in case any family members are reading, that I have switched teams in the last few years.  I am not sure if this is a result of working on my marriage (as communication is key) or just learning that stuffing wasn't working for me (STRESS AND ANGER).   We, like most families, have learned our roles, learned how to work or cope with one another, and do our best to keep peace and love in our lives.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But, something funny about my family is that when we have an issue arise, everyone takes the blame for it.  Weird, I know.  I watch movies and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tv&lt;/span&gt;.  I know that usually people point fingers and blame.  But, not us.  We cloak ourselves in guilt and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;apologize&lt;/span&gt;, again, and again, and again.   Most of the time, this is true.  And then, the other person says it's their fault...the cycle goes on and on until  we laugh at our lameness, ask questions why we are so weird, and go on with life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have no idea why I am telling you this.  I just like getting to know about my family, about how we work, and about how we can improve.  I love my family.  Life would be dull and lonely without them.  So, I want to preserve the family, my family.  I think we could work on communicating a little more.  Don't you think.  So, that's my offering today.  I am going to work on communicating...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-8065457064280610208?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/8065457064280610208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=8065457064280610208&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8065457064280610208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8065457064280610208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/we-could-all-use-little-work.html' title='We Could All Use A Little Work'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-4795652840812148109</id><published>2009-04-14T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T18:46:31.915-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Advice</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;This post is mainly for moms, but dads may chime in as well; however, you will have to listen to some breast feeding talk if you read more.  You've been warned.  Weaning: I have no idea how to wean a baby.  Avery was bottle fed and she move right on to the cup.  Emery still loves to nurse.  We are at the opening up the shirt and sticking the head in phase.  She is now 9 months old, eats table food well, drinks sips of milk from a cup.  She is getting up once a night to nurse, usually around 2ish.  I haven't made her give that up yet as it really isn't bothering me much.  She does still nurse a lot during the day, every four hours or so and she likes to be nursed before her two naps.  I would like to have her weaned in the next few months, but want to do it the right way for both of us.  I know that I should let her make the call, but I think she is the type that may never give it up on her own.  So, I am looking for any and all advice that you parents might have.  Good and bad.  Send it my way.  I have tried to do some reading, but real mom advice seems to work.  You guys got me through sleep training, I know you can help with this.  Sharing a Room: Eventually, Emery needs to move into Avery's room.  We already have her crib set up (it's been in there for a year now), but she have never slept in it.  She is in her very little room off of our room now, but it would be nice to her to get moving on out soon.  When should I do it?  Should I wait until summer, when she may be sleeping through the night?  I would love to hear your thoughts and experiences.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-4795652840812148109?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/4795652840812148109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=4795652840812148109&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4795652840812148109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4795652840812148109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/advice.html' title='Advice'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-6620956683597090732</id><published>2009-04-13T11:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T12:04:50.129-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Everydayness</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOMHrJbo3I/AAAAAAAAABg/FoVg_lCtnUo/s1600-h/IMG_1868.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOMHrJbo3I/AAAAAAAAABg/FoVg_lCtnUo/s320/IMG_1868.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324253247951315826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOLVuCXlKI/AAAAAAAAABQ/ilVXuxEmbRo/s320/IMG_1843.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324252389733536930" /&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOLnIcL_gI/AAAAAAAAABY/ROQqNT8d1mI/s320/IMG_1855.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324252688878927362" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have cleaned the kitchen to dirty the kitchen in order to cook dinner, to clean the kitchen once again.  I have four laundry baskets that need to be emptied into their proper drawers and closets; I have scatters of toys that need to be swept into their wicker baskets and colored cubes; I have windows and table tops that need to be shined to reflection state.  But, that can all wait.  Dinner is made, kids are still kind of sleeping, and I need some me time.  I up loaded some pictures from the past few days.  I found myself smiling.  My kids don't sit well for long enough to get great photos in their pretty Easter dresses, they don't look right at the camera and smile, they don't stay clean long enough for me to capture the images I thought I would have of my children before I became a parent.  But, I do get some great pictures.  Great to me and to those who know my kids.  And, I would like to share some of my everyday photos so you can get to know us better.  &lt;div&gt;The first picture is of the girls (don't you just love Avery's hair) in the tub with their new sun glasses.  This is what Avery's hair looks like every day after she rips out her pony tails...I do her hair everyday and it only lasts for a few hours.  At least the hair is finally coming in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;the second picture is with Emery and her favorite part of her Easter basket, a tag.  Yes, I'm letting her chew on it...it's how I roll.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Third picture is of Avery in her Easter outfit.  Decked out.  She picked the hat and glass to add to the outfit.  As her faith emerges, so does her fashion sense...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-6620956683597090732?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/6620956683597090732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=6620956683597090732&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6620956683597090732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/6620956683597090732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/everydayness.html' title='Everydayness'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOMHrJbo3I/AAAAAAAAABg/FoVg_lCtnUo/s72-c/IMG_1868.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-7543329641016793253</id><published>2009-04-13T06:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T11:27:25.190-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Avery'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='faith'/><title type='text'>Emerging Faith of Avery</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOD_4KNeoI/AAAAAAAAABI/uYN3WJAodk4/s1600-h/IMG_1764_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOD_4KNeoI/AAAAAAAAABI/uYN3WJAodk4/s320/IMG_1764_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324244317912267394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Avery is two years and nine months old - an age of complete sentences not completely perfect in their sound or form, a busy body of dancing, spinning, jumping, falling, and tantrumming, and a mind and spirit full of wonder, figuring, and solidifying.  This nearly three world has ups and downs.  Avery is able to sit longer, do crafts, entertain herself, get jokes, tell jokes, but she also whines more, throws more fits, and can even be sneaky.  This age proves for many funny and heartwarming stories concerning the time of Easter and the emerging faith of my little girl.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Before I tell the story, please know that I will do my best to write in Avery speak as to preserve the integrity of the story as well as to remember how sweet her little language was when she is older.  On another note, we hadn't yet discussed any details of the Easter story prior to this.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Inside the foyer of our church is a huge sculpture of the crucifixion  In bronze is an eight foot Christ on the cross with John and Mary, crying beneath him.   This has intrigued Avery for months.  Just after Christmas, I took Avery to sign up for preschool at our church.  On the way in, she noticed this image and said, "He so sad.  He pray to God".    That night we ate dinner with my parents and she told them, "Jesus so sad.  He thirsty."  What?  How does she know this stuff?  In utero sermons really sinking in?  Are children held in heaven with all of the angels, saints, and higher authorities until being born on earth?  I don't know.  But, I do know that Avery is sensitive to the cross and all of the emotions that a toddler can conger from seeing it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A few months have passed and we've talked about Jesus more and the cross and who he is and can be in our lives.  Again, I am not sure how much is sinking in or how much could be understood, but the following is Avery's view on Easter.  And, I didn't make any of this up for humor's sake.  She really said the following...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Prepping Avery for church - she doesn't really like being left in the nursery- I was telling her about Palm Sunday.  Our church was having a Palm Parade with palms, a donkey, and all the people who wanted walking around the block singing 'hosanna'.  She says to me, "I take my pon poms.  I be cheerweeder."  I am thinking that a really mod version may want to steal Avery's palm/pon pom interpretation for their newest addition.  The story gets better...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We were in the parking lot of the library, just before story hour, when on the radio "Jesus" was mentioned.  Avery says, "Hey, we know Jesus."  I say, "Yes!  Where does Jesus live?"  Hoping to hear 'in my heart', I hear her say, "At my cool (school)."  We chat about school and church, and I tell her that Jesus lives in my heart and that he is my best friend.  Avery says, "No, he not my beff friend.  My fammy (family) my beff friend."  I giggle, as who doesn't think that is funny and cute?  Then, here's the part that made my chin drop, Avery says, "Jesus just a'tend (pretend).  You can touch him.  No touch Jesus."  What?  Has a faith struggle already started?  How does she know this stuff?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, the next time we went to church, I picked up the pamphlet next to the sculpture that has pictures of the sculpture, artist info, ect.  They have a close up of John, crying, with his hands on his head.  Avery says, "Who diss?"  I tell her about John and why he and Mary were said.  Avery says in a sweet, sad voice, "He has hands like diss (she puts her hands on her head).  He sad like I sad when I in my bed and you mad because I won't sleep."  Ha, ha, ha.  This kid is a crack up.  She knows transference of emotions.  What will her teenage years be like?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One thing that I love about Avery is her sensitivity her own emotions and to those of others.  It can cause some worry and fear for her at times, but she is a joy and I hope this makes her a good friend.  And, I must also note that this was one of those moments where I was struck with fear as I realized she is fully able to tell any secrets, like about how I get mad when she doesn't sleep.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Emerging faith...how is yours growing today?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-7543329641016793253?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/7543329641016793253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=7543329641016793253&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7543329641016793253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/7543329641016793253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/emerging-faith-of-avery.html' title='Emerging Faith of Avery'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SeOD_4KNeoI/AAAAAAAAABI/uYN3WJAodk4/s72-c/IMG_1764_2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-8178558915360058332</id><published>2009-04-10T06:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T06:25:31.849-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bird Feeder</title><content type='html'>Avery and I traipsed into the garage, looking for our bird feeder and bad of seed.  I had put the seed away in a tin can covered with three lids as last year we found a furry, much dead, critter inside.  This was a rare time for Avery and I, alone, without baby sister, and outside.  We cleaned off the feeder, filled it with seed, and placed it in a nice spot on a medium sized flowering tree.  About twenty birds, even two grayish doves, waited on the fence to see what was going on.  Every time they would come close, Avery would run with yells to greet them.  And, as you know, they flew the proverbial coop.  I was excited to check out our feeder this morning, hoping a plethora of birds had found their breakfast spot for the season, but only found a pesky squirrel hanging on and eating a feast of seed.  Avery and I jumped on our boots, chased the furry rat away, and went back into the garage for plan two.  The bird feeder is now on a different branch with a long wire from which it will hang.  What's the lesson in this?  How does this make my day count?  Well, Avery and I now have a new "thing" that we do together.  We watch the feed our community of birds.  And, maybe even more fun and exciting, we chase away the nasty squirrels.  Bonding over birds...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-8178558915360058332?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/8178558915360058332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=8178558915360058332&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8178558915360058332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/8178558915360058332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/bird-feeder.html' title='Bird Feeder'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-4756306936899043372</id><published>2009-04-08T05:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T11:20:23.977-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Counting</title><content type='html'>I'm counting my blessings, mostly because I need to remind myself that I am surround by love.  At times it is easy to get caught up in the search for more of this and less of that, and then find yourself feeling like you are owed more than you have, that you should have it easier, better, cleaner, quieter, prettier.  We all have our cross to bear as they say, but do we really have any idea what it is to bear a cross?  I know I don't.  &lt;div&gt;Our situation is somewhat unique, at least it seems so to me.  My husband, Ryan, is a full time PhD student.  We have two little girls and I wanted to stay home with them.  How is that going to work?  Ryan works 80-90 hours a week and gets paid like he works 9.  Seriously, if you knew what his stipend was you would either laugh or cry, or both probably.  I know I have.  And yet, somehow, we don't really want for anything.  We are frugal, but I was kind of that way even when we both had full time, well paying jobs.  We did save a lot of that money that we made, which helps, but really I see God providing.  And, I don't mean that we get checks in the mail from strangers.  We get invited to dinner from my family, we love hand me down clothes, we eat and use what we buy, we don't have cable, we only go out to eat for special occasions, etc.  But, what God really did is change our desires.  He has filled us with other great things, which leaves less time for "wanting" and "needing" moments.  Not to say that I don't still want, but I am able to realize that this is just a season for us, just a moment in our story that I can rest in knowing that God called us here and find satisfaction in that.  But, our situation must be unique because I have looked for books, magazines, blogs, etc to find a mentor or just someone to talk to about a similar life, and have yet to find someone.  Maybe one of you can find someone for me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, here are some blessings, just off the top of my head:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  My husband has found his calling and is working on his dream.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  I have two, wonderful, funny, sweet daughters.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  My mom and sister are my best friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  I get to do yoga and pilates with great people every week.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  I am getting stronger in so many ways.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  I love to cook.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  I am saved by grace.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.  I have food in the refrigerator.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9.  My family is healthy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10.  I know my Starbucks drink and get to share it with Avery on Thursdays.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;11.  My husband and I are really good at talking to eachother.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;12.  I get to stay at home with my girls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's a dozen for today.  What are you thankful for today?  How can your perspective be changed?  Counting...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-4756306936899043372?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/4756306936899043372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=4756306936899043372&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4756306936899043372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/4756306936899043372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/counting.html' title='Counting'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2616506959972899425.post-2137799072799831199</id><published>2009-04-06T13:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T13:32:12.311-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Offering</title><content type='html'>This time of year, Easter, I find myself weepy.  I feel guilty that my life isn't worth the sacrifice that Jesus made for it, for me.  Sadness and shame seem as close as my flesh.  This is my natural reaction to that supernatural act of love that Jesus shows through his death.  And, as all of the songs and verses suggest, I will never know the depth of his pain,  of his hurt, or of his longing for me to get the wholeness of his death.  Because if I stop there, at the guilt, then I obviously don't get it.  Because, that isn't why he died.  He died that I might have life.  Life.  A full life.  Life, people.  As I type this, I feel hope rising inside of me.  The tear covered eyes dry to a smile.  I lift my hands up, take a deep breath, and rest in his love, in his mercy, in his offering.  My response to this matters.  What do I have to offer?  What is my offering, today, right now, this minute?  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2616506959972899425-2137799072799831199?l=bethanysoffering.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/feeds/2137799072799831199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2616506959972899425&amp;postID=2137799072799831199&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2137799072799831199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2616506959972899425/posts/default/2137799072799831199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bethanysoffering.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-offering.html' title='My Offering'/><author><name>Bethany</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05606912806506265014</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_R5Y438UuO_M/SdpqPmqlcFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/C7wrk-xKIQM/S220/IMG_1710.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
