tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21896027373755362882024-03-05T15:56:34.579-05:00mrs.mommy, mdAn honest description of my life as a wife, mother, and physician, and the blessings that I have encountered as a Christian woman.Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-76848917889555833772016-01-17T21:51:00.003-05:002016-01-17T21:51:15.603-05:00the classicDad's birthday was just a couple of days ago. And I know I've neglected this blog a lot in the last three years. It's not for lack of want. It's just a busy thing. However, everything that's happened on the last 3 years will be written another day. I originally started this blog as a means to make sure my children know me, should something ever happen to me. I know that's macabre, but it's true. And that desire will become clear through this post. The last entry I have been re-reading is the post about my dad. And it occurs to me that I've never written one like that about my mom. Why? I don't know, really, but I suspect subconsciously, it has to do with the raw wound left by her passing. This last December marks 10 years since she passed. It's time I write a tribute to her.<br />
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So, without further ado, I'd like you to meet my mother, Nila Marie.<br />
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Nila Marie Reas was born on a winter day in December 1957. She often referred to herself as a classic, because she was born the same year as the 57 Chevy was produced. She was the youngest of two girls, which, for that time, was an abnormally small family. I secretly think it had something to do with the fact that her mother, my grandmother, was one of 13 kids. Bless my great grandmother's soul. Mom was born in Hicksville, Ohio, which is about a 30 minute drive from where she ended up growing up. A buckeye forever, her hometown boasted a million cousins that I remember her talking about. One incident in particular, she was riding a dirt bike with her cousin Randy and laid it down on her leg. She told me that someone called a faith healer, and that he blew the fire out of it. My whole life, she never even had a scar on that leg.<br />
Which brings me to high school. Mom was a cheerleader in our small town high school. Our high school, which is where she, dad, my sister, and I graduated from, was small. In the middle of cornfields, Mom never really enjoyed the learning aspect of things. She spent her days, to hear her tell it, working in Grandma's restaurant, cheerleading, and gabbing with friends. Mom was gorgeous, but had a friend that she thought was prettier. One day in 1975, a guy driving a flashy car saw Mom and her friend washing a car at Grandpa's garage. He circled the block, and Mom was convinced he was gawking at the friend. He wasn't, and that young man was my dad. Nine months later, 5 months before she graduated high school, Mom and Dad married. She spent the rest of her senior year finishing cosmetology school to become a beautician.<br />
Mom and dad spent a lot of time with his brother and sister in law. Lake trips, beer, fun. I was born in 1980, four years after they were married. My sister was born 4 years and 11 months to the day after I was. Mom was a stay at home mom, which is to say she worked within the home during a great portion of my childhood. She enjoyed Little Debbie snack cakes, swimming in the pool, and playing with our dog Chelsea.<br />
Dad worked third shift in a foundry, and he would save all his vacation from the year to make every weekend a 3 day weekend. We'd pile into the Blazer and make the drive north to Crooked Lake. We'd stay in Grandma's and Grandpa's fifth wheel trailer every weekend. We didn't travel far distances, but those weekends are some of my favorite memories of my life. Fishing off the dock, paddle boating, playing in the water, Mom skiing and losing her swimsuit repeatedly, cooking hot dogs over the campfire, sliding on cardboard "sleds" down the big hill, playing countless games of Uno, Skip-Bo, Crazy 8s, 31, learning euchre, and sleeping in a camper where Grandpa's snoring kept us all awake and giggling.<br />
At some point, Mom took a job as a cleaning lady for our small town library. On the weekends, and on weeknights during the summer, Stephanie and I would tag along and read or play games on the computer. Mom's job may very well be the reason I love reading and learning as much as I do. She trusted us to ride our bikes to the gas station, or to Grandma's house, or to the park to watch baseball games. Mom's trust in us kids helped us become responsible and trustworthy, and to have that at such a young age was remarkable.<br />
When I was in junior high, Mom applied for and accepted a job in a factory that was new to our town. She started off on an assembly line, and quickly moved to shipping and receiving. This gave Mom something that was all her own, something she could be proud of outside the house, and it gave me some responsibility looking after my seven year old sister in the evenings. During this time, Grandma would come over in the mornings to get us up and off to school, and those times were equally special in comparison to the mornings spent eating jelly toast and watching Good Morning America with mom for years prior. As I grew and moved into high school, Mom became and remained one of my very best friends. She would confide in me drama from work, and I really felt that I could, and did, open up to her as I would a friend.<br />
I was not what anyone would consider pretty for the majority of my growing up years. I was awkward with buck teeth and glasses, and gangly. Mom always did her best to keep me confident, and to tell me things that I thought were silly at the time. Things like, men will find your intelligence sexy. And that I could do anything I put my mind to. She never scoffed at my ambitions to be an astronomer, or a teacher, or a nurse, or my final destination of physician. She listened and encouraged, but kept me grounded. I never felt my mother was against me in any way, even when I was a crabby teenager.<br />
My mother was a gifted beautician, and even if she didn't work outside the home, she always kept her license current. She cut our hair at home. In fact, I didn't pay for a hair cut until I was 21 years old. We would sit and watch movies, and she'd play with my hair. As far back as I can remember, one of my favorite things she'd do was play with my hair. Whether it was drying it after a bath, or concocting an updo for prom, or laying my head in her lap and scratching my scalp gently when I didn't feel good, I miss that so much. Once my aunt and uncle moved back from Arizona, every 8 weeks Mom and Aunt Linda would gather in the kitchen to cackle and color hair while Stephanie and I sat and played video games.<br />
Some of my very favorite memories still play in my head like a broken film strip. I see Mom on a raft in our small pool, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue at something goofy Dad said. I smell her perfume when she and Dad would drop us girls off at Grandma's so they could Christmas shop. I taste her pancakes that she made most Sunday mornings while Steph and I watched WWF and Cartoon Express with Dad. And every New Years Eve was spent in the living room with Mom, Dad, and us girls, playing Dr. Mario on Nintendo, while listening to music. She and Dad danced to music in the living room on summer afternoons with the windows open. Mom took Steph and I to our first ever concert, Alan Jackson. She and Dad would take us to a movie every summer, and every summer, we made a trip to the zoo. These things are not expensive or fancy, but they are the things that make up my core.<br />
I was so very fortunate that she and Dad supported my going away to college, and I'm so thankful I was able to enjoy some of my adult life with my mother. We bar crawled together, got tattoos together, and we talked every day. She stood back and let me make my own way, mistakes and all, and helped scoop up the pieces when things went wrong. And she laughed. From the depths of her soul, she laughed more than she ever frowned or cried.<br />
My mother wasn't perfect. But she was many things....she was beautiful and kind, she loved deeply and giggled, she was silly and classy, she could tell someone off without them having any idea the insult, but she only did that when she had to. She was, and is, the standard to which I hold myself when I mother my children, and I hope to show the love to my husband that she showed to Dad. The world without her smile is bleaker than I wish. But man, do I look forward to the stories I will tell my kids, and to making their lives enriched the way she enriched ours. I look forward, too, to the tight embrace waiting for me someday.Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-28781533666603662942013-07-10T12:06:00.001-04:002013-07-10T12:06:16.158-04:00on mama loss<div align="center">
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<em>to jennifer</em></div>
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my life is mostly an open book. and my career is all about listening to people. i think i've been blessed with the gift that when someone has something to say, i mostly listen unfettered, engaged, and as non-judgemental as i can.</div>
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however, there was a point in my life that i didn't listen that way. i didn't listen that way to my mom. and if there is one thing in my life that i could go back and change, it would be that.</div>
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i lost my mom in 2005. she passed away after a short and ferocious onslaught by lou gehrig's disease. it was swift and cruel and unexpected. and looking back on it, there are a lot of things that i could kick my own ass for. i was completely self-absorbed. my agenda was more important than anything else, and i thought i was entitled to that. the truth is, i was completely wrong, and will regret that to my dying day. why i didn't take more time, why i didn't come home more, why i felt it was so important to keep charging forward with my own thoughts, i have never understood, and i have continuously regretted.</div>
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well, i'm finally starting to understand.</div>
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my life is not normal. what is normal, anyway? as much as i'd like to dress me up, the truth is that i'm stubborn, and bullheaded. i have an intense need to be right. i have to have the last word. i have an abnormally long fuse, and it takes me a long time to get mad at anyone, but when i do, it's not usually a good thing. i have a flare for the dramatic when it comes to getting my way. maybe that's just me being female. but like i said, i have this leftover nagging guilt in the back of my mind that i should have tried harder to be by mom's side, i should have taken the burden off my aunt and my grandma that were trying to take care of her while i was in medical school. i should have done more, talked more, visited more. i should have been the one to set up the fundraiser that was done to help us pay for mom's medical bills and equipment needs.</div>
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as a side note, for anyone not familiar with lou gehrig's disease, the "real" name of this is "amyotrophic lateral sclerosis", which is a nerve disease. basically, the person's muscles and brain are fine, but the nerves that connect the two become progressively lazier and lazier, and eventually, the impulse from the brain to the muscles stops. most people that have it end up suffocating because their diaphragm won't move to let them breathe. typically it's a spontaenous disorder, only inherited in about 2% of cases. the normal course of the disease is anywhere from 2-15 years from onset to death --- mom was diagnosed 6 months prior to passing away. there aren't any good treatments currently except controlling symptoms to the best of our capabilities, and there is no cure. patients end up needing total care, not being able to walk, cook, eat for themselves, becoming dependent on a breathing machine if they choose. but the mind stays intact, and it's so sad that these patients have to knowingly watch their body deteriorate, knowing that every day they live could be their last.</div>
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mom told me that she would have been so pissed off at me if i had done any of the things i mentioned above. because she wanted to see me live out my dream. at the time, i thought this was a load of crap, because really, i should have been there. it was incredibly selfish of me not to be there. and looking back, i know that i chose not to be there because i was scared. i was so incredibly scared, down to my core. i was scared of seeing my strong, tough-as-nails mother in a weakened state, unable to feed herself, unable to laugh. that was not her. that was not my mother, that was not my best friend. my mother was lively and fun and never quit giving someone a piece of her mind, good or bad. she was not this shadow of herself, confined to the bed, unable to put on her own make up or get dressed by herself. </div>
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but, i don't think her words were a load of crap anymore. because i am a mom. because i understand now what a mother's love is. a mother's love never stops. it doesn't bend, it doesn't hide, it doesn't lie, and it's always there. a mother's love forgives, no matter what the offense. a mother's love pushes her child into her dreams, into her goals, into her fears, without fear of judgement or punishment. and a mother's love doesn't quit, and it grows, and it lasts the test of time. a mother's love is wise with experience. my mother told me not to stop my schooling because she knew i was scared. she knew i was afraid of what was happening. she knew that if i quit, i'd likely not go back. she knew that i'd fall into a deep abyss of depression when she died, but she knew that if i didn't have school, and Jay, and family to keep me going, i would have given up. she knew that she'd never see me graduate, she'd never see me get married, she'd never see me have children. but she also knew that if she didn't push me to keep at it, i would have stopped. and i would have been a shadow of my former potential. </div>
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it was the last motherly thing she could have done for me. she couldn't voluntarily put her arms around me anymore, and she couldn't ease my pain because she had the same pain. but she could push me to strive to be the potential i had. and that is what mothers do, isn't it? they encourage, they lift up, they support, they discipline, they laugh, and they love, sometimes to their own detriment. by pushing me, she did the mother thing by helping me be what i was always meant to be. </div>
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and while i still feel guilt about the things i did, and thinking that i should have done more because she deserved more, she still sort of got what she deserved......a daughter that realized her dreams through hard work, just like mom taught her. so in a way, my guilt is undeserved. </div>
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i did what you wanted, mom. i am successful, i am loved, i am blessed, i am humbled, and i miss you every day. and i know that somewhere, you're awfully proud of me.</div>
Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-38871245566252840662013-06-09T12:42:00.003-04:002013-06-09T12:42:33.841-04:00strawberry shortcake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilSW1oAMrO64m6SxLLh2Pyu_IM9NSsw6mK1g29-HF0YWC9NdbSkRlhgLkqJkhhLzJc2WZk7zdYQ_GdT_F2dSKhXkPWn0NVVbvUEN02jizpVGl1duHZID4kRD-vi_2Njz_Xq2u4TNoH8Yni/s1600/DSC_7261a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilSW1oAMrO64m6SxLLh2Pyu_IM9NSsw6mK1g29-HF0YWC9NdbSkRlhgLkqJkhhLzJc2WZk7zdYQ_GdT_F2dSKhXkPWn0NVVbvUEN02jizpVGl1duHZID4kRD-vi_2Njz_Xq2u4TNoH8Yni/s320/DSC_7261a.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">eleven years ago, this coming thursday, i had no thoughts of marriage or commitment or children.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i was a 21 year old, (almost) college senior at indiana university. i worked as a CNA at a local nursing home. and i was at a cross roads in my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i had just ended a three-and-a-half year relationship with my high school boyfriend. someone that, for lack of other options or for lack of pursuing my other options, i had remained with despite my constant feelings of inadequacy. i felt, at that time, that things were as good as they'd ever be. i thought i was going to be one of those people who constantly looked back at their college days as the glory days, the time when things were the best in their lives, and that the rest of life would be a downhill slide from that high point. the point that i'd look at as a line on the beach, and i'd be watching the high tide recede, with only the darkening of the sand from the water to show that things had once been higher. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">at that time, i thought i'd always take a backseat to <em>everything else</em>. i felt like an afterthought to that previous boyfriend. not that i entirely blame him, knowing what i know now. and maybe i'm just making excuses. but we were young. we were 21, for goodness sakes. alcohol and bars and friends and parties were <em>so much more important</em> than forging a long term commitment. and looking back, i'm not sure if i stayed so long because i was so afraid of confrontation, or if i just thought that's how it was supposed to be, or if i just relished the small amount of attention that i was paid.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">it doesn't matter now. because i learned, finally, that confrontation is not only <em>okay,</em> but it's not the end of the world. it may have been the end of that relationship, but i was <em>fine.</em> better than fine, really, because i finally fought for the fact that i was worth more than a case of beer. that i matter more than a keg. that i was smart, and beautiful, and deserved to be told that. i deserved to be invited to things, instead of being assumed to go. that i was worth taking out on a date, and being shown off, and that it really wasn't being high-maintenance for me to want my partner to think ahead and treat me as an equal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">so. i spent the summer pursuing other interests. i was having fun. i went out of town, by myself, independently for the first time, really, as a grown person. i visited friends, and did what i wanted to do, and didn't feel the least bit selfish. i worked hard, and i played hard, and i found out who i was. and i had no desire or inkling of letting someone else tie me down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">until the second thursday in june.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">traditionally, indianapolis has a strawberry festival on monument circle the second thursday of june. i went to indianapolis, <em>just because i could without asking anyone's permission</em>, to see my bff casey. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">casey and i were best friends for, seriously, ever. since i can remember. she's this amazing, audacious, slightly introverted, completely hilarious, and absolutely gorgeous girl that always seemed to know when i needed told off, or when i needed encouraged, or when i just needed a beer. (and even though we've fallen away from one another in the last few years, i still know, and hope she does, too, that we're always there for each other, and that i treasure her in the deepest part of my heart and always will.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">casey was living with bobby, her boyfriend. i'd known of bobby from high school, but he was like 5 years older than i was, so he'd never known me. in high school, i hadn't been part of the party scene. i was part of the <em>get fabulous grades, be valedictorian so i can go to college on a scholarship</em> scene. (and again, looking back, perhaps that is why i stayed with ex-boy for so long. i didn't predict my own future potential.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and living with them, was bobby's brother, jay. i had grown up with jay. jay was part of the <em>to hell with authority</em> scene in high school. i've never been a big fan of long hair on guys. it just doesn't appeal to me. so, jay having hair to his shoulders, i just sort of never noticed him. i think it's all because i couldn't see his face! (he does have a very handsome face). and because i was so introspectively focused on my grades, my weird looks, my awkward body, and being self-conscious. so, fast forwarding a few years since i'd last seen him, and given the fact that he had this short, messy hair, and goatee, and his confident gait, and his cocky attitude.....just, whoa.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">anyway, so on the way to the strawberry festival, we had to drop jay off at work. and i sat in the front passenger seat of casey's car, and was nervous and pit-sweaty. i mean, gorgeous boy, that i used to know, that knew me back when i was completely dorky with big bangs and even bigger glasses and even bigger buck teeth. what the hell was i supposed to say? i tried to be all cute and flirty, but i can't remember anything i really said. i'm pretty sure i was just dorky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a few days later, casey came to visit me in my hometown, and as we walked around my small-town-of-origin, we talked about guys and beer. kinda typical conversation for the area in which i grew up. and jay's name came up, and i remember feeling flushed and thanking God that casey couldn't see my face in the dark.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> little did i know at the time, that casey was plotting. and scheming. and planting the seeds of goodness in both our brains. and thank goodness she did. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">a week or so later, i found myself back at casey and bob's house, having a beer with the man that would later become my husband. and he was smart. and funny. and gorgeous. and he laughed at my jokes. and he looked me in the eyes when i talked. and he listened. and maybe he thought i was just a little bit dorky....which is okay, because i own that now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">so when my kids ask me someday how their dad and i got together, i'll be able to say that it was all because of casey, and the strawberries. and the Big Guy Upstairs, of course. </span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-13867405293243902013-05-22T10:25:00.002-04:002013-05-22T10:25:58.362-04:00quest for intellectual fulfillment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i am a "why" person. i don't think i will ever be satisfied with the amount of knowledge i have. <br />
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i'm pretty sure i've always been this way. i would like to be able to ask my mom that question some day. i've asked my dad, but he doesn't really remember, partially because he worked third shift and was sleeping during the day when i was asking "why" all the time.<br />
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i must have asked that all the time. because in the recesses of my mind, i can hear my mom saying, "because i said so."<br />
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hmph.<br />
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on my days off, i typically will sit in front of the computer and drink my coffee, starting out browsing news headlines, and inevitably finding something that strikes my interest. but, i am not satisfied with just one new topic. i end up making this weird, tangled path of associations until i end up learning about something that is completely unrelated to the initial subject.<br />
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case in point: last night, jay and i were watching "the hangover II." this morning, on the news page of google, i see something about "the hangover III." so i click it, and then i think, "hey, that guy that played doug, i wonder what else he's been in." head over to imdb.com, find out his name is justin bartha. his mom was a teacher. then i think, i wonder if bradley cooper is smart. so i find out that he was a part of the actor's studio, but had to miss his own graduation due to filming a movie. then i see a link to "he's just not that into you," and i think, hmm, i wonder how many big names were in that movie. then i see jennifer aniston on thumbnail for a movie called wanderlust. and i think, i wonder how old she really is? then somehow or another i end up seeing the word teetotaler, and i think, wth does that mean? so i look it up, and then next thing i know, i'm ready about hare krishna and straight edge-ness.<br />
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to go from "the hangover III," which is completely full of debauchery, to straight edge, which was apparently a direct response to the sexual revolution that pushed hedonism, free love, and drug use.<br />
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when i was a kid, my mom was the cleaning lady for our local, small-town library. so after hours, my sister and i would go with her, sometimes to help, but mostly to read books and play on the computer. i remember being enthralled with the world of books, how something that you could hold in your hand could completely, potentially, change your views, open your imagination, or steal you away from the real world. how those words would live with you, forever. i still can remember some of the books i read, the plots, the stories. i can remember spending hours in the nonfiction section, learning everything i could about science, and health, and animals. it's something that, to this day, i enjoy. i love to learn. i love to read, and i love to expand my horizons.<br />
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i hope that i will pass that on to my children someday.Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-17563432031272577182013-05-15T09:42:00.001-04:002013-05-15T09:42:01.915-04:00i want to be bionicwhen i was a little girl, i was a girl. and my sister was a girl.<br />
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this is obvious.<br />
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but that means that dad never had a boy....a boy to help him in the garage, to tear apart transistor radios or to hold the flashlight when he replaced the plumbing under the kitchen sink.<br />
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enter my sister and i. we learned to drywall, and use table saws, and paint. we learned to use drills, we learned about electrical. (note: to this day, i'm still scared to death of electrical work, because i've shocked myself twice and it was very very scary. and weird. and i sort of had amnesia for a few seconds afterward.) <br />
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not that we didn't learn other stuff. <br />
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we learned to sew, and cook, and paint. we learned to play outside, in the rain, and that it wouldn't kill us.<br />
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i learned to play hard like boys do, to get dirty like boys do, and to clean up and look good like girls do. i think we were pretty well rounded.<br />
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the whole point of this is that my sister and i learned to do for ourselves. we learned to seek out answers and solutions to our problems and put it into practice.<br />
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dad always says he was "too cheap to hire anything done." i think, personally, he just realized that if he tried hard enough, he could make it perfect-er than anyone else could.<br />
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so, because of this, i have this constant desire to make things better/faster/stronger. i want to improve myself, my mind, my body, my faith, my strength. it's a daily thing that i strive for. this summer, i have many small-ish projects i'm going to do for this house to improve the curb appeal, improve the inner beauty of the house, and make it more functional.<br />
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am i ocd? maybe some tendencies. am i always trying to improve? absolutely.<br />
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i've replaced our kitchen floors myself. i've patched drywall. we've painted almost every room in this house ourselves. i've replaced bathroom fixtures. we're getting ready to replace exterior doors, and upgrade our screen porch. i clean my own carpets. i make homemade desserts for the kids' birthdays at school.<br />
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i've been hitting the gym 3-5 times a week since january. i've trained for a 5K and maintained.<br />
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i've cross-stitched a blanket for my nephew, a birth announcement to hang in my daughters room. i've crocheted an afghan for my daughter, and am finishing one up for my son.<br />
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i made blankets for all 17 of our nieces and nephews and close friends' kids for christmas.<br />
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now, this gets EXHAUSTING.<br />
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and i LOVE pinterest for it's ideas on how to make things simple, how to work smarter, not harder. i do. i love the imagination it inspires.<br />
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having said all of that....i don't make all my own food. i don't eat as cleanly as i probably should. i buy the dogs cheap dog food. my car is 7 years old, but it's in relatively good shape. i hate clutter. and there are times that, frankly, it's so much easier to feed the kids donuts in the car on the way to school than it is to get up an extra 15 minutes early and make them breakfast. it's so much quicker and less stressful to buy heart-shaped cookies that are already baked from the local grocery store than it is to spend three hours making them myself. is that a missed opportunity to let the children do something cool with their hands? of course it is! but it's also three hours i gain where i can run with them in the yard.<br />
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it's also, potentially, a three-hour nap in the waiting.<br />
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it's hard to balance my need for simplicity and organization and cleanliness with the time constraints i have. it's a balance i strive for every day, and sometimes it's a battle i'm just not willing to fight. but i'll fight it tomorrow, and i'll wake up the next day and i will not feel guilty for not cleaning the house yesterday. i used to feel that guilt, as though there were certain things expected of me as a wife/mother. but i am striving not to feel that guilt anymore. not to stay up until the wee-hours just to dust. it will wait. it will be there tomorrow. and there will be a thousand more projects i want to do. it takes patience. i don't normally sit still very well. but i'm trying.<br />
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as much as i want to be stronger/faster/better, i'm just not bionic. maybe someday. but not today.Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-35861736062017046072013-04-27T11:31:00.001-04:002013-04-27T11:31:26.769-04:00mommy has a mustache! ...and other weird things about motherhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtU4QnRnFc2G2WgXN59693Ergnt4UX557MWAx7VwfmpLxVJgnNn2U2a_cGNq9AKctuRXIvIk1W4cxpci-SYQ6jrk1H8BvTlAgXxlktxLU2hXUA-dVbiNi21rfpJQEbZObQj0nrovgep_tC/s1600/mustache1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtU4QnRnFc2G2WgXN59693Ergnt4UX557MWAx7VwfmpLxVJgnNn2U2a_cGNq9AKctuRXIvIk1W4cxpci-SYQ6jrk1H8BvTlAgXxlktxLU2hXUA-dVbiNi21rfpJQEbZObQj0nrovgep_tC/s320/mustache1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
i remember certain things about my childhood. i remember summers spent at the lake with grandma and grandpa. i remember weird games that Seester and i would invent and play in the yard. i remember the baseball diamonds, the smell of the dirt and grass and popcorn. i remember swimming and sneaking inside for cookies. i remember watching cartoons on mom and dad's bed. i remember the aroma of pot roast in the crock pot. i remember waving to dad as he drove down the street on his way to work on summer nights.<br />
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i remember mom grooming herself, tugging and plucking unwanted, and unseen by me, stray eyebrow hairs and "whiskers" on her chin. and i remember thinking to myself....i don't see what she's tugging at, and that will never happen to me.<br />
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well, IT DID.<br />
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this is not okay. plucking eyebrows, sure. that, i am fine with. i actually don't mind doing that. it appeals to my OCD nature. it's kind of a time when i'm all by myself for ten minutes, i can harness my chi, and i feel so put-together when i'm done. isn't that weird? that one small maintenance measure can make me feel so much better after a crappy crappy day? okay fine. <br />
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but i VIVIDLY remember seeing my first "whisker" on my chin. dark brown, coarse feeling, and just THERE. where the hell did that come from?!? i remember plucking it as fast as humanly possible, and examining it, thinking, "you filthy little INVADER! how <em>dare </em>you make me look like a <em>man!</em>' <br />
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and then, i was almost peeved because why, on earth, would my husband not <em>tell me </em>that i was becoming a grotesque specimen of a woman? how could he not say, "sweetheart, you're getting a little masculine. you may want to trim that up a bit." <br />
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i think the truth is, however, that all of us ladies examine ourselves way too intensely, way too closely. we hold ourselves to this impossible image, that our faces, our arms, our abs, our legs need to look like we're airbrushed all the time. well, i'm here to tell you, that i <em>don't </em>look like a victoria's secret model. shocked? i have stray hairs that i must contain. i eat ice cream way too often. i have lumps on my thighs that i can't even begin to figure where or when they arose. i have stretch marks that i wish i could erase. <br />
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and why do i wish i could erase these things? these imperfections that come from being a mommy, or a hard-working, usually distracted woman....why do i wish to erase these battle scars of a life lived fulfilled, thus far? i'm not going to blame the media. that's such a scapegoat. <em>well, look at HER in that magazine! she looks so perfect, i'm going to starve myself to look like HER.</em> no, that's a copout. because i believe that even without magazines, billboards, the internet, we women would still compare ourselves to others....to our friends, our enemies, our mothers. and i think we'd do it in a self-malicious manner. we would do it regardless. we'd tear down our parenting beliefs, our bodies, our jobs, our houses, our faith. and we'd compare it to those of women around us, without help of the media.<br />
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why do we do this? is it innate in our double-x chromosomes? is it something we're taught? is it our inborn nature to be better, faster, stronger....almost <em>bionic?</em> <br />
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there is a very fine line between wanting to better yourself, in whatever way is <em>en vogue</em> at the moment, and driving yourself crazy with it. i think we all want to be prettier, stronger, more faithful, less emotionally unstable, more productive, more loving, more independent. but we have to learn to balance it. to compare ourselves to ourselves. Seester is living a completely different life than i am, and i shouldn't compare myself to her. can i learn from her? <em>of course!</em> but i shouldn't think to myself that i should be <em>more like her.</em> should i be judgemental of other women and their parenting style/hairstyle/body type/clothing choices? no, i should not. i should praise them for their <em>whatever</em>, because whatever their choice in handbag/religion/daycare/discipline/hygiene regimen, they've arrived at that while comparing themselves to others, or through financial constraints, or God's blessings. and God bless them for that.<br />
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we are all God's creatures. we are all in this together. so what if i have a whisker or two that i haven't plucked in a few days? i'll get to it. so what if i have a few carpet stains from our new puppy learning to pee outside? she'll understand it. it won't last forever, and i'll fix it.<br />
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<em>however, i do have someone lined up that, in case of a hospital stay where i'm incapacitated, they will come in and tidy up my eyebrows, my mustache, and my whiskers!</em>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-14648625715942403992013-04-14T11:23:00.005-04:002013-04-14T11:24:02.285-04:00the busy bee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaa9VI34Oyn3XRmIK7_HpSDeq-X63soqy7qmxfUp3DZT6xZGBnbMgUCm-04gRlSG5JLBzuJjpJC8aNV_G-kQLsdSEIIkXe2wdip94iuqbCE0aKrBBuQ5Ss2pb_J0-cSDuY9OUBG0I4Tub/s1600/buzzbee.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQaa9VI34Oyn3XRmIK7_HpSDeq-X63soqy7qmxfUp3DZT6xZGBnbMgUCm-04gRlSG5JLBzuJjpJC8aNV_G-kQLsdSEIIkXe2wdip94iuqbCE0aKrBBuQ5Ss2pb_J0-cSDuY9OUBG0I4Tub/s320/buzzbee.gif" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">yesterday may have been the busiest day i've had in awhile, and it was completely wonderful at the same time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">brings to mind the fact that i've got so many supportive people around me, and that they, always, are worth every ounce of my energy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the last four weeks have been exhausting. five babies delivered, getting the family healthy, preparing to transition my practice to electronic medical records, jay beginning a new job and quickly being promoted to full-time status. all of these wonderful things that i'm so completely grateful for. and all of these making the selfish part of me yearn for a day to relax and recuperate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">yesterday was not the day for that. but it was a day that i've been looking forward to for a long, long time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">we finally had our family easter gathering. every year, we gather at my stepbrother andy's house, and they throw out about 200 eggs for 15 kids to find. some are quite obvious, mostly for the younger kids, and others are quite difficult to get to (hidden in trees, on the windmill in their yard, in downspouts on the house). the age range of the kids is currently 8 months to 18 years old. and it is always a ball. we've seen our share of weather extremes, too, from yesterday's bone-chilling cold/wind/rain, to a couple of years ago where we all wore shorts. we eat, we talk, we drink coffee, we hunt eggs, and above all, we all giggle. as exhausting as i know that is for andy and shannon, and as exhausting as it is to corral all those children, it's a sense of family and belonging that draws us all back. it's the laughter, the story-telling, the discussions, the <em>common-ness</em> that we all feel together with each other that draws us back, year after year. yesterday was no different, and as much as i wanted to crawl back into bed after the last four weeks of bone-weary-ness, i looked forward to this for so long.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">last evening, we were lucky enough to partake in a birthday celebration for the child of our closest friends. bob and veronica are probably two of my favorite people on the planet that are not blood relation to us. jay and bob have been friends for years....close to 15 years, i'd guess. veronica is his wife, and they've been married for about 2 years or so. they have a 7 year old son, jake, and when jake and piper are together, they are thick as thieves. it was his birthday we were celebrating. they also have a son, lucas, who is two years to-the-day younger than dade. bob and veronica planned a birthday party including laser tag, which was the coolest thing i think we've ever done for a birthday party. we had to tell a small lie, that dade was 5 years old instead of 4, so that he could partake. but it was a blast! we all played, and laughed, and giggled, and were utterly sweating and euphoric afterwards. and piper stayed the night with them, her first sleepover with someone that wasn't family. jay and i went over to bob and veronica's house for quite awhile, listening to the kids chaotic energy as they ran through the house and spread popcorn crumbs all over, and i think we all cherished the paths in our lives that have led us to this point.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i sort of look at it like this.....the Big Guy Upstairs truly knows what we all need to soften and fill our souls. as selfish as i wanted to be yesterday, to curl up in sweatpants in front of the TV with my crochet project, it wasn't in the cards for yesterday. instead, it was the camaraderie with family, friends that my soul craved. it was everything i didn't know i really needed. to see and talk and hug almost everyone in my life that means something to me, all in one day, was a reminder that it's the support of these people that makes life and everything in it worth all the work, the effort, the sacrifice. just as the queen bee of a hive rules the roost, God guides us and directs toward the greater good, toward benefit that we'll all reap. and all of us, the worker bees, work and strive to better the hive, always returning with our gifts and contributions toward the rest of the bees, our support. the things we contribute make the entire hive a prosperous community, where we rely on each other for our skills, our gifts, our support. and whilst we're working, we hopefully gather things that will support each other, smell some pretty sweet flowers along the way, and always have a safe place to return to with each other. we're never alone, and the goal is always simple. return to the place where you're safe, with each other, and remember that we're all in this together.</span><br />
<span class="favorites"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><br />
<span class="favorites"></span><br />
<span class="favorites"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails."</span></em></span><br />
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<span class="favorites"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">proverbs 19:21</span></em></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-15287122491305438732013-04-11T18:33:00.002-04:002013-04-11T18:36:41.926-04:00healing the unbroken<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>I will never know myself until I do this on my own<br />And I will never feel anything else, until my wounds are healed<br />I will never be anything till I break away from me<br />I will break away, I'll find myself today</em></div>
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five years ago, we went to court for custody of piper. it was the day that we told our families that we were pregnant with dade. and it was a day that i remember finally having some way to heal.</div>
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somehow, over the last five years, i've grown, and i've learned, and i've let go.</div>
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when piper was first born, the problems that were facing me had to be faced by me. really. it was a physical representation of the things that i had to either hold onto or put away or let go of.</div>
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i first found out that piper was conceived three weeks after my 25th birthday. and i found out later a lot more. i still carry some guilt about the hoops i made jay jump through in order to prove his dedication to me.<br />
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but here's the thing. i've finally learned to forgive myself for what he did. doesn't that sound stupid? why should i have to forgive myself for what he did? that doesn't make any sense. <a href="http://www.momastery.com/" target="_blank">a blog that i read</a> talks about "mommy guilt," and how that can lead to us shaming ourselves and letting ourselves implode with horrible thoughts of how we're not good enough, no matter what it is that we're doing.<br />
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the writer of the blog also talks, in her book, about how there are many people that we see from the outside and think, "boy, they've really got it all together."<br />
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sometimes i feel like that. and a huge part of it is that i know i've been incredibly blessed. i have a career that a woman wouldn't have had 150 years ago. i am a strong, independent woman. i'm a mother. i'm a wife. i'm someone's constant, being all of those things. i'm a sister, a daughter, a friend. and sometimes it's just <em>exhausting </em>to try to be perceived as having it all together.<br />
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the truth of the matter is that i don't have it all together. not at all. not even close. not even a little bit. well, maybe a little bit. i have friends ask me how it is that i can work/spend time with the kids/crochet/craft/deliver babies/work out/train for a 5K, etc, and still do all the other things.<br />
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my favorite thing to say is a quote from <em>empire records...</em>"there are 24 usable hours in every day."<br />
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the truth is, though, some days, those 24 hours are just not enough. and they are too long at the same time. and every hour is filled with something....all blessings, really. but they're all filled. and it's <em>exhausting.</em><br />
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the thing is....that i have to remember....there are so many teeny things hidden in those hours, that if i don't slow down once in awhile and just <em>lay on the couch, </em>i wouldn't hear the way my kids play together. i wouldn't remember the way that my dog's tags jingle when she runs up the stairs. i wouldn't remember the smell of my son's hair after a shower when he collapses on me on that couch. i wouldn't remember the way my daughter says the lord's prayer. i wouldn't remember the sound of my husband's peaceful breathing when he's sleeping. and i wouldn't remember the feel of my heartbeat, thinking of these blessings.<br />
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i know now, versus five years ago, that i'm never going to be completely happy unless i'm going 500 miles an hour with my hair on fire. but the slowing down, the quiet in between the chaos, is my healing. <br />
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the healing i've done to this point has taught me not only about myself, but about what it means to be a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, and a Christian. every minute is full of things i should be grateful for, and i shouldn't let mommy guilt get in the way. mommy guilt, wife guilt, doctor guilt, sister guilt....it all comes from the same place. it comes from an insecurity in myself. an insecurity that should be let go of, and that truly shouldn't be dreaded but should be celebrated. i am what i am...i am what God made me. with all my imperfections, my quirks, my strengths, my weaknesses, my love of trashy magazines and linkin park, my obsession with skin care products and nail polish, and my comfort in sweatshirts and yoga pants.<br />
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the point to this whole thing is this: in whatever way i thought i was broken before, i think, it's a lie. i don't know that i was ever really broken. i lost a part of myself for awhile, but i think it's still in there. i think it's still inside me. i don't think i'm healing anymore, because i don't think i was completely broken to begin with. i was beaten, and weakened, but i never lost. the Big Guy didn't let me get that far gone. <br />
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and in the end, whilst not having it all together, i really do have it all. and i'm thankful for all that i've been blessed with. i feel my value in the kiss of my husband, the deviousness of my daughter's grin, and in the dimples of my son's smile. at the end of every day, it's us, holding hands, reminding each other that we'll never have to face things alone, the way i thought i had to do long ago. </div>
Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-60988154320984637352013-02-25T13:41:00.001-05:002013-02-25T13:41:16.652-05:00daily dilemmamy daily dilemma today is this:<br />
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why does it take getting upset and angry to get someone to listen?<br />
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i find this with my children. they do things, usually, just by being asked. but there are those things that i ask over and over and over again, and i finally have to get really upset, bordering on irate, in order for them to get it across.<br />
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scare tactics.<br />
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i encountered this today at the office. patient with a multitude of medical issues, from a life of just over 60 years spent living hard and playing way too hard. i actually had to threaten to put her in a nursing home in order for her to start taking care of herself.<br />
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i don't like to be that way. and it wasn't an empty threat. her medicines are all wrong, and no one to this point has taken any responsibility for it. she was seeing multiple specialists that just kept writing her prescriptions for things. and now she's mine, and i have a duty to make sure things are right.<br />
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she wasn't receiving the proper care at home. it made me think more than once about calling adult protective services.<br />
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so why is it that the only thing that will work is to "scare them straight"? why is that the only tactic left? and why is that always left to the last resort?<br />
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i've found, as callous as it sounds, that taking someone's freedom away is the worst thing you can do. i can talk until i'm blue in the face about people needing oxygen, people needing insulin for their sugar, people being on dialysis, or losing toes because of blood pressure. but it doesn't sink in until you tell them they have to go to a nursing home.<br />
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then it's "straighten up and fly right."<br />
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seriously. i had the conversation with her two weeks ago. today, in the office, she thanked me for the "come to Jesus" we had. she agrees that she needs to take better care, and she's demonstrating it.<br />
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why does it have to take such drastic measures to make people see?Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-60557380422796055982013-01-14T11:08:00.000-05:002013-01-14T11:08:14.654-05:00my father, the hero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://paveweddingsbynicole.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/2008_1114_shutterstock_holding_hands_child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" jea="true" src="http://paveweddingsbynicole.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/2008_1114_shutterstock_holding_hands_child.jpg" /></a></div>
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it's been quite awhile since i've written anything in here. between the holidays, the work, the "busy," and the trying to behave normally, it seems that time has gotten away from me.<br />
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i started to write something on what would have been my mom's birthday. but it was too hard. too raw.<br />
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however, i AM going to write something here, on my dad's birthday.<br />
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i'd like to introduce you all to my father. his name is robert. and his birthday is today.<br />
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born the fifth of six children, and the third of four boys, dad was raised on a farm with his brothers and sisters, his mother (a WWII nurse and first lietenant), and his father (a WWII medic and corporal). there are many stories of the boys being boys, sailing down the basement stairs, nailing a basketball backboard to the living room wall, one of the boys putting rocks in their dad's gas tank. as they all got older, their hijinx turned to cars, driving fast, replacing carburators, and driving go-karts through the halls of the high school.<br />
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when my dad was set to graduate high school, he was a pretty good baseball player. he played first base, and was offered a chance to go to college and play college-level baseball. times being what they were, dad chose to work instead. he was hired in to a factory job, where he worked for 30 years and retired at the age of 48. during that time, he was many-times in a supervisor position, having been a born leader. but he never lost that love of baseball, passing it on to countless kids during his years of coaching little league, Pony league, and to his eldest daughter while coaching her softball team. <br />
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he also passed on his love for IU basketball, and i remember being small and knowing who bobby knight was before i could name the president of the united states. so many winter afternoons and evenings were spent with popcorn, Assembly Hall, and bobby knight. popcorn made in the old-style popper that had to be turned upside down in order to eat the goodness.<br />
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dad has always been extremely handy, and it was usually my sister who accompanied him in the garage. i will say that to this day, the scents that remind me most of my dad are sawdust and a zippo lighter (since dad used to smoke). he is where i learned to use my hands to make things happen, and i believe that he is the reason, to this day, that i prefer to figure something out and do it myself, rather than to pay someone else to do it. his reasoning, and mine as well, is that if i do it, at least i know it's done correctly.<br />
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dad worked hard while i was little, working in the sweltering heat of a foundry to make sure we had what we needed. he worked third shift, and slept during the day. in the summers, we girls would stay up late to stand by the front door and wave to him before he left for work. every night. throwing hugs to him. blowing kisses. and there were times when dad would be laid off. we never, ever needed for anything. but there were many times when mom made our clothing, and we ate cheaper things. but we never hungered for love, faith, or encouragement. dad could often be quoted as saying he was our greatest cheerleader.<br />
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as i got older, dad got to have a little more fun. often heard when i was little, he always wanted a harley. he was finally able to get one when i was in the seventh grade. a sportster 883. a small bike for a big guy with a huge heart, it wasn't long until the 883 was traded for a superglide. that was a man's bike, and a bike that fit dad's personality. the bike was gone when i went away to school, realizing my dream to go to indiana university. a dream that i was supported in. a dream that mom and dad both saw come to fruitition. <br />
<br />
during my time away, i decided to go to medical school, instead of becoming a nurse like my grandmother. i was nervous and scared that mom and dad would be unhappy because it meant more money for school. but they supported me, helped me study, and threw a huge party for me after i took the MCAT. and when the envelope came in the mail at home, and i was still in bloomington, they both called me and read it to me over the phone. i had to pull over (i was driving on campus when i got the call), and i heard mom and dad both screaming and crying. my dad was proud of my accomplishment. he should have been more proud of himself for the things he did to get me to that point.<br />
<br />
through all of my schooling, i never felt hungered or thirsted for attention. most mornings, during college, dad and i would chat on instant messenger about random things. it felt good to have a piece of home with me. there was even one very memorable night that i took dad on a bar crawl with me and a bunch of my friends, and he was by far the coolest guy in the joint. i remember many a night, after finishing a late rotation in medical school, i'd call and talk to dad. and it didn't matter if he was sleeping or busy, he'd always take the call.<br />
<br />
i can say that's one thing i have always been able to count on. my dad and i have always had a very close relationship. i've been extremely lucky to have a dad that i can consider a father, a peer, and a friend. i've never had to feel ashamed, or embarrassed, or alone. because i always had my dad. even to this day, despite the fact that i'm 32 years old, my dad's advice and opinions mean a lot to me, and i still consult him for many things in life. of course, i consult my husband, but i consider what my dad would do as well.<br />
<br />
my dad is greatly responsible for my early faith in Christ, always making sure i knew the real meaning behind christmas and life. and always sending up a silent prayer, or bringing up an occasional Bible verse when needed.<br />
<br />
i am quite certain that if one looked up the definition of "daddy" in the dictionary, it wouldn't say anything about "biological genetic donor," which is what a father is. "daddy" would have a picture of my dad, listing characteristics such as "silly, playful, serious, strict, supportive, loves chocolate cake, can throw a knuckle ball, rides a Harley, sings karaoke, loves a cold beer on a hot summer day, takes great pleasure in his grandkids." <br />
<br />
one thing i would add, despite what he always says about my sister and i being his heroes, is that i'm pretty sure that he is our hero. he took all the things he was given in life, good and bad, and made a life for us that couldn't have been better if we would have hand picked it. and i will forever be a better person because of him.<br />
<br />
i love you dad.Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-66239498000479621472012-10-08T13:07:00.002-04:002012-10-08T13:08:37.679-04:00autumn...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXB-SdCPe_O5LOT4qAz7Wo_N2H2cd_Bt3De7qWWqnbxYbUFtnTmN3SO7KLODibyU_OMMq6geVJOEBSYs-QDBC-VA_7CRowRH5rjsuLMaxJMh1U2usuzXkpg7xLunbGa-eitheYiSR4JWG7/s1600/251956_10151020543204595_1801527257_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXB-SdCPe_O5LOT4qAz7Wo_N2H2cd_Bt3De7qWWqnbxYbUFtnTmN3SO7KLODibyU_OMMq6geVJOEBSYs-QDBC-VA_7CRowRH5rjsuLMaxJMh1U2usuzXkpg7xLunbGa-eitheYiSR4JWG7/s320/251956_10151020543204595_1801527257_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">photo by @iubloomington on instagram</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i love autumn. i really do. i love summer more, but i love the change.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i hate that it's so brief.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i love the sweaters, the boots, the chill in the morning. i love the feeling of the heater on my toes in the car in the morning. i love the feel of the steam of my coffee, floating up and swirling around my nose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">autumn will forever remind me of college. i went to indiana university, which was my dream as a little girl. when i was small, the biggest thing in the world was indiana university basketball, and, specifically, bobby knight. i knew who bobby knight was before i knew who the president was. that's just the way our house operated. dad and i, and sometimes mom, watched every single game. i knew every player, their hometown, their stats, their jersey numbers. and i decided when i was young, that no matter what i decided to be when i grew up, i was going to go to that school.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">now, fast forward to high school, where this young and naive girl managed to earn the title of valedictorian, but by all rights did not earn academic scholarships to cover this schooling. i applied to valparaiso, indiana university, university of saint francis. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the Big Guy Upstairs really knows His stuff, though, because when the financial packages came through, IU was the clear winner. i had to work as a work-study in the office of the registrar, and i had to take student loans, but my once bigger-than-life and bigger-than-my-small-hometown dream was realized.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and the picture above is just a tiny part of the gorgeous, historic campus that i was blessed to call home for four years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">during those four years, i learned in class. sure. i majored in biology and minored in chemistry and spent endless hours in the chem building, in jordan hall eating bagels on the floor of the lobby, cramming for tests, and in the union, sleeping between 8am lecture and 10am lab. but i learned a lot more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i learned independence. i learned nostalgia. i learned a lot of values, and i learned a lot about people in general. i learned that there are somethings that are okay to let slide, and there are other things that you just can't let go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i learned more than academics. i learned school spirit, pride, self-indulgence and self-control. i learned what i wanted out of life. i learned how to work hard, and how to play hard. i learned what i could handle. and i learned responsibility.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">even to this day, the smell of an autumn morning reminds me of walking to class, fingers chilled, nose pink, rain or shine. certain songs, too, remind me of the experience...an experience that i share with a lot of good people, some still here, some gone on to other adventures. but the one thing that all of us have in common is that time, that place, and that excursion of being miles from home, and yet feeling at home all at once. that bittersweet feeling of homesickness and independence, tempered with laughter and antics. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">indiana, our indiana. indiana, we're all for you!</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">we will fight for the cream and crimson</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">for the glory of old IU!</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">never daunted, we cannot falter.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">in a battle, we're tried and true!</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>indiana, oh indiana! </i><i>indiana, we're all for you!</i></span></div>
Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-3951688273843570462012-10-01T08:10:00.003-04:002012-10-01T08:12:07.069-04:00occupational hazards of mommyhood, part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">so. piper had to have stitches last friday. five of them. five, interrupted, 5.0 ethilon sutures put in by yours truly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">she actually did pretty well, except for the numbing part. i've never understood why lidocaine burns so badly. i mean, the whole point of numbing something is not to hurt, isn't it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">jay was there, held her head still, and 15 minutes later, she was patched up, almost as good as new.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and she immediately wanted to go back to school.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">how did this happen? she was chasing boys.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">she's 6. yes, she was chasing boys.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and i told her, "piper, the boys are supposed to chase <em>you</em>."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">her response: "but mommy, i'm <em>faster</em> than all the boys."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">touche.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">she also lost her top front tooth last week. so it was kind of a weird week.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">here's my question........<em>why </em>does this always happen before school pictures?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">school pictures are this week. wednesday. in three days. as in, she may still have her stitches, depending on how she heals. lost teeth, i understand. that's typical. but stitches?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">last year, she cut her hair, in the <em>front</em>, to about 2 inches in length, in one spot. thankfully, i was able to hide that a little bit. she lost the tooth, i thought, <em>eh, no biggie. every kid has a shot where they've lost teeth</em>. but <em>STITCHES?!?</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">well, i guess this will be a way for us always to remember the year she smacked straight into the playground equipment because she was chasing boys.</span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-20247995829593309802012-09-17T08:38:00.004-04:002012-09-17T08:38:56.533-04:00Thirty Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TrtwIUj9uEF2wsw98EH9mxaP4ww27L8Dub8vCFWX-tT9c73cuD7gcey5Q6N4Ui_bBVqnFgB3fz19va2yJbGoKJO1T1FLiITZjcm_y6WWc2ZyvVq_eg7EPkMOHMHgjBZH6DyhxOxBVih_/s1600/32_year_old_birthday_cake_postcard-p239514469957031927envli_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TrtwIUj9uEF2wsw98EH9mxaP4ww27L8Dub8vCFWX-tT9c73cuD7gcey5Q6N4Ui_bBVqnFgB3fz19va2yJbGoKJO1T1FLiITZjcm_y6WWc2ZyvVq_eg7EPkMOHMHgjBZH6DyhxOxBVih_/s320/32_year_old_birthday_cake_postcard-p239514469957031927envli_400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
okay. i'm 32 today. <br />
<br />
to say it out loud, it <i>sounds</i> kinda old.<br />
<br />
which is exactly what my 6 year old informed me of yesterday. <i> "mommy, that's an old age."</i><br />
<br />
<i>"so you're saying i'm old?!?!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"no mommy, that's just an old age."</i><br />
<br />
first, she guessed i was 15. i should have gone with that.<br />
<br />
<br />
however, not to be a downer, i'm interested in facts about the number 32. here are some that i found:<br />
<br />
it is the atomic number of germanium.<br />
<br />
it is the number of completed piano sonatas written by beethoven.<br />
<br />
in religion, the number of physical attributes listed for the appearance of buddha is 32.<br />
<br />
it was the uniform number for sandy koufax, jim brown, oj simpson, magic johnson, bill walton, and karl malone.<br />
<br />
it is the number of teams in the nfl.<br />
<br />
<br />
interesting things that happened in the year i was born (1980):<br />
<br />
pac-man was released.<br />
<br />
the u.s. boycotted the summer olympics.<br />
<br />
cnn was launched.<br />
<br />
the phillies won the world series.<br />
<br />
john lennon was killed.<br />
<br />
<br />
in 32 years, i've seen, done, experienced, wished, dreamt, and worried a lot. this year is going to have to work hard to top the last, and yet, there are many things that i look forward to being improved. i know that, above all else, i am blessed to have been giving these years, and that the Big Guy Upstairs must think i'm pretty awesome to keep me around for this long.<br />
<br />
i had a dream last night about my mom. and i woke up sobbing. i wonder if she was trying to reach out to me, to say happy birthday. after all, she birthed me. i wonder.<br />
<br />Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-50150584965081846042012-09-14T13:45:00.000-04:002012-09-14T13:45:11.431-04:00cleaning DIY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQzrTiD7PWSUBI3qK7DvFWnuKHxytvpMuQYg1aqhyCnrXT5fTQx0bIG5CB20BnQQTzAKWv5uTSyDrfyhNU3uzbLuMKVI0kzhe3CMw6B7bqlkkdEUGwyMq7lTR4JJpmAE5-LL-ySvzlrBWO/s1600/diy_logo.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQzrTiD7PWSUBI3qK7DvFWnuKHxytvpMuQYg1aqhyCnrXT5fTQx0bIG5CB20BnQQTzAKWv5uTSyDrfyhNU3uzbLuMKVI0kzhe3CMw6B7bqlkkdEUGwyMq7lTR4JJpmAE5-LL-ySvzlrBWO/s1600/diy_logo.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
okay, i've always wanted to one of <em>those</em> women....you know the kind. the kind that look fabulous without trying. that don't need make up. that make their own clothes, jewelry, cleaning supplies. the kind that have a house that <em>always </em>looks like a magazine photo shoot.<br />
<br />
well, i'm not going to want anymore. i can do this. and with <a href="http://pinterest.com/bakerpalmer/" target="_blank">pinterest</a> i can find all kinds of ways that are easy, cheap, and...well...<em>easy </em>to be this woman. to be the mother/wife/homemaker that i've always wanted to be. and to save money. to stop throwing money away on stupid stuff. and to make things more earth-friendly/kid-friendly/pet-friendly without so many harsh chemicals.<br />
<br />
i already mark myself fairly crafty with some things. i can sew, cross-stitch, make wreaths, and do lots of neat home decor. <br />
<br />
but my first project with regards to my diy stuff is going to be cleaning supplies. so much money is wasted on products full of chemicals in order to clean things....dishes, laundry, floors, tubs, counters. <br />
<br />
now, i have a steam mop. and i love that for what i can use it for. steam is clean, hot, antiseptic. but i can't use that to clean my clothes, or my toilets, or my mirrors. <br />
<br />
so i'm going to figure some ways to do these things without the chemicals.<br />
<br />
shopping list:<br />
baking soda<br />
vinegar<br />
ammonia<br />
dawn dish soap<br />
hydrogen peroxide<br />
borax<br />
washing soda<br />
oxyclean<br />
rubbing alcohol<br />
bleach<br />
spray bottles/containers<br />
scrub brushes<br />
white towels (so that they can be bleached and the color won't bleed)<br />
paper towels<br />
<br />
products:<br />
<u>tub scrub</u> (via martha stewart)<br />
one cup baking soda to one teaspoon dish soap. add enough water to make a paste and scrub.<br />
<br />
<u>carpet spot remover</u><br />
one part ammonia to one part <em>hot</em> water into a spray bottle. spray liberally onto carpet, place white towel over and iron stain away.<br />
<br />
<u>glass cleaner wipes</u><br />
2 cups water, 1/2 c. rubbing alcohol, 1/2 c. vinegar. use 1/2 roll paper towel, into container, soak towels. remove center cardboard roll and pull wipes from center.<br />
<br />
<u>baby wipes</u><br />
2 1/4 c. water, 2 tablespoons baby wash, 1 tbsp baby oil. mix and soak 1/2 roll paper towel as above.<br />
<br />
<u>bleach wipes</u><br />
1/2 c. bleach, 2 1/2 c. water. mix as above.<br />
<br />
<u>deodorant stain remover</u><br />
1 tsp dawn dish soap, 4 tsp peroxide, 2 tbsp baking soda. mix and scrub and rinse.<br />
<br />
<u>homemade laundry detergent (liquid)</u><br />
1 bar of soap, 1c. borax, 1c. washing soda. grate the bar of soap. put into big pot with one gallon of water. cook until soap is melted. add borax and soda. bring to boil. turn off heat. add one gallon of cold water. use 1/4 to 1/2 c. per load.<br />
<br />
<u>homemade laundry detergent (powder)</u><br />
1 box borax (4lb 12oz box), 1 box washing soda (3lb 7 oz box), 1 (3lb) container oxyclean, 2 bars zote soap, 1 box (4lb) baking soda, 1 bottle crystals fabric softener (optional). grate bars of soap, mix all ingredients together and use 2 tbsp per load.<br />
<br />
<u>shower cleaner</u><br />
1 part dawn dish soap to 1 part vinegar. spray and scrub.<br />
<br />
this is gonna be so awesome. i'll need a pair of birkenstocks before long.Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-39764023862250308432012-09-10T09:12:00.001-04:002012-09-10T09:12:16.990-04:00the best offense is a good defense<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHn0dhPlnGWELyC27pWb-UMCmkw0yXRr5mhHzOwXGYKdkBHM7VGhlL36l1SeqrNyCYdLGW49hhUgHnHWBozMAgB5Q2FQSoMejLI5_RD90EDGzo1Puo0LsR_m0gsAJlGZWJAfSJxSTyqeL/s1600/defensive+line.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHn0dhPlnGWELyC27pWb-UMCmkw0yXRr5mhHzOwXGYKdkBHM7VGhlL36l1SeqrNyCYdLGW49hhUgHnHWBozMAgB5Q2FQSoMejLI5_RD90EDGzo1Puo0LsR_m0gsAJlGZWJAfSJxSTyqeL/s320/defensive+line.JPG" width="315" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">so, i realize that once a person has kids, or gets married, or moves into a new house, or starts a new career, there are bound to be scores of advice given from all corners of the earth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"well when my daughter was born...."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"when we moved into our new house...."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"when i first started being a working mom...."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"when we got married, we...."</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and the truth is, i thought i was totally equipped to handle all of this. take it all with a grain of salt, i told myself. and tuck back the really great advice for future reference. and keep track of things that were helpful for me. and try not to push my advice on anyone else unless they ask. or at least preface it when i offer it with, "this is <i>only</i> my opinion, so feel free to ignore it, but..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i never really steeled myself for having to defend my decisions, though. to have to stand up to criticism. unwanted advice i can let roll off my back. and at least if advice is offered, there is the opportunity there to accept and learn from it. but when i'm criticized for choices i've made or ignored, my hackles go up and i immediately go on the defensive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the best offense is a good defense, right? well, i suppose in order to be aggressive with the raising of my family/preservation of my marriage/furthering of my career, i'd better get my defensive line in order. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i'm not perfect. i make mistakes constantly. if i can make it through a day without screwing someone or something up too badly, i count that in the win slot. there isn't any such thing as a perfect person, or a perfect mother or wife, but i strive to be the best i can. some days i end up just above <i>sucking</i>, and those days are the days that drain me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">but i'm not sure where it is that anyone has a right to criticize the manner in which i live my life. i try not to criticize others if i can help it. i don't bag on them for not doing certain things, or for making certain choices. and there are days that i <u style="font-style: italic;">pray</u> for bedtime....for the kids, or me, i'm not always sure which. and there are other days that i don't want the day to end, ever. there are days that the kids just grate on every nerve ending in my body, and there are days where i'd pick them up and put them in my pocket and carry them with me for the whole day. there are more days than not that i'm so happy that things are the way they are, and only a few days where i wish i was better, more involved, more patient, more constructive, more <i>present</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">regardless of the way i feel on an ever-changing basis, it's my life....the life that the Big Guy Upstairs has blessed me with. and as long as He and i are good, i can't see where anyone has the right to stand in judgment of me. to try to penetrate my defensive line and get to the core of my team, my huddle. and as far as i can say, no one is going to break that down. that line may get battered at times, and occasionally it may miss a block, but overall, that defensive line is going to defend what i've got, what the Big Guy and hubs and i have built. </span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-41197332005055988822012-09-08T09:17:00.001-04:002012-09-08T09:18:09.162-04:00where is my easy button?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZcsyxtLj-zJeyrjvliF8LhbFGAjXz_snNoOJxQgVIlsf9lbHIBs6as0QIARnwkFLqZfZ_NRutO7GA9lI21Bi2YbL6EgolEB-ImsoZOySYZEirr-LSnq5bXl9cOiQ4mJAktAWu98KIM9m/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZcsyxtLj-zJeyrjvliF8LhbFGAjXz_snNoOJxQgVIlsf9lbHIBs6as0QIARnwkFLqZfZ_NRutO7GA9lI21Bi2YbL6EgolEB-ImsoZOySYZEirr-LSnq5bXl9cOiQ4mJAktAWu98KIM9m/s1600/images.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">this year marks two milestones for the hubs and i. it marked, in august, ten years of us being together. and it marked, on june 16th, five years of being married. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">that's a lot of stuff to mark in one year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">ten years is a long time. and there have been a lot of things that have happened to us, around us, between us in the last ten years. we've seen happiness, sadness, anger, frustration, bitterness, absolute chaos, death, life, and everything else that the human condition is subject to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">hubs and i have known each other, literally, since the first grade. we went to elementary school together, but we weren't in the same class until third grade. we both had mr. eichenauer, who was a former basketball coach with the curliest hair i've ever seen on a man. there was a particularly messy child in our class, and mr. e used to tip over his desk on a weekly basis so that the child would have to actually clean up and throw things away. nowadays, that'd be wrong. then, it was hilarious.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">we went to junior high school together, and it was at that time that i fit in more with the "brains" and he fit in more with the "stoners," because...well, i was a brain and he was a stoner. and those stereotypes were not only correct, but they were true until sometime after high school. that's not to say that's all we were, but that's what we were known for. and that's the way it stayed, even up until the time that people were told we were together. there was a whole lot of, "wow, you're with him/her?" on both sides of the relationship.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">but the truth is that we've taught each other quite a bit along the way, good and bad. he's taught me to loosen up when it comes to some things. and he's taught me not to be such a doormat. there was a time in my life when i avoided conflict at all costs, sometimes to the point of losing myself completely. i had a past relationship where i came in second to just about everything else to that person...friends, booze, whatever. and i let that go on for three and a half years. that's not to say there wasn't fun that was had during those three and a half years. there was fun. but it was a sort of fun that i didn't really feel like i was part of. i felt like i was just along for the ride. hubs taught me that you can have that much fun and stand up for your beliefs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and when things were hard, and we had our trouble involving piper's conception, i would like to believe that i taught him a little bit about loyalty, and respect. and that you don't bail on someone just because they've made a mistake. that if you love someone, and you believe in them, then you accept them for all that they are, flaws and all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">it's not easy. some days are easier than others. but it's never easy. and there is always work to be done. whether it's remembering not to take our bad days out on each other, or remembering to speak to one another with respect, or not roll our eyes when the other has a particular interest. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">we don't share all the same interests. we do have quite a few things in common. we enjoy a lot of the same music. we like music that rocks, that's loud, that has a lot of bass, and that has a message. we have to have our coffee in the morning. jay never drank coffee until there was me, but now it's a staple. we like a lot of the same television shows and movies, although he's much more interested in action than i am. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i've learned a lot <i>about</i> him in the last ten years. he loves history, especially anything having to do with ancient egypt or about the mafia. he likes his coffee strong. scratching his back turns him to goo. he has to have the television on in order to go to sleep at night. he loves a thick pair of sweatpants in the winter. he owns more gym shoes than any man i've ever known. his favorite football team is the raiders. he believes his greatest achievement is being a father and a husband. he is fiercely loyal. he cares what others think of him despite his projection of self-confidence, almost to a fault. he wants to help, and he wants to fix things. he holds tight to his friends, no matter the things they've done wrong. it's hard for him to write people off, even if he talks a good game and says he's going to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the point is....i couldn't imagine ten years ago that we'd be where we are. that'd we'd be in the positions that we're in. and i really think that we have a secret. i guard our secret fiercely, but share it openly....we <i>talk</i>. we communicate. we don't say things to deliberately hurt each other. but we talk. and we tell each other. and we know that that is one thing we have that only we share together.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">he's my easy button.</span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-71634869282463307052012-09-07T13:55:00.001-04:002012-09-07T13:55:21.832-04:00what memories will hold...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXW3ChnK-ZSbYpB0ZbWWu4Ob9RNlX2ZHEJgo1eIgEnRKeJRCExdGUcoyx5V1xqA7RCn9VhWRrBCG5HgsNQHffBNBtckH6iJaON_Aoq9uJ5gxlrQxX1GJy63iuGKWqGGyzhwqSGDCwc8E8/s1600/remember.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXW3ChnK-ZSbYpB0ZbWWu4Ob9RNlX2ZHEJgo1eIgEnRKeJRCExdGUcoyx5V1xqA7RCn9VhWRrBCG5HgsNQHffBNBtckH6iJaON_Aoq9uJ5gxlrQxX1GJy63iuGKWqGGyzhwqSGDCwc8E8/s320/remember.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i suppose this is true of all mothers and fathers. i wonder and think and try to remember every thing that kids have ever done. funny sayings, facial expressions, favorite toys....i relive these things over and over, in an effort to memorize them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">to remember-ize them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and as i was sitting here thinking, i had this realization (which, if my brain was working at.all, i would have realized a long time ago), that while i am concentrating on remember my children, they are making memories of me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i wonder what my children will remember of me. i wonder if it will be happy...i hope so. i wonder if they'll remember me as silly...i'm sure of it.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my first memories begin at about age 2 or 3, which i'm sure is typical for most people. this was the time that we moved into the house that my dad and step mom live in to this day. but i remember bits and pieces of the old house, too. that means that piper has memories stored up for about two years now, and dade is going to start having memories at this time that he'll carry with him until he's grown.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">unless they erase them with self-medication like i did...which i pray to God isn't the case.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and it also occurs to me that out of all the things i remember about my childhood, there are a lot of basics that i don't remember, or didn't take the time to know. what was my mom's favorite color? what is my dad's favorite food? jay and i know these things about each other, but i don't know those things about my parents.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">so, i suppose, for posterity's sake, i should record some things that i hope my children will want to know about me some day....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite color is yellow. i love yellow. the color of the sun, of morning, of cute baby chicks. i love yellow.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite food changes a lot, but my favorite genre of food is italian. i love the sauces, the pastas, the spices.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">when i was a little girl, i loved school. i loved to read, i loved to learn. i still do. for my whole life, i have been fascinated by science. i wanted to study the stars, the planets, the constellations. i loved physics and chemistry and biology.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my grandmother on my dad's side passed away when i was twelve. she was a MASH nurse in world war II, and from the time that i could remember, i wanted to be a nurse like grandma. before she died, grandma had to do peritoneal dialysis, and i would sit on the floor while she did her stuff, and listen to stories of the war, of wounded soldiers, of operations conducted under apple trees in france. i always knew i would go into medicine, but i never dreamed it would be as a physician. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">jay would have been the furthest idea from my mind of who would have been my husband if you'd asked me fifteen years ago. only because of the lives we led at the time...jay was very much a hell-raiser, and i was very much a goody-two-shoes. but i thank God every day that He saw where things should go, because now, it's getting hard to remember life before him.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i didn't date that much in high school. i had a few steady boyfriends. and i wouldn't change that. i dated enough to have some experience and some fun, but not so much that i became jaded. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite book, to date, is "the divine secrets of the ya-ya sisterhood." i don't know why, but i love that book. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite musicians include sarah mclachlan, evanescence, pink floyd, and linkin park. and i love the music i grew up on....creedence clearwater revival, zztop, bruce springsteen.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my best girlfriend of my life is my sister. through thick and thin, no matter what time of day or night, i can call and she's there. she and Hubs are the only ones i trust with my whole self. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite sports to watch are baseball and football. i will forever be a diehard IU basketball fan. i will always love the indianapolis colts and the st. louis cardinals. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i was raised christian but was not baptized until i was 18. i loved to go to church with my grandma. i believe in God, and his Son Jesus Christ, and nothing will convince me otherwise.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite teacher in high school was either mr. romary (trig and calculus) or mr. yager (anatomy). they were the coolest.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite class in all of college was organic chemistry. although, i did have a comparative class in film and literature, and i loved that, too. i wrote my senior thesis on the comparison between the film and the novel "fear and loathing in las vegas." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite rotation in medical school was either family medicine or infectious disease. i wrote my senior thesis in medical school on a patient with coccidiomycosis. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite part of my job is truly the relationships that i develop with my patients. i love that they trust me to come, in the middle of the night, speeding down the highway, to catch their baby, or guide them through their depression, or fix their broken arm, or keep them safe from a heart attack.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">jay calls me "baby," and i call him either that or "sweetheart." it's always been that way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">we danced to sarah mclachlan when we got married.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my favorite scent is lilac. the prettiest flower is an iris.</span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-87332801532721124092012-09-06T15:25:00.000-04:002012-09-07T10:17:22.805-04:00down the spiral<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQFjSh1ahZUkj53j9ePkA2j7j8fVUjmV_8ZAXvmh9OjRs8x9LGR4g3KfwzvLKdSy42XsggqYq-RSEst6ak3gsr3pPkcWVbFiJJLVMxe377tuKrnKVrPx842rXcowjC714k6Z7odDfp0aH/s1600/Downward_Spiral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQFjSh1ahZUkj53j9ePkA2j7j8fVUjmV_8ZAXvmh9OjRs8x9LGR4g3KfwzvLKdSy42XsggqYq-RSEst6ak3gsr3pPkcWVbFiJJLVMxe377tuKrnKVrPx842rXcowjC714k6Z7odDfp0aH/s320/Downward_Spiral.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">kay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">what does one do when one sees a person they care for spiraling downward at an incredible rate? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i've seen it. and i've been it. and the first thing that crosses my mind, the more that i think about this, is <i>i wonder if this is what everyone else felt when i was out of control.</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">when i was out of control, i was reeling from my mom's diagnosis, from the news that my future husband was father to a child that was not mine, and i was living hours away from my family (and states away from my sister). i tried to maintain. i tried to self-medicate. and i tried, above all else, to hold it all inside and not to bother anyone else with what was going on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i actually thought i did a good job. i really and truly believed that no one had any idea how troubled and severed i felt on the inside. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">of course, that was the furthest thing from the truth. which i didn't find out until i was approached. only then did the healing begin. the self-medicating eventually stopped. therapy commenced. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i'm still not healed, nor am i the person i used to be. i don't know if i ever will be. and i'm trying to be okay with that. most days, it's fine. other days, i wish like crazy that i could get back what i once had....that spark, that giggle, that ease of giddiness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">but now, there is someone that's going through something that is so different, so foreign to me that i can't begin to understand where it comes from, or what it's like. i can't fix it. and that irks me to know end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">it is so bothersome when i can't fix things. i just want to <i>fix it NOW.</i> and i want it to be over. and i want things to be happy and rainbows again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">but i can't do that with this. i can't make this go away. and what's more is that i don't truly know for sure what's going on. and i don't know what to do. i know that this person hurts, and hurts in a way that i can't relate to, and i know that i don't want that anymore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />i can't sit still. i can't sit back. but i do. and i wait. and i wonder if i should say something, try to yell, scream, push, pull, or prod. or just let it be.</span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-9308136573494265462012-09-01T12:44:00.000-04:002012-09-06T17:27:30.571-04:00occupational hazards of mommyhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<em>homework with piper</em></div>
<br />
blogging is such an outlet. and yet, it seems to be the thing that i always get to last. the thing that sits on the back burner, always there, always waiting, patiently. waiting for the moment when, at the end of the week/month/chaos, welcomes me back with open arms and says, "hello, friend."<br />
<br />
there are always so many other things that need done RIGHTNOW. kids need bathed. laundry needs done. homework needs completed. my work needs finished. specifically, charts have to be documented and organized. dog needs bathed. hubs needs loved. friends and family need help and support. and i need sleep.<br />
<br />
last weekend, i came down with some cruddy upper respiratory infection. i haven't been sick like that in a long time, probably since i had H1N1 in 2009. i actually missed work last friday and lost my voice. however, the good news was that 1) Dade gave it to me, which means he's learning to share (always a good skill for a three year old to have), and 2) it only really lasted for about two days. this meant that we were able to go to the linkin park/incubus concert.<br />
<br />
there, we had a blast.<br />
<br />
going to the concert was not the same as it would have been 10 years ago. ten years ago, i would have partaken in many of the legal and illegal substances being passed amongst the other concert goers. not anymore. there are just too many things on the line that i stand to lose, to sacrifice, for three or four hours of fun. <br />
<br />
i didn't used to thing that way. i used to partake without thought of the consequence. that was many moons, two children, a husband, and a career ago. <br />
<br />
this week, as a i celebrate one full month of being a "partner" of the full medical practice to which i belong, i looked at my schedule and realized that i'm seeing about 25 patients per day. which i love. i love that i can see my patients, that i know their history, that i know their family, that i feel sort of like a "mommy" to them. i don't think i could handle seeing more than that. because then i don't think i could get out of the office to get home to do my mommy duties here. but i thank God every day that He has seen fit to bless me with a blossoming practice and the opportunity to provide for my family.<br />
<br />
through sickness, health, fun, sorrow, anger, laughter. the occupational hazards of mommyhood.Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-15749198379503623072012-08-06T13:31:00.002-04:002012-08-06T13:31:51.119-04:00recurring dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">so....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i've been a really really naughty girl this summer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">i think i've only been to church, like, three times. that's really not good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and i really don't have any good excuses. the first two times i missed were for legit reasons....i was on call and had to work. and then, it was like, i just didn't want to, or i found other reasons i had to be home. or, rather, i wanted to be home. okay. that's not okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and i can't figure out why i didn't want to go. i love my church. LOVE. like, in capitals and underlined and italicized. i fit there. i love the people there. i can have a for real, nitty gritty conversation with the Lord there and i feel like i'm home when i'm there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">last night, i had the latest in a string of recurring dreams that i've had since i was a little girl. i have always had these recurring nightmares about tornadoes. i think this probably spawns from my mother's fear of them when i was little. mom would seriously FREAK when there was inclement weather, and i probably translated that into my head. but whenever i would have the dreams, i could always see the tornado, my family was always there, and i could somehow, in my dream, control something in the situation....whether it was getting away from it, or whatever. and i'm sure, being as type-A as i am, that the whole reason that tornadoes scare the crap out of me is that element of non-control and chaos that the tornado represents.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the last few times, last night being the most recent, my mom has been in the dreams. and she's there, and she's ever-so calm. she's laughing, she's in control. i can see her, she's guiding me, she's listening, she's offering advice, and in every one of these tornado dreams she's in, no one is hurt, no one is sacrificed, and i wake up without the panicked feeling that i usually wake up with.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">which makes me wonder....is this possibly a way that she's trying to reach out to me? is she trying to tell me to get my butt back to church, to have a convo with the Big Man himself? is she just letting me know she's there? is she offering me guidance? or is my subconscious relying on coping mechanisms i used to have several years ago?</span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-4776590682675608082012-07-30T08:39:00.000-04:002012-07-30T13:28:02.349-04:00transitionson july 10th, 2012, i was blessed with an honor. <br />
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well, rewind.<br />
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i was blessed with an honor even before that. in november of 2011, truly. that's when i found out that my sister was pregnant. pregnant for the first time. directly after she married the guy that she'd been searching for her entire life. <br />
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this guy, brian, is awesome. he makes Sister so happy. he really does. so to find out they were pregnant was awesome. <br />
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to watch her during the pregnancy was amazing. even though she had terrible nausea and developed ankles the size of small tree trunks, she did amazing.<br />
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she came in to the office on july 9th, after having pretty intense contractions all morning. <br />
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this was TWO DAYS after her baby shower.<br />
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baby's heart rate was good, but i kept her here, because she was only 36w6d and we got her started on some procardia to stop the contractions. well, that didn't work, because her water broke here at the office in the bathroom. she was so nervous and scared and anxious.<br />
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as was i. in the few years i've been practicing medicine, i've never been the one to drive someone to the hospital. i always show up after that part, when it's time to the catch the baby. <br />
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so i took her to my house, where we met up with brian, and he took her to the hospital.<br />
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Sister had asked me to be there at the hospital, since Mom couldn't be there. brian's parents were there, dad was there, tery was there. and we waited. we drank coffee. and we waited. Sister dilated. and we waited. dad and i sat in my truck with the windows open, eyes closed, telling stories about childhood memories, and we waited. and then i got the call to come back up to the labor deck because Sister was 9.5 cm dilated. hooray!<br />
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and after about 15 minutes of pushing, i watched her make this amazing transition from my baby Sister into a Mommy as she gave birth to 5#9oz Daggar Xavier, born at 37 weeks. 10 fingers, 10 toes, all perfect and tiny.<br />
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i got to deliver my nephew. how cool is that? who gets to do that?!?<br />
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and it was amazing. the most amazing thing i've ever done. of all the babies i've ever delivered, aside from my own, this was the most special thing i've ever done. <br />
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<br />Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-83649193387852966952012-06-03T19:26:00.001-04:002012-06-03T19:26:59.990-04:00uncle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPau_fcl1UcMXqwC3BMi3SpOgHOBgkd7xHwNS3dF8YbwDT33MGUQF6bwW0vLlSfU2EYRjbKuqjxxZ6Y5oXnORr53cn4kdwGvqCPZpMJoMg6sp91f6-Fi8cvkI6n2RrEEkrV0f0k9vC56lG/s1600/arm_wrestling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPau_fcl1UcMXqwC3BMi3SpOgHOBgkd7xHwNS3dF8YbwDT33MGUQF6bwW0vLlSfU2EYRjbKuqjxxZ6Y5oXnORr53cn4kdwGvqCPZpMJoMg6sp91f6-Fi8cvkI6n2RrEEkrV0f0k9vC56lG/s320/arm_wrestling.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i suppose one could say that i'm a complex individual. although, i'm sure we all are.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i don't know why it's taken me so long, but to be truthful, i still don't know my limits until i've passed them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">looking back, we always have the benefit of hindsight. i can look back at things that i've done, and think, "wow, i can't believe i did that." "i can't believe i was such an idiot." "i can't believe i pulled through that." we all do that. we all have highlights and low times that we look back on, and it gives us strength to press on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">however, the last couple of years, i keep thinking that there is going to come a time when i finally call "uncle." i think to myself, "if i have to go through this one more time, i am not going to make it." and then whatever it is happens again, and i wake up the next day, giving myself another ultimatum. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">why do we do that? why do we almost defeat ourselves before we're even put into a particular situation? is it that we don't believe in ourselves enough? is it that we look back and think, "but i've already been through so much!" do we feel sorry for ourselves and want to give ourselves a way out? do we doom ourselves by imagining another go-round of a particular situation? or are we simply too coward to cry "uncle" in the here and now?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i would like to think that i don't cry "uncle" because i'm so tenacious and that i am the eternal optimist. but i know that's not always the truth. i don't want to give up on something, or someone. ever. i want to hold out hope that things will be okay. i believe that whatever it is, i can fix it, i can make it right, and i can <em>believe</em> that okay-ness into reality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and things will always be okay. always. sometimes it just sucks in the process.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and it's a blow to the ego when things don't turn out as okay as i would like.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and there's a big part of me that's starting to realize that i have to quit taking responsibility for others' actions. i need to stop feeling responsible for the choices that other people make. and i need to stop trying to find my fault in their situations and their decisions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">that's a tough thing to swallow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the truth is, no matter the outcome, the only thing that we can do is what we do....we can't plan around an outcome, a possible insult, a perceived slight. we need to love anyway, be happy anyway, smile anyway, cry anyway, give anyway. even on the days when we think we're at out lowest, or we're facing our toughest challenge, another person may be relying on our love, our smile, our gift, to pull out of something that's tougher than any of us will ever know. maybe they are crying "uncle," and they need us to take the pressure off.</span>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-24768880485835921012012-05-23T18:49:00.004-04:002012-05-23T18:51:38.920-04:00first to last<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">today was piper's last day of kindergarten.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">where did the year go?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">she started the year knowing her alphabet, shapes, colors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">now she can read. she knows her address, phone number, and lots of other things, like how to play games, the rules to duck-duck-goose, how to sing. she has favorite bible verses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">she has gained confidence, courage, and a sense of self.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">she has lost teeth, lost shyness, and lost her "toddler"-ness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">how did this happen already? and how amazing is this?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">first day of school</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">last day of school</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-54754690295201435712012-05-11T22:39:00.002-04:002012-05-11T22:44:14.765-04:00publicly unacceptable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiizFcylAtgeCElyO3_b5shwjezp_0CTnuw7FOvCqxXOQ30-ERq1hxB0b4DtCf6XKga2nAQ0tHlcx0Z1QV0yDph3zHTWQ5HrVpN0w9eAq8QkEWLfXBco0lC9fyKDtNG9h3ljxQYR9QuHYxv/s1600/publicly+unacceptable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiizFcylAtgeCElyO3_b5shwjezp_0CTnuw7FOvCqxXOQ30-ERq1hxB0b4DtCf6XKga2nAQ0tHlcx0Z1QV0yDph3zHTWQ5HrVpN0w9eAq8QkEWLfXBco0lC9fyKDtNG9h3ljxQYR9QuHYxv/s1600/publicly+unacceptable.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">this is so the truth. seriously, the first thing i do when i walk in the door, without fail, without interruption, is take out my contacts and put on comfy clothes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">so i wonder something....in a world in which we are inundated with photos and social media, telling us what celebrities do all the time....why do they always look absolutely perfect?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i mean, i know that's, like, their job, but seriously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">do prince william and duchess kate ever wake up and have bed head? surely, he must see her without makeup and in sweat pants. i wonder if she even owns sweat pants. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">you know, i might send her some of mine....if i didn't love them so much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">this concludes the random thought of the day. :)</span></div>Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2189602737375536288.post-73473698864178171672012-05-01T13:40:00.001-04:002012-05-01T13:40:59.855-04:00accept...except?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNYXHaihBhwEIqHHJvitXEP5Wq9fs5fdoqq_HAbQP4OZY_bSqcPo0FMPPOlvaDObm0MJYaq7YHPD10R3Vu-_rTB4jMsXflVa4vMCFXhQuNK7GoVCINyAK_u55D3RMkizKva7b0j9wWEU7/s1600/acceptance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNYXHaihBhwEIqHHJvitXEP5Wq9fs5fdoqq_HAbQP4OZY_bSqcPo0FMPPOlvaDObm0MJYaq7YHPD10R3Vu-_rTB4jMsXflVa4vMCFXhQuNK7GoVCINyAK_u55D3RMkizKva7b0j9wWEU7/s320/acceptance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">if there is one thing that i could guess was a universal truth, it's that people want to be accepted. not excepted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">this has been a resounding theme to life in the palmer household as of late. jay wants acceptance with his chronic illness. he wants a solution. right now, without a solution, he is an <i>exceptance</i>. he wants to have <i>acceptance</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">i know <i>exceptance</i> isn't a word. but it is today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">piper wants acceptance. there was a whole knock-down-drag-out explosive meltdown last night. about how she doesn't want to do the things that are asked of her because her younger brother doesn't have to do the same thing. kids are very literal. she doesn't see that her brother is only mature enough to do the same things that she was doing at that age. and that because she's older, she has different responsibilities. she wants <i>acceptance</i>, not <i>exceptance</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />none of us wants to be different. it's a catch 22. we're all unique but we're all the same. we want to fit in, we want to be a puzzle piece that matches and is turned just the right way to fit into our place. we don't want to be that one piece that belongs to a different puzzle and accidentally got mixed into the wrong set.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">it's a tough thing to teach, no matter the age, especially when it's not all figured out in the first place. so what is there to do? be supportive. encourage. demonstrate. accept.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">if i want to be accepted, my mind tells me that i have some accepting to do. if i <i>except</i>, then i will be <i>excepted</i>. if you want to have a good friend, you have to be a good friend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">one of the best things i've learned about relationships, and it's probably because i heard it somewhere and can't remember where...is that a person's contribution to a relationship and the value that they hold in that relationship is based on what they can contribute, not what they can take. every relationship is about being <i>accepted, not excepted</i>. but one should look at it from the point of view of<i> what can i give to this person? what can i provide for them?</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">there will always be times when a person has to take, too. but that gives the other person the opportunity to give. sometimes it's really. really. difficult to give, because it's so easy to feel selfish. it's so easy to feel slighted, to feel that i'm the one doing all the giving. it's so easy to feel that we want to give up, and stop reaching out. but sometimes, the reaching out is what fosters the continued relationship, the feeling of acceptance. the denial of reaching out gives <i>expentance</i> instead.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">sometimes the giving of acceptance is all that is needed.</span><br />
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<br />Rebecca Baker-Palmer http://www.blogger.com/profile/14488858936038706196noreply@blogger.com0