tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89885962353644233662024-02-19T04:16:27.117-05:00Flynn or Eugene?Inspired by Disney's "Tangled," a question of who we decide to be and who we present ourselves to be inspired the creation of this blogAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03808285339348975764noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-76726711295416614402019-01-09T13:22:00.002-05:002019-01-09T13:22:45.176-05:00Virtue on NetflixDaniel and I were scrolling through Netflix looking for a new show to watch when we fell upon a show called "Tidying Up." When I watched the first episode, I was struck by the virtue the woman: Marie Kondo demonstrated (albeit sometimes in an odd way). I had never thought of the physical structure of a home being an instrument of virtue until I watched Marie Kondo teach these families how fostering these virtues were actually key to having an organized home.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Gratitude, Gratitude, Gratitude:</span></b><br />
Marie has this tradition of greeting the house before she begins, so I will begin with the virtue she demonstrates here. The first episode is where she best explains this tradition. Marie says it is important to thank the house for sheltering and protecting the family, for being a place of comfort and nourishment, etc. How often do we stop and thank God for providing a place that does all of these things for us? How often do we take advantage not just of the physical building we live in, but the gifts it provides for us? I know I certainly don't think about the structure of my apartment as the place God has given my family to house our memories. However, our memories do not exist on a green screen. Our homes are the environment that house our happy memories and provide a place to work through the sad or bad ones. Although we must be careful not form attachments, it is important to recognize our home as a gift and thank God giving it to us.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mutual Accountability and Shared Responsibility:</b></span><br />
Marie makes a point in one of the first three episodes of asking the mother who believes she has failed in her domestic duties why she must be responsible for knowing where her child's favorite shirt is. Just as she emphasized that our homes are gifts, Marie transfers this mentality to each item in the families' homes.This lesson she teaches reveals that while it is key to have gratitude, the best demonstration of this virtue is not in stating our gratitude, but showing it through the care of these items.<br />
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It is not one person's responsibility to maintain and <i>value</i> our belongings. If God has blessed us with clothing, that does not mean we can push the responsibility of caring for these gifts on someone else. Additionally, it is our responsibility to encourage all of our family members to care for their gifts. In fact, taking on others' responsibilities hinders everyone's ability to be grateful because we then cannot have the proper attitude when caring for our belongings. It is as important to share the responsibility as it is to hold all family members accountable for doing their part. This shows gratitude for the people in our lives as well as our belongings. Sharing the responsibility shows that we value the people, their time, and our time with them. Holding one another accountable demonstrates that we recognize our own dignity and our call to foster holiness and virtue in one another.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Joy through Simplicity and Detachment:</b></span><br />
Although Marie emphasizes that we must thank each item before letting it go, she has a very strict policy on what we can keep. Her first step is always to gather all belongings of a category in one place to get a visual of how <i>much</i> stuff *cough cough* crap *cough cough* we have and to weed out the items that do not bring us joy. This thinning out of unnecessary items and maintaining an attitude of gratitude for these blessings is a perfect example of how to facilitate simplicity and detachment in one's home and family life. When we can recognize how much we are holding on to, we can then understand the importance and joy of both living simply and letting go of material things. Marie emphasizes that doing this better frees us to spend time with our family, and really that is the greatest gift we must be grateful for.<br />
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So if you want to tidy your house, don't worry about watching the show (it gets pretty repetitive anyway). Focus on fostering these three virtues in your family, and you will naturally have all you need to tidy up your home and your virtue.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-47847304810155149292018-12-24T07:52:00.001-05:002018-12-24T07:52:58.364-05:00Christmas JoyMy sister and I were in Target the other day, and there was an adorable toddler in the self check-out. We were near the back and were quite the sight since we had a full cart, Diana in the stroller, and were doing three separate check-outs. She, her mother, and her grandmother were in front of us as we scanned our various items. She turned and saw us, and started shouting. "Baby!" "Baby!" Over and over with an increasing sense of urgency. Diana was completely covered in her car seat, but this little girl knew that where there is a car seat, there is a baby, and she <i>had</i> to see this baby. NOW. This little girl's reaction reminded me of how we should feel during the Christmas Season.<br />
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I've never fully understood Advent. Lent makes more sense to me. Everyone needs some time to repent and work on being a better person. I often feel just a little bit different when Easter comes around: stronger in my spirituality, more disciplined, healthier, just slightly better. Lent is productive and reformative. In contrast, Advent was always explained as a more hopeful, joyful, reflective time. It just seemed very vague to me, and so I never really used Advent to prepare for Christmas as much as I could. After all what's concrete about fostering hope and joy? How exactly does that look? How should that feel when the season's over?<br />
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Standing there in Target with a toddler pointing and shouting desperately to see my baby, I was fascinated. She couldn't see Diana, but she knew that she was there. In that moment, all she wanted was to see that baby. It was so innocent, so hopeful, so urgent. I couldn't help but smile, and it took me a moment to respond.<br />
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So I took a few steps forward, and I asked her if she wanted to see her. "Baby!" she shouted, pulling on her grandmother's hand to get closer to Diana's still covered car seat. I watched the little girl's face as I lifted the cover (obviously I couldn't help myself, and I did it with all the drama of an unveiling). Her shouting stopped, and she stood on her little toes to peek into the stroller. Gazing at my little girl's face, she went still. "Baby!" She said just a little softer. It actually reminded me a lot of when a father lifts his daughter's veil to present her to her soon-to-be-husband. The look on his face and the look on this girl's face was nearly the same.<br />
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We should be like that little girl. Urgently searching for Christ and hopefully awaiting His arrival. Longing to simply get a glimpse. Gazing in reverent awe at the infant Jesus before us in Mass. Advent is about feverishly becoming attune to the beauty and love of our God. It is about fostering an awareness of just how precious Christ is. So that when Christmas is finally here, and the mystery of the Incarnation is present, we too may fall still in awe of He whom we love. So that when the Christmas season is over, we enter the new year filled with peace - not necessarily as a better version of ourselves, but a vessel overflowing with the joy of the Almighty. Better spreading His love through the world.<br />
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Merry Christmas!Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-62086999381197377932018-12-06T12:52:00.002-05:002018-12-06T12:52:35.271-05:00The Mom ShrugFirst of all, I just have to say that I am loving this whole mom thing. There have been rough moments here and there don't get me wrong, but I have never found myself tearing up with joy as often as I have in the past 5 weeks. The whole experience has given me a lot of insight into God the Father. Growing up, we always heard that God created us because He loves us, but I never really understood the joy and delight He finds in us. Additionally, just having Diana around has made me think about God more than I ever did before her. So just by existing, she has brought me joy and has brought me closer to my faith.<br />
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One of my favorite new discoveries is how she has taught me to trust God. Thinking back to how much I felt like I couldn't control or plan things before makes me laugh. I had no concept of a lack of control or planning. Now, my whole day is rescheduled around when she needs to eat. I don't get to plan it, I just go about living my day until she starts asking to eat.<br />
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With this in mind, I had two options, I could either let my type A self get frustrated and try to control the situation, or I could institute "The Mom Shrug" in my life. "The Mom Shrug" is that moment when you look at what's happening and say "Welp, there's no point in freaking out. Let's just roll with it."<br />
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I used to think people were joking when they said that their kids were making them "lose their mind." What I have discovered is that it was <i>not</i> a joke. There are so many times when I totally forget things that I've just said and done. Things that happened seemed to have been completely erased from my mind. I have to write EVERYTHING down because I don't remember what I need to do for the day unless I have a list.<br />
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I made a new friend recently who has a 6 month old, and we made plans to go to the Christmas Village in Charlotte. I'd never been, but I was down for an adventure. We made plans to meet at 1. I started getting ready to go around noon. The diaper bag was packed. I'd eaten my lunch. I'd saved the address for the parking garage on my phone and already looked up the best way to get there. It was 25 minutes away, so I would leave at 12:30. Then, Diana started asking to eat around 12:20. (Insert Mom Shrug). As I was sitting down to feed her, my friend texted and said she would be late. I told her I was in a similar situation. Diana's been doing this new thing where she takes an hour to eat because she needs to burp and poop halfway through. So when my friend texted again with a delay, I confirmed again that we were in the same boat.<br />
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Finally, we made it out the door. As I was getting off of 277 and driving through downtown, I realized I had the address for the parking garage but I had forgotten to look at where the actual Christmas Village was. (Insert Mom Shrug) Even if I got the address from my friend, I would only be able to navigate directions while in my car because I'm one of those stubborn people who has a basic phone. That would mean I'd have to hope that the car's GPS was up-to-date enough that it had the Village's location. So I parked the car and texted my friend to see if she parked in the same garage that I did. That way maybe we could meet up instead of me trying to wander around Charlotte. While I waited for her to respond, I set up my stroller and got Diana ready.<br />
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When my friend responded with a location she was near, I told her I wasn't good with directions. She said she wasn't good with them either, but she could try to explain how she had gotten there. Insert Mom Shrug. I started walking. I figured if I could just get outside, I might see something familiar enough to give me my bearings. I headed towards the elevator, but it was not wheelchair accessible, and I was not about to struggle to lift the stroller up onto the sidewalk. Mom Shrug. I turned around and decided to walk down the parking garage until I got back to the entrance. I continued texting my friend as we walked down from level four to level two.<br />
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That was when I heard "Hey!" I had stopped to send a text right behind my friend's car.<br />
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There were so many little decisions that I could've made in a panic: turned around and gone home to get the address, stayed in my car and called someone else to find the address for me, tried to lift the stroller up to take the elevator rather than walking down the garage. They all would have led me somewhere other than right behind her car at that moment. It's funny how things seem to work out when you just let go of your need to control and let the Holy Spirit guide you.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-59737775612350297202018-11-30T15:48:00.001-05:002018-11-30T15:48:10.703-05:00And then there were three<div>
Warning: This is a long post :)</div>
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<b>October 22nd</b> Standing by the door with my packed bags, I was on the phone with the nurse. I was feeling something every 5 minutes. I didn't think it was strong enough to be contractions, but everyone feels things differently right? Was it time for my baby to be born? She said to drink two full glasses of water and lay on my side for an hour. If the contractions were intense and continued to be 5 minutes apart, then I was in active labor, if not, then it was still early labor. I did as the nurse said, and she called me back an hour later to see how things were going. I told her they had mostly spaced out, and I asked her what she meant by "intense" contractions. She said I shouldn't be able to talk through the contractions. <div>
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My mom had already come down a week earlier, and we were both super frustrated with this verdict. I shouldn't be able to talk? Isn't that too late to go to the hospital? Isn't that the point when you should already BE at the hospital?</div>
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So the week went on, and I continued to get sporadic contractions, but I could always talk and even walk through them, so we just continued to play Nertz and Yathzee and waited as patiently as possible for little Pumpkin Peters to arrive. </div>
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<b>October 29th</b> I was DONE waiting. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable or tired or any physical angst that had me done. This period of waiting was making me crazy. I just wanted to move on to the next season of our lives. I wanted to meet our precious bundle of joy. Waiting has never been my strong suit, so it didn't matter how "easy" waiting was - I didn't want to do it. I decided I needed to do SOMETHING to make this waiting end (because obviously if I can give myself the illusion of control, then I would feel better).</div>
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We had already been walking 4-6 miles every day. I had eaten spicy food - well as spicy as I could handle. So now it was time to try something new. Did you know that on breast pumps, there's a warning that says not to use prior to delivery because it can induce labor? Well, I decided to take that as a guideline. Guess who went into labor 5 hours later? </div>
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<b>October 30th 3 AM</b> I couldn't sleep. The pain was different. It felt like everything from my bottom ribs to my hips was being squeezed in an attempt to make it disappear. This was happening 5, 6, 7, then 11, 6, 5, 7 minutes apart, and they all lasted a minute. I laid in bed, heart pounding, for two hours before waking Daniel and my mom. Was this finally it? Was my baby's arrival finally here? Was the waiting finally over?</div>
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<b>October 30th 5 AM </b>I called the nurse and told her my contractions were averaging 7 minutes apart. She told me to take a bath in hot water. Taking a bath would help the contractions be the same amount of time apart, or they would become further apart, or they would stay the same (what other options there were for what the contractions would do, I don't know). So I took a bath. The contractions didn't change, so I called back. </div>
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<b>October 30th 6 AM</b> She said if I was actually in labor, my contractions would be 10 minutes apart for an hour. Then, they would be 7 minutes apart for an hour. Then, they would be 5 minutes apart for an hour. THEN, I could come into the hospital. She told me if the contractions didn't change by the time the OBGYN opened to call and see if someone could see me. </div>
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<b>October 30th 8 AM </b>The contractions had spaced out to 10, 12, 14, 10 minutes apart, so Daniel went to work, and I assumed I wasn't in labor. </div>
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At this point, I was exhausted so I laid down for 2 hours, waking up every 10-20 minutes with a minute long contraction. My mom and I continued to play games and watch Desperate Housewives, still keeping track of these contractions that were never more than 20 minutes apart. </div>
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<b>October 30th 11 PM </b>Suddenly, the contractions were taking my breath away, and they were 3 and a half minutes apart. My mom insisted that I call the nurse, but I was convinced these still weren't real, so I took a bath. After 30 minutes in the hot water, they were still exactly 3 and a half minutes apart, so I called the nurse. </div>
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She told me she wanted me to come to the hospital immediately. On the drive over to the hospital, I began to panic slightly. After crying because I realized our baby would be born on Halloween (I don't know why I was so upset about that, but I was), I kept repeating "we should've gone sooner." </div>
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<b>October 31st 12:45 AM </b>We pulled into the hospital, and they took me up to triage.</div>
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Although I was certainly having to breathe through the contractions, I felt relatively calm once we were in the care of the nurses. At least we were in the hospital. She would tell me this wasn't real labor, and I would go home to wait for the induction scheduled for November 5th. She took all my vitals and the baby's heart rate, and she said although I had a slightly elevated blood pressure that all was well, but she would still check my dilation.</div>
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NOW, for those of you who don't know, labor is basically 3 stages. 0-5 centimeters is early labor. 6-9 is active labor. 10 is delivery. My mom always delivered within an hour once she hit 5 centimeters. I was 6 centimeters dilated. The doctor came into triage after that and told me that I could receive IV drugs up to 7 centimeters (not a lot of time to decide), but I could receive the epidural as long as I wasn't pushing, and I could sit still for it. </div>
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<b>October 31st 1:30 AM </b>I was in shock. I was actually in labor this time! Our baby was coming <u>today</u>! We got to the labor and delivery room to wait. </div>
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<b>October 31st 3 AM</b> The nurse said I was 8 centimeters dilated, too late for IV drugs. I was ok though. I could do this. I was a little nervous about the requirement to sit still for the epidural - not that I was going to get one. No one told me that you get the shakes when you're in labor. At one point, they were making Daniel pretty nervous, saying it looked like I was having a seizure.</div>
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<b>October 31st 5 AM</b> The nurse said we were going to try a few different labor positions to speed along the process. I remember thinking that this was already happening pretty fast. I hadn't thought I was in labor until 6 hours ago, and it was already almost over. The first position she had me try was fine. I inhaled and exhaled to the mantra: I am strong. Inhale. I can do this. Exhale. I am strong. Inhale. I can do this. Exhale. Then, she turned me on my side, and everything changed. </div>
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She had placed a peanut-shaped exercise ball between my knees and pain radiated through my hips as I could feel my body widening. The mantra was not working. I was suddenly struck with the fear that I <i>couldn't</i> actually do this. I was <i>weak</i> not strong. I clutched the rail of the bed and was shaking so much the bed was shaking with me. Then, I started throwing up. I was panicking. If this is what I felt like now, what was pushing going to feel like? How much longer could I <i>really</i> do this? What if I freaked out so much that I caused complications? Or just flat out died? I kept saying "I don't want to do this anymore" (which now makes me laugh). I started thinking about that epidural and why I hadn't wanted it. There were 3 reasons I didn't want the epidural:</div>
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1) I didn't want to slow down labor (but now I was almost done right?)</div>
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2) I was freaked out about not being able to feel my legs (I would have been happy not to feel any part of my body at this point)</div>
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3) Pride (THAT was a stupid reason)</div>
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So I requested the epidural, and the nurse let me move back into a less painful position and pumped the necessary fluids in me. It would take 40 minutes. I just had to make it through 40 more minutes. </div>
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<b>October 31st 6 AM </b>As the time crept past, I continued to be in pain, but I was calmer. When the anesthesiologist came in, he had me sit on the edge of the bed, and the contractions suddenly felt lower. I kept telling here "They're different. They're different." What if I had waited too long for the epidural? The nurse decided to check me in case it was time to push. I was 9 centimeters. It wasn't too late yet, but it was now or never for the epidural. I got back in position, and the anesthesiologist said "This may hurt." I don't know if I laughed out loud or not, but I thought that was hilarious. There was no way a needle in my back could hurt more than what I was experiencing right now.</div>
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<b>October 31st 7 AM </b>It would take another 40 minutes for the epidural to kick in, and man did I feel better after that! Sure I couldn't move my left leg (I could move my right almost the whole time even though I didn't have feeling in it), but I was calm again. Daniel commented at one time that I seemed like a whole new person...naturally because I wasn't in excruciating pain. The doctor came in and said I was 10 centimeters and descending. They were getting ready to change shifts, and the new doctor would come see me soon because the baby would be coming soon. Somehow it was almost time, but it didn't feel real. I wasn't about to have a baby. This wasn't actually happening right now was it?</div>
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<b>October 31st 9:45 AM </b>I still hadn't met the new doctor, and the nurses all came in. "It's time to have a baby" they told me. I couldn't believe it. Were they sure? No one had even checked me. How did labor even work if I couldn't feel anything? Where was the doctor? They assured me pushing could take 2 hours, and the doctor would be here soon. They had me get into a crunch position and start pushing. The doctor came in after the first push. After the second push, they had me feel the baby's head. Two pushes later, the doctor said to reach down and take my baby by the shoulders and pull her onto my belly. </div>
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<b>October 31st 10:29 AM </b>Just like that, Diana Maria Peters was here, screaming, picking up her head, here. I couldn't stop crying. She was so familiar and so strange at the same time. She was beautiful and frightening. Six pounds eleven ounces and nineteen inches long. She was here. The waiting was finally over.</div>
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This moment I had waited so long for happened so fast. Now that she's been here for a full month, and advent is right around the corner, I can't help but realize that this whole experience was like an advent for me. I'm also struck by how quickly the time has passed. How often do we live our lives waiting for the next thing to happen and when "the next thing" finally does, it seems to pass quickly and suddenly we're surprised to be in a new stage of life? The now is not something to take lightly or take advantage of. One day, Christ will arrive, and we must not be drowsy in the meantime. During this advent (both seasonally and our time on earth), we must embrace the present and live our lives fully appreciating the now because soon the moment will pass, and there will be a new moment, a new season, a new reality God is asking us to appreciate. </div>
Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-9918147836659280972018-10-10T11:31:00.002-04:002018-10-10T11:31:44.960-04:00The Calm Between StormsIt's ironic how sometimes the world around us reflects what's going on with us personally. Hurricane Michael is approaching the southern United States only about a month after Hurricane Florence, and I started thinking about how often life can feel like the recouping or waiting in between storms. <div>
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This past weekend, I had this miniature freak out because I thought my water might have broken, but I wasn't sure. I was having a LOT more contractions than I had been previously, but they were never consistent and didn't get stronger. Daniel and I scrambled around the apartment to finish washing what needed to be washed, and we frantically packed our hospital bag and cleaned the kitchen in case we were going to the hospital tonight. Even though what I was experiencing was very different from what I had experienced before, I wasn't sure if it was labor or not, and I REALLY didn't want to become someone who shows up at the hospital weekly asking if I was in labor.</div>
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Daniel and I called the 24/7 nurse, and she walked us through some things to test if it really was my water that had broken. So after talking to her and testing it out, I told myself it wasn't actually labor. I told myself that the instructors had to be right. I would KNOW when I go into labor...right? </div>
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Yet the insecurity continued in waves just as the contractions did, and I called Monday morning to go in to the doctor just be sure. The doctor probably already knows that I'm crazy, so who cares if I go in, and they say I'm being ridiculous. It's better than going through the whole affair of going to the hospital. </div>
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Of course, the doctor checked and said everything I was experiencing was normal for this stage of pregnancy. His reassurance that I was not going into labor right now - and that coming in to check was also totally normal - was incredibly consoling (even though I am so done with being pregnant). It may only be a few days since then, but the peace that has settled in with the knowledge that I really will know when it's time has been a huge relief. I can't believe it's already Wednesday, and I'll be 38 weeks in less than 48 hours. Time is flying!</div>
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So here I am sipping my apple cider tea, editing my novel, and keeping up with the housework just getting to truly relax until it's time for our little Pumpkin to arrive! Rather than dreading this second storm, I'm cozying into my husband's arms and our little apartment enjoying our life and looking into the future with content appreciation for the present moment.</div>
Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-26615241236291832982018-10-03T14:00:00.001-04:002018-10-03T14:00:44.023-04:00Brewing and BoomingAside from the morning sickness in the first trimester, this has been a relatively physically easy pregnancy. As we were going to all of these classes and learning about labor and delivery, I remember thinking to myself, <i>Jeez, I wonder if I'll hit the point where I'll actually WANT to go through labor and delivery because the pregnancy will be uncomfortable...What if the pregnancy continues to go so smoothly that when it's time, I'm like "it's ok, baby, you don't have to come out." </i>Well, no worries, Amanda, you will be done with pregnancy when it's time!<br />
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I will be full term on Friday! How crazy is that? It seems like it was just yesterday that I was drinking martinis with Sarah and my husband as we gazed out at Boston from the fortieth-something floor wondering if my negative pregnancy test was wrong. Now we're 3 short weeks from my due date. Short weeks. Ha. NO.<br />
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Although time has passed relatively quickly (thank you God for filling my calendar), I often find myself checking my phone or a calendar throughout the day recounting and reanalyzing how far the due date is because, y'all, pregnancy is uncomfortable. I've been having fake contractions pretty much every day for the past two weeks (along with less pleasant no-need-to-be-public symptoms). It's exhausting.<br />
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It's not just exhausting physically though. Every time I get more than one fake contraction in an hour, I grab my phone and start recording how far apart they are until they stop. I'm not sure if I'm driving Daniel crazy yet, but I'm starting to drive myself crazy. I know that most first children come late. I <i>know </i>that. I know that I have no particular reason to think the baby will come early. I <i>know</i> that. Still, I don't know if it's paranoid impatience or mother's intuition - it's definitely the first, but hopefully it's also the second, so I can stop feeling like a crazy person - but I feel like the baby will come early. I can't help my gut...but I have no way of knowing, until that moment when it finally happens, if I'm right or not.<br />
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In the meantime, thanks to an INGENIOUS friend of mine, I have several clients for Writing Right! I am very near to making back Daniel and my initial investment, and I am incredibly relieved by that. Hopefully it'll continue into a profit that will at least cover diapers. :)<br />
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I was originally worried that editing and tutoring would be difficult because it would be different from teaching, but I have been relieved to find that it still comes naturally, and I really enjoy it. It's been an excellent distraction, a huge mood booster, and the best reminder that with a little trust and faith in God, myself, and those who love me, everything will be just fine.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-62424487420082384342018-09-26T13:21:00.001-04:002018-09-26T13:21:18.605-04:00A Changing PerspectiveUp until this past week, the reality of how Daniel and my lives is about to change was incredibly unnerving. Thoughts about how our day-to-day lives would change, my increasing exhaustion and laziness, and the...discomfort of actually going through labor and delivery permeated my dreams and thoughts throughout the day. Tomorrow Daniel and I have our last class together at the hospital to prepare for the baby, and I have to say these classes have been key in changing my perspective on the upcoming birth of our child.<br />
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At first, some of the classes only freaked me out more as they showed videos and images involving labor and giving birth. My dreams at night quickly became quite uncomfortable and graphic. That all started to change this past weekend as Daniel and I went to some of our final classes.<br />
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In 24 hours, Daniel and I attended a class on breastfeeding, a class on labor support, and a tour of the maternity ward. I'll admit the tour of the maternity ward definitely put me on edge. I was suddenly able to picture with clarity where I would be and what I would be doing in the next month or so. While it was incredibly helpful, and now I feel better, the other two classes were much more comforting.<br />
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Breastfeeding is a huge mystery to me. For two reasons. 1) I have never done ANYTHING like that before...obviously. 2) It's not just a momentary thing. It goes on for a significant amount of time and is about to become part of my daily routine. This class did a fantastic job of taking away some of the mystery and making me feel like it's not going to be a terrifying, painful, or foreign experience.<br />
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Finally, our labor and support class is really what got me. They took us through different positions and techniques to minimize pain whether you are getting an epidural or not. Then, they let us actually practice at stations with our partners. Being able to go through these motions and feel like we were filling our repertoire with ideas of how to cope comforted me. Additionally, experiencing how intuitively Daniel and I could work together to ease aches and pains that are already present (believe me...) was phenomenal. It was definitely the first time that I left that hospital, hand-in-hand with my husband, thinking "we <i>totally </i>got this."<br />
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This altered mentality began infecting my dreams and my daily mood. I actually had a dream about labor and delivery that involved laughter and smiles (too optimistic?...who knows? Daniel's got a great sense of humor). Additionally, for the first time, I had a dream where I saw my baby's face. I've never generated an image of him/her before, and it was fascinating to feel that rush of excitement that has been so desperately sparse during the past several months. This new attitude trickled into my waking hours as I finally put together the rest of the baby's room and suddenly had this desperate need to clean and prep as much as physically possible because it's really starting to hit me that we're going to have a <i>baby</i> here!<br />
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I don't know if that's everyone's experience with their delivery preparatory classes, but I have been incredibly pleased with everything we've experienced so far. Hopefully, it only continues as the time comes closer to an end!Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-53656127997647871992018-09-19T14:41:00.001-04:002018-09-19T14:41:37.498-04:00Shared InterestWhen getting married, people often give the engaged couple advice. One of the pieces of advice we got was to find common interests and spend time together doing those things. Learning something new is often exciting in its own way, but learning something new that your spouse is interested in is even more rewarding. Daniel and I have very different interests, but it has been really fun experimenting with each other's interests and trying to make them our own. <div>
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It's fairly well known that Daniel enjoys PC gaming. He's particularly played League of Legends and World of Warcraft. I tried to play League of Legends for a while, but it didn't quite click for me. It was difficult to navigate through the different skills of the different characters. Additionally, it was a little more repetitive than I enjoyed. The main objective is to simply kill the other team and their turrets before they took down yours. Naturally, there are more intricacies to the game than that, but it can be broken down to that general objective, and it just didn't quite capture my interest in itself. I was just playing because it was something to do with Daniel. </div>
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So then we moved on to World of Warcraft. World of Warcraft had an extensive story line and one single character's set of skills to learn as you progressed through the story. This was much more to my liking and general ability. At first, it was just fun to play with Daniel, to see him get excited about us playing together, to have him teach me about one of his passions. It was a way for us to spend time together and for him to play the game he loved. </div>
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It started off just something I liked to play with him, but the more time we spent playing together, the more I came to enjoy it for its own sake as well. Before Daniel, I didn't really know that PC gaming was a thing. Now here I am sometimes playing on my own, caring about how to maximize my DPS, and still enjoying spending time with the man I love. </div>
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If you haven't tried picking up a hobby that someone you love enjoys, give it a shot! You never know what you might find yourself enjoying. I've certainly been pleasantly surprised. </div>
Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-34015067397758761812018-09-12T12:44:00.001-04:002018-09-12T12:44:28.517-04:00Jordan Peterson Lecture: A Great DateOn Monday, Daniel and I went to a lecture in Durham given by Clinical Psychologist Dr. Jordan B. Peterson. Grateful that I had agreed to drive 2+ hours on a weeknight to go with him, Daniel turned the whole evening into a date. He found a wonderful brewery and burgers place in downtown Durham for dinner. (They had some of the BEST homemade icecream I've ever had). Then, we walked around the American Tobacco Campus before the event started in the DPAC. It was really neat to be in another city - especially one that had so much brick architecture to look at.<br />
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I think one of the things that made the date special was the fact that we were able to intellectually engage in something complex. Now that college is over, lectures and intellectual events simply aren't at the top of our to do list anymore. Going to this lecture brought up a lot of really interesting topics to discuss - especially since it seemed the majority of Dr. Peterson's lecture was about child development and literature. (It's like he knew I was going to be there).<br />
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There were a few things in particular that really stirred up conversation between us.<br />
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One of the things that Daniel and I agree was the most interesting was when Dr. Peterson discussed the destructive consequences of punishing someone for their virtues. For example, he discussed how there are young men who go to college with the ambition to work hard and contribute their talents to the world, yet they are often implicitly told at these institutions or by their classmates that if they succeed in doing so, they are complicit in the tyrannical patriarchy. So ambition and a strong work ethic - which are normally positive traits - are suddenly undesirable because they would place the person in a position of oppression or marginalization of someone else.<br />
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I thought that was really interesting to put in the context of relationships with people in our family as well as Daniel and my situation. We got married and are having a baby before 25. People who criticize with words like "Are you sure you want to commit to someone for the rest of your life? You're only 23" are doing this very thing that Dr. Peterson discusses. Commitment is a positive trait, yet in this person's criticism, it sounds like a negative thing. "Are you sure you want to be responsible for a child at your age?" Again, responsibility - a positive trait - is viewed here as irrational. I'd never given too much thought to what this kind of comment can do psychologically. Just goes to show the importance of how we phrase things both syntactically and with our word choice. Your words should match your meaning. ;)<br />
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Another thing I thought was fascinating was the way Dr. Peterson connected pretend play to the entertainment industry - especially literature. He talked about how we watch people's behavior around us and then abstractly create scenarios to learn what is acceptable or probable behavior given those scenarios. He specifically broke down relatable literature and entertainment to having 6 main components.<br />
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1 & 2) A benevolent vs malicious depiction of <b>order </b>(often a male role).<br />
3 & 4) A positive experience of <b>chaos/nature</b> (experiencing new things, change etc.) vs destructive nature/chaos (often a female role).<br />
5 & 6) An <b>internal struggle </b>of the hero/antihero between what is good and what is evil.<br />
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I had never viewed stories this way as an external balance of order and chaos alongside the internal balance of good and evil. It was really fascinating to look at my own fictional writing through that lens.<br />
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There was so much more he talked about, but those were the two topics that stirred the most conversation on our drive back to Charlotte. It's funny because Daniel kept thanking me for coming with him to the lecture, but all I kept thinking was how grateful <i>I</i> was that he had orchestrated the whole thing.<br />
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Of course, just because God is who God is, as we walked through the parking garage, mutually thanking each other for the time together, "We Belong Together" by Mariah Carey came on. I couldn't help but stop when I realized it was playing and just stared at him. That's been our song since 2012, and I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming surge of love and appreciation for the journey we've been able to embark on together so far as well as the future laid out before us by the grace of God. It's funny how this little reminder of our early time together as eager students made me appreciate where we are now - both as a couple and as individuals - even more.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-28935351803573761092018-09-05T16:00:00.000-04:002018-09-05T16:00:10.886-04:00Initial ThoughtsStarting this writing business has been an interesting experience for me. Although we've only been in business for about 2 weeks, it seems like it's been longer. It reminds me a lot of how I felt after getting married. The idea, the concept, had been in my mind for a long time which made it seem like a lot of time had passed despite the fact that it had not.<br />
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Just like when I got married, I've learned a lot in a short amount of time.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>One of the most interesting things I've realized is that how this business goes is completely up to me. I get to set my expectations. I get to not only have my own ideas but to execute them. There's no supervisor I have to check with, no partner I'm required to convince. It's all up to me. There's something liberating about that. Between that realization and people interjecting their own ideas, I've come to realize what it is that I want.<br />
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It's funny really. Despite the challenge of these past two years, I've discovered that I want to teach. That's actually the objective of this business. I'm not in it for the money ore resume building. I would much rather know that I'm able to help people become better writers, more confident writers, more passionate writers than to know that I've brought in a 6 figure income for the year.<br />
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In fact, I really don't expect to make 6 figures. My audience is your average college student after all. Plus, right now, it's just me. I don't have a team of editors to evaluate papers, tutor, or help me get more clients. If money was the point, then I'm certainly off to a bad start.<br />
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Instead, I want to build a community of people who appreciate the importance of writing often and well. I want to build awareness of the intense disservice we do our society by neglecting a writing education. Even the writing education that's out there is too structured. Sure everyone needs some sort of structure to start out, but how easy is it to regress into some version of the 5 paragraph essay rather than just develop an idea fully? It takes so much of the creativity out of writing because no one ever pushes us to go further than that. We often aren't encouraged to push our minds and be open to letting an idea unfold on paper - to just see where it goes and <i>then</i> edit into the necessary structure. I think we could learn a lot about ourselves and whatever idea we're exploring if we wrote with this freedom and intensity more often.<br />
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I love writing. I should be writing more - everyday at least. It makes me happier, more contemplative, more engaged in my day and the present moment. I think if more people viewed writing as an adventure or a tool for self-growth and effective communication or an opportunity to expand and express creativity, we would be a stronger society. Stronger intellectually, creatively, and how we relate to one another.<br />
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Developing this purpose and passion in my mind has been much more interesting and helpful than anything else I've done for the business in the past two weeks.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-41258048983744890862018-08-30T00:00:00.000-04:002018-08-30T00:00:05.259-04:00Temporary vs PermanentIt's always really interesting to me when someone takes a concept or idea that you've always known but never articulated intentionally in thought or word and makes you see it in a clearer way. I love those "huh, why didn't I think of that?" moments. I especially love when people are able to do that with faith or relationships because these are two areas that I'm supremely intrigued by, that are ever-changing, and as I time passes, that I feel I know less and less about.<br />
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On Sunday, Father Pat's homily was about commitment. He talked about how God has fully committed Himself to us through the Incarnation and His presence in the Holy Eucharist. I was definitely interested in this phrasing because it's a lot like what I talked about a few weeks ago with God never giving up on us. After explaining how God has committed Himself to us, Father talked about how we are called to show God the same kind of love that God shows us.<br />
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While I've often pondered on my love for God and what that means and looks like, I've never really thought about my <i>commitment </i>to God. After giving some thought, I realized that not only was it the phrasing that caught my attention, but it also intrigued me because of how last week went for me personally.<br />
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Pregnancy hormones are crazy, y'all. I was so anxious last week - about anything and everything that popped into my brain. Now, while my life has changed drastically in the past few months, I kept telling myself this change, this anxiety, this (insert issue here) was all temporary. "This too shall pass." However, one of the repeating themes was: what if these feelings don't change?. What if I am more pessimistic now? What if this anxiety isn't temporary at all, but permanent?<br />
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You see, for a while, I kept assuring myself that I would feel differently once I was married, once the baby was born, once I finished my novel etc. Slowly, I started to realize that these events didn't seem to have as drastic of an effect as I anticipated. I didn't suddenly feel "better" or "happier" or whatever positive/affirmative <i>feeling</i> I was looking for. I couldn't really articulate it at the time, but I was really looking for a deep sense of purpose and fulfillment that wouldn't change as quickly as my life was changing.<br />
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So Father Pat's homily got me thinking. What if the reason that I seem to be stuck or constantly slipping into this pessimistic anxiety is because I'm focusing on all of these temporary things?<br />
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First of all f<i>eelings</i> themselves are certainly temporary. Then, if I take a deeper look at the things that I was expecting to create some sort of drastic change, they're also somewhat temporary. A wedding only takes place in the span of a few hours. A baby being born only takes 9 months. Sure, both of these things will create relationships and sacraments that last a lifetime, but in reality, that lifetime ends. Everyone dies right? So does that mean that my positive feelings and the things that I'm trying to latch my identity and purpose to are solely dependent on someone or something that could potentially be gone tomorrow? <br />
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Then what?<br />
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Because the thing is, we have an existence that far exceeds this lifetime. While that often freaks me out due to my desire to control as much as I can, it also means that I should be staking my identity, my purpose, my emotions, on the things that are not temporary. That requires commitment. Specifically commitment to God. He is the only thing, person, etc., that will not leave or change through my entire existence. So why am I trying to grasp so firmly to things and people that are gifts for now when I could be firmly attaching myself to the God who has granted me them?<br />
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Now obviously, there has to be a balance. My vocation after all is to my husband and my children. But I think that when fleeting feelings spring up, if I can remember that my vocation is for God, I will find that my purpose and fulfillment will not waver. It's interesting how intentionally shifting my focus to "committing" myself to God has already started making all of these other parts of my life much more fulfilling and full of purpose.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-51705443237471745812018-08-23T00:00:00.000-04:002018-08-23T00:00:11.564-04:00Baby StepsBaby will be here in less than10 weeks, people. TEN WEEKS. How? It's crazy how fast time has seemed to fly by. I guess I'm getting my first taste of when parents make comments about blinking and their kids are suddenly 18. This looming due date has definitely put living in the present more in perspective for me.<br />
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As I referenced in my last post, deciding to "start" or "not quit" right now only has to be about the present moment, and even though I have been motivated since last week to make that a reality, it's still been a hard balance. After all, I am making another person right now. That must mean I do need the 12 hours of sleep I'm craving right? And the bowl of ice cream? And just ONE more episode of ER? (Because you know it always stops after "just one more").<br />
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Despite these many digressions, it's definitely been a week of little victories. I'm currently wrapping up my lifetime project of a novel that I started in 4th grade. Tomorrow (or I guess today for those of you reading) should be the last day of writing "draft one" before my 6 week hiatus as prescribed by Stephen King in <i>On Writing.</i> No worries though, I will still be blogging and finishing two of my current short stories before writing one new one in this break before draft two.<br />
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I'm getting ready to launch an editing business that has been on the back burner for the past year. In this past week, I have updated my website, set up a plan of action with my school representatives, solidified my services, created a Facebook page, and tomorrow(/today) I will be doing a brief Facebook Live officially announcing the launch of the business.<br />
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Finally, I have been continuing to prepare my home and body for the birth of this little baby through scheduling a cleaning routine, going for shorter but more frequent walks, continuing to be on the phone with Amazon about the things from our registry that were missing/broken/lost, etc. (DO NOT do a registry with Amazon. Seriously biggest mistake/headache/disaster I have <i>ever</i> had to deal with...so far).<br />
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Although these may seem like little things - and really if you think about how many waking hours I've had in the past 7 days to get things done, it becomes clear how much more I could have done - they are still victories.<br />
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These victories made me think of two things. 1) Baby steps! Not just the metaphorical ones that I've been taking this week, but the ones that our little one will be taking soon enough. When babies are learning to walk, they don't really seem to notice how often they fall. They certainly don't seem to care very much at all, and they just keep smiling. The reason they smile is because they are often gazing into a face of unconditional love that stares straight back at them.<br />
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Which got me thinking of 2) God. I once heard a priest say that he doesn't give spiritual direction because he believes that God speaks to us through other people in our life. These people we often dismiss as human/biased support rather than divine support. Although I did not appreciate this priest's thoughts during that time and context, it has stuck with me four years later. Why? Well clearly I needed to hear it. It's ok to lean on the people God has blessed me with. The thing with leaning though, is I can't be mad at these people because I'm not leaning on them. I'm the one that has to do the leaning! They can't support me if I don't first take that vulnerable action. Yes. It seems that leaning on others is in fact an action. I cannot continue to stand on my own to feet and complain that no one is supporting me. I need to ask other people to hold me accountable and to support me when I need it, but as the parents of my students used to say: Closed mouths don't get fed! I have to speak up. I have to be explicit. I can't sit in silent irritation when other people can't seem to read my mind.<br />
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So here we are week 2 of this motivation high realizing that baby steps are still steps and worth celebrating, and I must have the humility to lean on both the people God has blessed me with as well as God Himself if I am to succeed at my current endeavors. What have your baby steps been this week?Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-49419879254462748842018-08-16T00:00:00.000-04:002018-08-16T00:00:02.009-04:00Now What?I have always considered myself a well-disciplined person. I've never been one of those last minute paper writers. I've never put off what could be done today for tomorrow. I'm choleric for crying out loud. When something pops into my head, I want to get it done as soon as possible.<br />
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Until recently that is.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>I have been shocked by how difficult it has been to set my own schedule. It's crazy. When you are the only person holding yourself accountable, it's so much easier to give yourself excuses. I would never have told my professor that I didn't write a paper because I was tired. I would never have told my boss I was late because I felt like watching one more episode. Why am I so willing to except those excuses from myself? I certainly wouldn't have accepted them from my students or from Daniel. Why can't I hold myself to that same standard? It's really made me start doing some reflection on both myself and quitting.<br />
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If I can meet deadlines for other people, why can't I meet them for myself? I am happier when I meet my goals and get things done. So why don't I? I'm not talking about my to-do list of chores. For some reason, those things are easy to do. It's the things that I love doing - the things that actually make me happy: writing, reading, calling up a family member or friend, working out that I seem to skip out on.<br />
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When Daniel and I decided I would stay home with the baby, I was beyond thrilled. I made huge plans! I would go to daily Mass. I would work out every day. I would finish that dang novel. I would get myself published. Hell, maybe I'd start a business. None of those things have really been happening, but why?<br />
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I'm still not entirely sure about why I seem to let myself down like this, but I don't need to completely understand why the problem exists to change the problem. I think one of the things I really need to start with is this blog. There were so many times I said I was going to start blogging on a regular basis.<br />
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I think what's interesting is that the <i>idea </i>of sitting down to write is a bigger problem than actually getting words down on paper. Anyone who spends more than 15 minutes with me knows that I can word vomit really easily. I don't have a problem getting words out. I mean goodness, I had no idea what I was going to write about today except the title until I actually typed out the title. Once that was down, everything else just appeared in front of my eyes. It's just actually putting the pen to the paper (or I guess fingers to keys). Once that first step is taken, I'm always surprised by how easily the words appear.<br />
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I think really the problem is fear. Fear that I'll quit. Fear that I'll be terrible at this. Fear that I'll be repetitive. Fear that what I'm saying is insignificant. Now as I'm writing, I can feel the pride seeping through my words. (I'll deal with the other fears in a later blog.) Of course I'm going to quit. I have quit...multiple times. I probably will at some point again...except this blog means I didn't quit. Because I am sitting back down and writing, that "quit" transforms into a "break." If I don't come back, then I am quitting by refusing to restart.<br />
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Truly quitting can be such an easy decision. I recently had a conversation with a friend about a moment and situation in this past year when I threw my hands up in the air and said, "Fine. I give up. I've tried, and now I'm done trying."<br />
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It's not very often that I have a moment when God very clearly speaks to me, but this was one. It was so clear. So simple. Just "No." This small but intense moment reminded me that God never gives up on us. No matter how many times we may give Him reason to throw in the towel. If we're called to love as God loves - to truly imitate His image - this includes His stubborn determination.<br />
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I will probably take a break from the things that are important. The things that make me happy, the things that make me holy, the things that make me better. That doesn't mean I have to quit though. I can start typing again. I can get to the car or the gym today - even if I don't go tomorrow. There's no need to worry about whether or not I will do it tomorrow or next week. The point is that I decide today - right now- to restart. So no matter how many times I have to restart, so be it. I will not quit.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-3212781737366598732018-08-14T02:17:00.000-04:002018-08-14T02:17:39.197-04:00Early Morning RantI can't sleep. One of the many perks of this whole pregnancy thing. Naturally, as my due date draws nearer, and I'm settling into my new life, I can <i>never</i> get my brain to shut up.<br />
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I thought pregnancy was supposed to be beautiful. That I was supposed to feel beautiful. I thought pregnancy was this precious, joyful, optimistic time full of rainbows and butterflies. Before, I thought pregnancy was all smiles and happy moments preparing for this little baby to grace us with blessings and unparalleled joy.<br />
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Pregnancy is so not what I expected.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Pregnancy is miserable. I am miserable. I don't feel beautiful. I feel like a rotten potato.<br />
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The insomnia is something I'm used to - as is the easy irritability - but aren't there any good parts of myself that get to flourish? All I feel is lazy, exhausted, irritated - really I could go on, but I'll sum it up by saying I feel like all of the worst parts of myself have exploded and I'm now walking around like the Hulk, and I can't revert back to Banner.<br />
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This isn't what pregnancy was supposed to be like. Was it? I thought being pregnant somehow made you into this glorious better more virtuous person. Did I take this common miracle and turn it into something so magnificent that the reality will never quite live up to it? What if I find that parenting is the same? Or family life in general? I just can't shake the feeling that none of it could ever live up to the fantasy I created in my mind.<br />
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My pre-pregnancy self (especially my pre-college graduate self) would face this insanity with my three quick cures: make a list of to-dos to get it out of my head and on paper, read a book to clear my mind and fill it with someone else's fake problems, and pray to remind me where my peace place is. Then, I would be completely consoled. I would feel back in control of myself, my trust back in God, and my mind clear.<br />
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But now, even if I could muster the ability to coax myself into these old habits to temporarily cure my over-analytic insomniac self, it doesn't help. Then it turns into this vicious cycle where all I'm doing is staying up all night and watching TV all day because I'm too exhausted and irritated at being exhausted and nauseous from not sleeping to do anything else. So here I am at 2 AM. Irritated as all get out. Figuring I'll just spout out to the universe this random stream-of-consciousness in hopes that it'll somehow make me feel better to see all this actually down on paper and maybe - just maybe - I'll get to sleep before the alarm goes off at 6:15. <br />
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You know what I keep wondering? How is parenting going to be any better? Then, the kid will actually be here. I mean I get that the kid is real and here now, but I'm giving birth to this child in like 11 weeks, and it STILL doesn't feel real. How is that? <i>STILL. </i>In just 11 weeks, some tiny stranger will be permanently in our lives constantly needing love and attention. What if that only ensures this irritated lazy insomniac permanently takes up residence in my body? ...poor Daniel...<br />
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I'm sure I'll fell better later today (seeing as it's 2 AM) when/if I can muster the ability to get to the gym and take a long cleansing shower, but dang. This part of pregnancy sucks. It's certainly not all rainbows and butterflies. It's vomit, nausea, finding fault in everyone and everything around me, feeling like a potato, etc etc etc.<br />
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OK, Amanda, think positive. Allyson took some nice pictures. Other people are being awfully nice to me, and I certainly don't deserve it. I have the perfect excuse to eat ice cream whenever I want (unless that makes me a bad mother because I really should be eating broccoli or something?). There's a lot of really cute baby stuff sitting just on the other side of this wall I could go look at. I guess the baby incessantly kicking and moving around and punching my bladder and stomach is...neat...or at least interesting/entertaining...when I'm not throwing up because of it...I don't know y'all.<br />
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Really though this whole thing just makes me laugh. I feel ridiculous 90% of the time. No, I know I'm being ridiculous like 100% of the time. I feel insane. Legit. These hormones got me feeling cray. Or maybe it's the fact that it's 2 AM. Or both. Ok. I should stop now...I'd say I'm going to go to bed, but what good would that do me? I don't even know if I should post this. Lol. Ok I feel a little better. Maybe it'll make somebody else laugh. I think I'll go watch kitten or puppy videos now. Would've been so much easier to get a dog. Ok goodbye.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-19663125532227538042018-05-03T00:00:00.000-04:002018-05-03T00:00:08.305-04:00The Fear of WaitingThe night before a huge event that you know is coming can be filled with a lot emotion. I remember so many nights before Christmas staying up whispering to my cousins as we tried to hear Reindeer and Sleighbells. The night before any first day of school was always alive with anticipation - good and bad - as I awaited the new adventures, stories, friends, struggles that the year would bring. The night before I went back to teaching after being gone for five weeks was like that. I think I slept two hours, my mind riddled with anxiety. Would I throw up? Would I be exhausted - who am I kidding - How exhausted would I be? What if there was a fight? What if there was another threat to the school? etc. etc. <div>
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When I rolled out of bed the next morning, I was pretty mad at myself. If I could have <i>just</i> shut up my brain for like 30 minutes, maybe I would have gone straight to sleep. Maybe I would've even gotten good sleep! Now, I would never know, and the thirty minutes between waking and walking out the door were over in the blink of an eye.</div>
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I had done little to prepare for the school week other than read the text my kids would be studying and preparing a slideshow for Monday's vocabulary lesson. I was supposed to be formally observed this week because I had missed the observation schedule. I kept reminding myself that I had already resigned. I didn't actually care how the observation turned out - plus I had been gone for five weeks. She wouldn't expect it to be perfect. If she even came in today.</div>
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I shook the anxieties from my head as I grabbed my backpack and decaf coffee and got out of the car. When I walked into the office, there were a few people who said welcome back, but otherwise I went pretty much unnoticed. I walked past a few of my students who all stopped talking when they saw me. I said good morning, and so did they. It was like I had never left.</div>
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So I went up to my room and got ready for the day like I had been here all along. Friday I had been here. My coteachers came and said hello and welcome back. As the bell rang for the students to enter the school, I took a deep breath. Maybe it would feel like I had never left.</div>
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At this point, I'm going to tangent into a related story. Because I love writing and editing, I often edit my siblings papers in exchange for their undying gratitude and love. The most recent paper I read was about a text called "The Waiting," and this line at the end of the story has lingered with me since I completed editing her paper - especially as I drove home from school that first day back. </div>
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The narrator astutely says "...it is less difficult to endure a frightful happening than to imagine it and endlessly await it..." It was as if the author peered into my soul. When I read this, I remember thinking: <i> Oh my gosh so true. Why have I never put that into words myself? I think I do that pretty much every day. </i>(Hello, over-thinker).</div>
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As I said, when I was driving home after school, I was kicking myself as this line reverberated in my mind. I could've slept. I could have even had happy dreams! Not only were the kids happy to have me back (or at least kind enough not to act otherwise), but I had students from last semester who came to hunt me down and give me a hug, and teachers who I rarely spoke to who stopped me in the hall and asked both how I had been and how my first day back was. </div>
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How often do we give ourselves sleepless nights over things that have yet to come? Why do we dwell in fear? I tend to shoot my trusty "Jesus, I trust in you" up to Heaven which helps for a moment, but I think the consistent fear reveals something so much deeper. At least for me, the more time I have to reflect and actually take a look at myself the more I have found that all of my fears are simply a lack of surrender and trust. God floods the Bible with wonderful tidbits for us to remember about how we have no reason to fear, how we have every reason to trust Him, and yet somehow that human hubris - that need for control and the knowledge that allows for that control - still infects us. </div>
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What's worse now is that I <i>know</i> that's the problem. So now, I just get angry at myself. Anytime fear of childbirth creeps under my skin, I start having this internal telling off. <i>Don't you trust Him? If yes, then just let it go! If no, then get there!</i> I haven't quite had the time or experience to master this one, but perhaps if I keep praying for it, God will grant me the wisdom to truly Let Go of my fear and Let God give me peace.</div>
Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-4059591842557490842018-04-26T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-26T00:00:18.479-04:00A Tribute Reflection<div style="text-align: center;">
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This was an amazing process for me, and I am so grateful to all of you who have followed along and shared my journey. I started out writing it for Raphael and for me, so I could heal, but it turned into so much more, and I have all of you to thank for that.<br />
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Although I wrote the first three posts weeks before they were published, I was slower going writing the remainder of the tribute. As I was writing the fifth post, I realized I should have called it an Easter Tribute. Especially looking at the timing of everything, it matched up really well. Although I was mourning Raphael's death, I was also presented with new hope and new life in my new pregnancy. The biggest difference being that it didn't feel like Easter joy. I didn't feel hopeful. </div>
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On further reflection, I realized that I felt very much the way that the Apostles felt in the Upper Room. Christ was standing resurrected in front of them, but they weren't jumping up and down with joy. There was not laughter in that room. They were trembling. They were frightful which is exactly why Christ's first words to them were "Peace be with you." </div>
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This handful of verses struck my core when I heard them at Mass a few weeks ago. This moment was the past seven months of my life - especially the past month or so. </div>
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Here I was with this new promise, this new joy, before me, but my heart was crippled with fear. Would I miscarry again? Was that round ligament pain, cramps, gas? If I didn't throw up one day, I would wonder: was this the first day my symptoms were disappearing - a sign of another missed miscarriage? Was I eating right? Was it a problem that I lost weight? </div>
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Then, there were the other fears. Why wasn't I joyful? Why didn't I feel a connection to the baby? Would either of those things make Raphael's life mean less? Did this new baby erase what Raphael had meant to me? Could I even have joy with this pregnancy?<br />
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Yes, I have been told I think too much. It's ok. It's ok. I already know.<br />
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My heart was so troubled, and that was what really reaffirmed the nag in my heart to write this tribute. Perhaps through acknowledging and sharing Raphael publicly, I could bring my heart to peace.<br />
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It troubles me how much I (and I think sometimes we) focus on suffering over joy. I mean, why didn't Thomas demand to see Christ's walking, talking, breathing body instead of only being able to identify him by his suffering? My heart clung to the suffering as if that suffering was the only thing that verified and validated Raphael's existence. This fixation on suffering can get to the extreme of robbing us of the truth and hope of the resurrection. Drowning in the real misery of atonement, death, and taking responsibility for the faults that led Christ to his Passion, can blind us to the Good News. The Passion without the Resurrection denies God's great Love and gift to us of Eternal Life. He died for our sins <i>and then</i> restored our ability to be in full communion with Him! His generosity is abounding, and we must not forget that He wants love and communion for eternity - not just our repentance.<br />
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I started this blog to find peace, and while I am not skipping around my apartment belting Wicked at the top of my lungs, I have rediscovered joy. Joy in the knowledge that I will always have a son to intercede for me and my loved ones. Joy in the knowledge that my baby - boy or girl - will always have an older brother looking out for him or her. And let's face it, an entirely pure saint sibling will probably do a pretty good job. Joy in knowing that one day, I will actually get to meet Raphael.<br />
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I don't know that in the midst of the throwing up and utter exhaustion that I have found happiness, but it's second trimester people! While my patience is waning, it's gotten me this far, and I am psyched! I know it's coming. It's ok to have joy and not happiness. It's a sign that I'm letting go of the hurt and giving it up to God to make room for whatever He plans to give me next.<br />
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So as I end this tribute, I have decided two things.<br />
1) I will be praying every Sunday, asking Raphael's intercession for women and families who have miscarried, are having infertility, or are having difficult pregnancies. If you would like to submit any names, I would love to include them. Additionally, if you would care to join me, please feel free. Here's my plan for the prayer:<br />
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Raphael, please hear my plea<br />
As I am here on bended knee,<br />
Whisper into God's own ear<br />
The names that you're about to hear<br />
(Insert names)<br />
May God grant them his mercy and love<br />
A gift of peace from heaven above.<br />
Amen.<br />
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2) Blogging has been really good for me, and no matter how low or high my readership is, I enjoy it, and I have grown from it, so I will be continuing to blog every Thursday. Here is where I come with a request! I am TERRIFIED that I'm going to run out of things to talk about. So, I'm thinking about having about four categories as a springboard to help avoid writers' block. They are Faith, Family, The Everyday, and Entertainment/Literature. If you have other ideas or topic suggestions or just want to pick my brain, please let me know in those comments below!<br />
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Finally, here is that baby bump picture!! Maybe not in the best location, but there will be more to come!<br />
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Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-73501826192418703202018-04-22T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-22T13:07:23.440-04:00A Tribute Part 7<div style="text-align: center;">
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So here we are in part 7. The last piece of the story before the reflection / explanation of how and why I wrote this tribute the way I did. In our timeline, it is 7 months since I found out I was pregnant with Raphael and 7 months from when Daniel and I got married. In reality, it is 7 months since I miscarried. (Well, I guess 7 months from when I'm writing this, not 7 months from when you're reading this - which means it's also 7 weeks since I got that positive pregnancy test). 7 is quite the perfect number isn't? Something so providential and divine about it. </div>
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God is funny that way isn't He? When He give us that little glimpse into how perfectly He can design things? For example, what better way to give hope and honor to Raphael's memory then to give hope and life to our family right around the same time? Would that be His plan? </div>
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Daniel and I finally got to the doctor's office that Friday, and we anxiously waited for them to come in with the results. After what felt like an hour, the nurse came in and handed me this pack of papers with this little picture of a stork carrying a baby on the top. I looked at Daniel and back at her as she started asking me questions and typing on her computer. When there was a break in her interrogation, I said, "Wait. So I am pregnant?" Oh man, you should've seen the look on her face. It clearly read: <i>If you didn't think you were pregnant, why did you come in?</i> Clearly, this woman did not know anything about the past 7 months of our life. Don't they keep that kind of stuff on file? </div>
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She said yes. </div>
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I looked back at Daniel. I was pregnant again. For real this time. Actually pregnant. So immediately, I wanted to know when we would get to see our baby. When the doctor came in, he asked if this was my first pregnancy. I don't get it. Don't doctors keep files on their patients? I feel like miscarriage or false positive should have popped up pretty clearly there. Do they really not even skim files before coming to talk to us? Imagine how much faster appointments would go if they didn't ask <i>exactly</i> the same questions at literally every appointment. I explained that I had miscarried at 10 weeks in September, and the ultrasound at 6 weeks had shown no signs of life. When he asked if I had any indication of miscarriage before the ultrasound, I said no.</div>
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"Great," he said. "We'll schedule your ultrasound for 10 weeks then." </div>
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TEN WEEKS.</div>
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I HAD TO WAIT FIVE - <i>FIVE</i> - WEEKS TO SEE MY BABY?</div>
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Didn't he understand what he was suggesting? What stress he would be putting me under by making me wait? Didn't he realize how I would flinch and stress with every little pain in my abdomen? Didn't he realize how much I would stress about what to do with my job? Didn't he realize how much sleep I would miss?</div>
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God did me a solid though. There is one sure sign that things are working correctly in pregnancy. That's right people. I was throwing up constantly. Let me tell you, it made the decision with work <i>so</i> easy. I needed to take off the first trimester. For sure. I was leaving the classroom about three times each 90 minute block to throw up, and I couldn't bring enough food to compensate for it. I always ran out of food to the point of near delusion by the time I left school at 2:45. It was unhealthy. So, I took off four weeks in addition to Spring Break to take care of myself. I'm technically still an employee of CMS which is why the detailed stories about work have to wait until June 12th when I'm no longer employed by them. </div>
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So, by the time you are reading this, I will be going back to work on Monday. Which means </div>
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little baby Peters is 13 weeks old, and the first trimester is over! Ladies and Gentleman, we are having a baby around October 27th! (This picture was taken on Holy Thursday when baby was only 10 weeks old.)</div>
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I was taking off time from work. I was leaving my students, and I felt they deserved to know why. So, I decided to make the Do Now (which is this warm-up activity students do when they enter a room), to name things the size of a raspberry. When it was time to share, the students were incredibly engaged to the point of shouting out answers. Then, I changed the slide to this picture from the bump.com: </div>
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I said "You know what else is the size of a raspberry? Mrs. Peters' baby." </div>
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In every class, it happened the same way. One student would shout or scream "You're pregnant!?" and the class would erupt. Their joy and excitement was so vibrant that security actually came to my second block because they thought there was a riot in my classroom. That was a wonderful moment with my students. Their joy and support through the rest of class that day reminded me that joy should be a part of my pregnancy - hopefully as I rested and the throwing up eased I would feel it too right?</div>
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Y'all, there is so much more to say. So much more about the journey, but I've been waiting so long to share this, and I think just like with Raphael, I'm going to leave the joy here. We're having a baby. I've known for 8 weeks, and I still can't believe it.</div>
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Thank you to those of you who have been there since August and those of you who have reached out to Daniel or I in the past nine months whether you knew about either pregnancy or not, having all of you around made God's presence and embrace that much clearer through the joys and the sorrows. </div>
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I also want to thank in a special way those of you who have been following along via blog: those of you who didn't know about Raphael until his would-be-birthday. Thank you for reading. Thank you for reaching out to Daniel or I with your thoughts and prayers. There is no greater reward for a writer than to know that you have impacted someone else with the way you organized a series of funky black shapes on a screen. I wanted you to be the first publicly privy to our good news because I appreciate your readership.</div>
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Tune in on Thursday April 26th for a baby bump picture and the details of what led me to announcing the baby's birth this way!</div>
Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-4100633337785149682018-04-19T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-19T00:00:00.941-04:00A Tribute Part 6<div style="text-align: center;">
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Now we're quickly approaching that point in time that I was dreading deeply. Anyone who knows me is aware that I am highly emotional. I cry at happy things. I cry at sad things. I cry when a song comes on the radio that reminds me of college, and now I miss college, and my friends, and when life was simpler. Heck, sometimes I just cry because it's been a while, and my body needs to cry. Naturally, I was dreading Easter (my due date). I didn't know how I would feel. Would I be okay? Would I break down? I knew I didn't want to forget. It couldn't pass by without significance. This was my baby. It mattered. No. Forgetting was not an option. </div>
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I think the first time it really concerned me was on January 24th. I would have been seven months pregnant with only two months left to work before maternity leave. I walked around school and everything I saw seemed tinged grey (granted it was January) and everything I heard made me a little sad (again...it was January. January just seems to suck because the holidays are over). I was keenly aware of the different reality that could have been mine had we not lost Raphael.</div>
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Things at school were getting more stressful, more political, more challenging, and I felt that I was drowning. I even scratched out a poem comparing teaching to drowning at a meeting once. I was in a dark place. I was exhausted. I was miserable. I needed something to change. </div>
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Then, one random Saturday in early February, I threw up. Now here's the thing. Aside from two nights of poor decisions, I hadn't thrown up since I was a Freshman in High School...2009 people. I was entirely bewildered. I was having this preposterous acid reflux where I was constantly feeling like my food wasn't being digested, and things at work continued to stress me out.</div>
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There was one week in particular that I'm going to call Hell Week. Again, I can't quite go into details for reasons I will later explain, but I'll start with after school on a Wednesday. Things had been particularly intense at work Tuesday and Wednesday, and I had just found out that one of the teachers who quit wasn't going to be replaced. For some reason, this led me to panic. Not because I would take on almost 20 more students by the end of the month (which <i>should</i> have made me panic), but because now I couldn't quit. If I quit, my students wouldn't have a teacher. If there wasn't enough time to replace the teacher who left in December, there certainly wasn't enough time to replace me. That meant my students would have a sub for the rest of the year. I felt trapped, and I panicked. I drove to Encounter, and I got stuck in ridiculous traffic. I swear two drivers practically killed me. One turned left into me because traffic had come to a standstill at a green light, and he expected me to let him cut through us. I sobbed the whole way there. It was uncontrollable. The more I tried to stop, the worse it seemed to become. </div>
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By the time I got to Encounter, tear-stained would be an inadequate description of my appearance. I was a red-eyed, snotty mess. I went straight to the bathroom, and I didn't want to talk about it. Now anyone who knows me well, knows that's not true. I'm definitely a chatty-Cathy and perhaps an over-sharer. I blame it on the writer in me. As soon as Encounter got rolling, I started blurting everything out...<br />
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Remember how I said I'd thrown up and had acid reflux? Come on now, <i>of course</i> I took a pregnancy test! My NFP signs screamed pregnant - even more than when I was pregnant the first time, <i>and</i> I was sick? Sure, sure, I said it was the stress at work, but of course <i>I</i> didn't believe that. I had to be pregnant! So why was I an emotional wreck? Well because it was negative of course. So my day was ruined before I even ate breakfast. Naturally every little thing that happened that day was the worst thing that could happen to me. Plus, if I had been pregnant, it would have been the <i>perfect</i> divine sign that I was supposed to quit, so I could take care of the baby, but I wasn't. So now, the decision was harder to make. Could I leave my 71 students to fend for themselves when they already have so many unstable adult figures in their life? And for what? Because I had gotten too weak to handle the stress? Because I couldn't get my act together? How could I do that to them? Wasn't this just a cross for me to bear? After all, school would be over in just four months. I could do that right? For them?<br />
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So after some serious affirmation and soothing from my wonderful RC sisters, I decided to take a sick day. Clearly, I was in no place to be going to work, and I decided to put myself through a mini retreat. I woke up on Thursday with Daniel, and I spent the whole morning meditating on the day's Gospel and sleeping. Then, I went to Mass, and I scheduled a meeting with a priest to get some sort of divine advice and consolation. I was a mess, and it was time for an intervention. I was still late though, and the signs were still pregnant as ever. I begged God to either let the guessing be over or for the test in the morning to be positive. Remember in Part 3 when I talked about being angry at God? This was one of those moments. I begged God not to break my heart for no good reason. To give me an answer so I could function. To let me have some sort of peace.<br />
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Again, negative. So, we went to Boston and visited a dear friend of ours for a wonderful 3-day weekend - except I felt sick the entire time. It was the longest I had ever walked around nauseous and feeling light-headed. We had a wonderful time, but in the back of my mind that nagging hope tugged on my heart each time I had to close my eyes to stop seeing spots or to keep myself from throwing up. When we got home, I waited two more days, and then Daniel had had enough, so we got another pregnancy test.<br />
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It was positive, but I remember just staring at it. It couldn't be true. It had just been negative. So this was either a false positive, or my hormones weren't producing fast enough, and I would miscarry all over again. Daniel and I tentatively made a doctor's appointment, and figured we wouldn't get our hopes up, wouldn't tell anyone, until we at least got confirmation from the doctor that I was indeed pregnant.<br />
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In the mean time, I was ready to quit. This was all too much. If I wasn't pregnant, then I was too stressed to function healthily. If I was pregnant, then I couldn't continue in this environment. Either way, I was going to either quit or take time off. The decision was made. To top it all off, at my meeting with the priest his exact words were "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but you need to quit." Real subtle, Father. Real subtle. Now we just had to wait for the confirmation from the doctor. Was I quitting because I just couldn't do this anymore, and I had gotten so psychologically stressed that it was manifesting in these crazy physical symptoms? Or, was I quitting because I was pregnant, and this was clearly not a healthy environment for me? Or, was I taking some time off so I wasn't losing my TFA benefits or abandoning my children, but could still take time to take care of me?<br />
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Tune in Sunday, April 22nd for part 7 to find out how the story ends! </div>
Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-92085089724860300112018-04-15T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-15T23:26:27.259-04:00A Tribute Part 5<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pesky Tests</span></div>
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It's important to note that starting in August, I was teaching through all of this. At some points, it was helpful because it was a much needed distraction from my overly analytical mind. It was a way to make myself think of others instead of wallowing in self-pity. However, it also enabled me to avoid thinking about myself. Additionally, I had some of these fun little nuggets:<br />
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A 14-year-old boy was talking while I was giving directions, so I walked over for proximity control. When I arrived at his desk, I finished giving directions. After which, he takes his pencil and points at my belly and says "Look at that gut!" Folks, it was September. Remember when we talked about the right thing versus the easy thing? The easy thing would have been to snap that pencil in half and scream at him that I had just lost my baby - or simply run out of there crying. (Despite my hyper-emotional state, I did neither of those things).<br />
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Dealing with school on top of the miscarriage made it hard for me to know if I was unhappy because I was still recovering, unhappy because I was too stressed, unhappy because I hated my job, or unhappy for some other indeterminable reason because I was too busy trying to figure out which of the previous was making me unhappy.</div>
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Naturally, I decided that the major reason I was unhappy was because of the miscarriage, and I was certain that the easiest and best way to recover was to get pregnant again. We had decided that it was best to be open rather than attempting pregnancy in order to alleviate the stress of expecting pregnancy. After all, I was already under a significant amount of stress without adding more. </div>
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So we'll fast forward to after the poem was written. November was a full month. Daniel was travelling for his new job. While he was in California for 10 days, I took a few days off work and drove up to Pennsylvania to celebrate my best friend getting married. As I mentioned earlier, having someone else to serve and think about other than myself was a huge benefit - especially because this was something I not only wanted to do, but was overjoyed to be a part of. Yet, the sorrow was still lodged in my heart, and I was mortified that I broke down the day after I arrived. It was her weekend, and here I was a weeping willow with a quick trigger to tears. It didn't help that I was sick almost all weekend. I was unable to sleep. I was incredibly nauseous. I kept over-heating. </div>
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Out loud, I kept saying I was probably just tired from the travel, but I was almost three weeks late, so that was certainly not what I believed was the cause of how unwell I felt.</div>
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When I got home, I was slightly uncertain that I was pregnant - the NFP signs simply didn't line up, but three weeks? That never happened to me. Daniel was still away, and I took a pregnancy test. To my disbelief, it was positive! I took the second test in the box - just to make sure. It was faint, but it was definitely positive. I was so shocked, that I sobbed the whole way to work. This was literally the earliest I could have been pregnant after Raphael. I guess God agreed with me that having a baby would be the best way for me to recover. I could not contain my excitement as I went to Encounter that night, and naturally I told the girls the news. They plotted and planned with me to decide how I would surprise Daniel when he got home that night.</div>
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I wrote him a little note with a bean that was the size of the baby at that point, and after some slight confusion, he shared in my surprise and excitement. We couldn't believe it. This was perfect timing. His family would be in town in a few days for Thanksgiving. We decided we would suggest doing the "What I'm thankful for" routine that some people do on Thanksgiving, and I would say, "a positive pregnancy test" or "a new baby." Practically giddy with excitement, I called the doctor and got an appointment for that Monday. By Sunday though, it became clear that whatever was happening would not result in a baby.<br />
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So we waited for the blood tests to come back. Had I actually been pregnant? Or were they just bogus tests? In the mean time, I was dealing with the insanity that precedes any school break. What is it with kids expecting that they don't have to do work just because it's the week before a break? I <i>know</i> I wasn't the only teacher who wasn't showing a movie. You would have thought I told the students they had to eat the desks for lunch the way they reacted to me providing work for them to do. It was pure insanity. I didn't need them to fight me now - not when I was trying to figure out if I had just lost another baby.<br />
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I decided to focus on what I could control, and I scrubbed down my apartment. I'm talking on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor with white vinegar and water (thanks for the tip Mom!). I couldn't control the outcome of the blood test. I couldn't control how my kids behaved at school. I couldn't control whether or not I would get pregnant again soon. I could clean though. That I could do.<br />
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The test results finally came in on a Tuesday morning. The nurse who called me with the news was incredibly sympathetic as she told me that the results were negative. I had never been pregnant. I practically sobbed with joy. I hadn't lost another baby. It was just fluky hormones and a botched test. (Ladies, don't buy pregnancy tests on sale...lesson learned).<br />
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Even with this relieving news, I still wasn't happy. So when December came, and I was late again, a small part of me hoped and wondered, and then when January came, and I was late again, a small part of me hoped and wondered. I will be eternally grateful for those friends (and wonderful husband) who stuck with me each of those months when I shared the anxiety and the hope with them month to month. I had become obsessed. I analyzed my NFP chart daily like it was a cryptic message from National Treasure or something. If I stared at it enough, checked it enough times, then maybe one of the times, it would jump out and scream "You're pregnant!"<br />
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Needless to say, what I needed was patience, and clearly I did not have it. Naturally, it didn't help that nearly all of it was being spent at my job. I can't go into a ton of details (though I will go into some next week,) but just for some perspective: By December, four teachers had quit. Not four teachers at the school, not even just four teachers in my department. Four teachers on the English I team. My team has a total of eight people on it. At least two of them quit because the job was just too stressful. I'm not going to lie. I was a little envious that they were able to walk away so easily. It would have been amazing to walk away and be able to focus on myself and getting better.<br />
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I wasn't sure if it was the miscarriage or the job that was making me unhappy, but I knew that the combo was toxic. I couldn't do anything to change the fact that I had miscarried, but I could do something about my job. As stories continued to come home, and my stress became more apparent, the conversation of me quitting became a weekly conversation.<br />
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Tune in on Thursday April 19th to find out what I decided to do about the various stresses in my life.</div>
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Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-33230201878550663452018-04-12T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-15T23:19:39.862-04:00A Tribute Part 4<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">In my last post, I mentioned that there was a coworker who encouraged me to write this blog as well as this particular post. When I was trying to recover, I was struggling with what I needed. She asked what I do to recharge, to fulfill myself (I had made it pretty clear that my job was not doing either of those things). When I told her I wrote, she was shocked when I told her I hadn't written anything about it. </span></div>
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At first I was shocked that she would suggest I blog about something so personal (See the end of Part 2 for the reasons I changed my mind), so I wrote a poem in October about what I was feeling.</div>
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Before your dad knew you were alive,</div>
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I knew I carried you, held you, inside.</div>
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I wondered. I dreamed. I prayed</div>
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That I would be ready and unafraid.</div>
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Finally, I had solid confirmation</div>
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Our family had a new creation.</div>
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One month down out of nine</div>
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I carried you, little secret of mine.</div>
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I went to work every day.</div>
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It was so hard not to tell, not to say.</div>
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I walked around always delighted</div>
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I could barely contain it; I was so excited.</div>
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Wherever I went, we two were one.</div>
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A unity, a partnership that could never be undone.</div>
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But the doctor said “No heartbeat”</div>
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I wept for you, my child, I would never meet.</div>
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Two months down – never to be nine</div>
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I carried you, little secret of mine.</div>
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Life became a waiting game</div>
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Waiting for physical emotional pain</div>
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Then, God called you back home</div>
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Suddenly, I was empty. I walked alone.</div>
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I did my best to stand tall</div>
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To hide my sorrow, my grief, from them all.</div>
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Three months down – never to be nine.</div>
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I carried you, little secret of mine.</div>
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Raphael, your dad said would be your name,</div>
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Our little angel in heaven, you became.</div>
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The pain lingered within our midst.</div>
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My darling, my baby, you are sorely missed.</div>
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I could not look at a baby without thinking of you.</div>
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Your dad was having the same trouble too.</div>
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One month after our family’s redesign.</div>
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I carried you, little secret of mine.</div>
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As time goes on, I’ve learned to smile.</div>
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I look to heaven and know that in a while,</div>
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I will be able to hold you in my arms.</div>
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For God holds you away from all life’s harms.</div>
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I take comfort in knowing that you are there</div>
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In heaven where you can watch over me with care.</div>
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Two months after our family’s redesign.</div>
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I carry you, little secret of mine.</div>
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Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-4687941902080108832018-04-08T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-08T00:00:26.054-04:00A Tribute Part 3<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Recovery</span></div>
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One of my favorite parts of growing up in my house was a tradition we had with my dad. I don't remember when it started, but my dad would read us a chapter or two from Harry Potter every night. We didn't read it on our own, but we got to experience it with each other and in my dad's voice. Sometimes when I'm rereading the story or watching the movie, I still hear his voice reading the words. I love that.<br />
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So for the entirety of the book and movie franchise, it was an amazing bonding experience, and I always treasured any Harry Potter moment with him. I will never forget there was this one line that my dad used as a lesson. At the end of book four, Dumbledore tells Harry "We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy." I don't remember the exact conversation that followed, or if he mentioned it after reading that part of the book or when we say the movie, but these words have resonated with me since then because they are so true.<br />
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That is exactly why I have rewritten this several times. Completely scrapped drafts and started from the beginning. It would be so easy to sit here and detail all the times I cried and hurt like when the young family of four started sitting in front of us at Mass or found out people I had to see on a regular basis were due right around the same time I should have been. That would be easy. But especially as reactions to my first post rolled in, I remembered that I'm not just writing for me. There are people who pick up my story who were right there beside me every step of the way. There are people who had no idea how to respond or help. There are people who didn't know I went through any of this and are experiencing it for the first time as they read it. There may even be some strangers who stumble across it who don't even know me.<br />
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So both for you and for me, I'm not going to get into every single wound and tear in this post. There are certainly some areas that I'll focus on in the following posts, but if this post is about recovery, I want to focus on the things that helped me recover - not the things that made it harder. I want to have a balance of joy and grief, hope and suffering. Even if it's not the easy way to write about my experience, it's the right way to write about it<br />
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After I miscarried, I remember talking to my friend Halie, and I told her that no matter the ending, I was happy that Raphael had been in my life. He had brought so much goodness into our lives. I told her that Raphael had brought Daniel and I closer to God and each other, had shown us what love and sacrifice in our family would and could look like, and it had brought me closer to people that were in my life - even some who I had not expected to connect with.<br />
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It really was by the grace of the Holy Spirit that I was able to see these good things at all because that optimism did not stick around. However, looking back and looking at it now, I can rephrase this into three things that I have learned that capture how suffering helped me recover.<br />
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<b>Anger is good.</b><br />
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I was so angry. Not at first. At first I was just numb, but I became angry. Angry at God, angry at people who I didn't feel were supportive enough, angry at myself for being so dang gone emotional, angry at people who I had to see every day who brought up babies (even if they didn't know what I had gone through). I was just plain angry. It helped that I knew I was angry because I was wounded. No one is ever a happy camper when they're in pain.<br />
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This anger taught me a couple of things. First of all it made my faith unshakable. It came to a point where I had given up saying God didn't exist. Although only once or twice was it an atheistic "God doesn't exist," it was more of a the <i>true</i> God doesn't exist. I mean that all good, all powerful, all loving God. I would assume that most people who have suffered have at some point shook a fist at the sky and said "Why would you do this? How can you do this if you say you love me?" But because of the way my brain works, I soon came to this (perhaps faulty) syllogism where I realized that if the <i>true</i> God didn't exist, then I couldn't be angry.<br />
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Where would my anger be directed if not at a God that I believed should be all good, all powerful, and all loving? It wouldn't make sense for me to be angry at someone who wasn't those things. It certainly wouldn't make sense to be angry at something that didn't exist. So I could either acknowledge that the <i>true</i> God existed or that I was insane. These were the only ways I could be angry.<br />
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So I took it to prayer, and I distinctly remember praying "Your will be done, BUT if you LOVE me..." or "I know you love me BUT..." and that was okay. It was better to be angry and to yell then to shun Him or become numb. So I let myself be angry because I was hurt, and if I was angry at Him, then I could still run to Him. This anger enabled me to remain deep in His arms as He held me and let me be hurt.<br />
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<b>Vulnerability and Honesty bring people together.</b><br />
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I never tried to be strong for Daniel. There is something so beautiful about being able to be fully who you are, where you are, when you are. I don't even think I could explain how incredible he was. "Supportive" isn't even close to sufficient. I think even "loving" doesn't do him justice. He made so many sacrifices during this time to be there for me. He switched his job. He listened even when he was hurting. He shared his own feelings. Him doing all of these things and many more - especially being vulnerable and honest with me - brought us so close and softened the suffering. It was so much easier to be in pain together because there were so many people I encountered every day who were entirely oblivious to how much I was suffering. I couldn't be who I was around them, but I could come home and be exactly who I was at that moment. My appreciation for him and his love during this time will never fade. He could not have been more perfect.<br />
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There were also some people who consistently kept in touch with me - whether it was about the miscarriage or about everything else going on in their life or mine. There were the people who would check in with Daniel to ask how I was. There were people who let me know they were praying for me. These people who kept me from sinking into self-pity and loneliness will always have a dear place in my heart. It was amazing to experience their love in their various forms. I had been so sorry I had shared my good news with them when I had to share my bad news, but the way they reached out and embraced me through the whole thing made me so grateful that God had placed them in my life.<br />
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At work, there were very few people that I told. Two in particular gave me a whole new perspective though. One person told me about losing a child during the fifth month which had instantly given me chills. I couldn't imagine the devastation of losing a child that late. I had Raphael for 10 weeks - but five months? It put in perspective that while I was suffering, there were others who suffered too and in ways that I couldn't even imagine. The other person who gave me a new perspective shared some health issues and decisions she was having to make that reminded me to be grateful that I had been able to get pregnant - that Raphael had even existed. She is one of the reasons that I decided to write this 8 part tribute and particularly why I wrote Part 4.<br />
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Finally, I would be remiss if I didn't leave an extra space for my wonderful Regnum Christi family. I have a pair of women in my life who have been a gift that I find myself consciously thanking God for all the time. We meet for Encounter with Christ (like a Bible Study) once a week, and having this routine helped me keep a pulse on my dwindling spiritual life. They graciously allowed me to talk their ears off, and they created a space where I knew I could be my emotional self. Their prayers, their joy, their charity, their just sheer goodness is something that I don't think I will ever find in anyone else again in this life. They are truly two spectacular women.<br />
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<b>Self-knowledge and Self-care are essential.</b><br />
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There was a while there where I wasn't really willing to reflect independently on what had happened. I told myself if I kept going to work (I only missed one day), that it was the only way I could keep going. I don't necessarily believe going to work was the wrong decision, but it would have been good if I didn't have to rely so heavily on others for my reflective moments.<br />
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At Teach for America, the next two meetings that they held after I miscarried were about self-care. I knew I wasn't taking care of myself as much as I needed to. That was mostly because I didn't know what I needed, which is why I was so grateful for the people who allowed me to be vulnerable and then would give gentle advice. Taking these people's advice was very helpful because it enabled me to learn what I needed to do to take care of myself.<br />
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Additionally, it is something I'm still learning every day. If you're an expert in self-knowledge or self-care, please let me know your secret! It's interesting how many things Daniel and I are learning now that we are like...oh that is an important conversation we need to have. Maybe we should have talked about that sooner. This is one of those categories that I think needs constant conversation in a family. There are so many factors to consider. Daniel is an introvert. I am an extrovert. We need different things to take care of ourselves, but there are some things that we can do together to take care of ourselves too. Taking care of ourselves will help us take care of each other as well. There are so many times where I find myself saying "oxygen mask" both to myself and to Daniel.<br />
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If I can't breathe because I haven't prayed, written, or read in a long time, I'm not eating well or not sleeping well, then of course my sinful tendencies are going to be right there in every conversation and interaction. I need to breathe and so does Daniel. There's no reason to set aside things that enable us to be the best version of ourselves. We owe it to our family to take care of ourselves. How can we take care of others - and why would they trust us to - if we aren't taking care of ourselves? Now obviously, this does not mean we neglect each other, but it requires true charity, vulnerability, and excellent conversation to ensure that you are able to take care of yourself and your family.<br />
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I think that there is a negative stigma to self-care because it seems self-serving, but that is so wrong. I cannot serve my family the way God intends me to if I have a splitting headache because I stayed up too late. I cannot serve my family the way God intends me to if I am so burned out because I haven't taken even five minutes to read today. God intends my best self to serve others. I owe it to them and to God to be my best self, and it's okay to admit that I need to do these things for that to happen.<br />
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It is a constant learning process that makes me so excited to learn about my husband, myself, and our family.<br />
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I'm still learning how to recover and how to grow, but I think those three things played the most significant role so far.<br />
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Tune in Thursday April 12th for other writing that I've done to help me recover!Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-55456498986349431992018-04-05T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-15T23:19:26.606-04:00A Tribute Part 2<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When it Rains, it Pours</b></span></div>
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<b>August 2017</b></div>
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A lot of it blends together. This actually happened August 18th, but in my memory, it went with August 25th.</div>
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Before one of my doctor's appointments - now I can't remember which one - I was driving to work. It was disgustingly hot, and the AC takes twenty minutes to work in my car. My commute is fifteen. I usually drove to work at 6:30 in the morning, but it was a teacher work day, so I was driving at 7:30. Man the difference an hour makes. I was so unaccustomed to the traffic, I didn't expect it to be so busy. I got over into my exit lane, and as soon as I did, the woman in front of my slammed on her brakes. No obviously, I was changing lanes onto an exit, I was not going fast, but with how packed traffic was and the split second she left me to respond, I ended up kissing her back bumper at about 10 miles per hour. </div>
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So I pulled over to exchange insurance. As I was getting out of the car, her two kids in the backseat turned around, waving and smiling at me. I waved and smiled back as the woman got out of her car. I asked if she and the kids were ok, to which she said "yeah." She looked at the scratch on her back bumper and got back in the car. <i>Uh-oh</i> I thought to myself. So I whipped out my little slide phone and took pictures of both her car and mind. After a little bit, she still hadn't come back out of her car. It was HOT outside, and I was now late for work, so I went up to her passenger window, and I asked her if she wanted to exchange insurance, and she said no. </div>
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She was calling the police.</div>
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What a wonderful way to start the day! We waited 2 hours in that heat for the police to show up, and then he wrote me a ticket for not keeping proper distance between our vehicles. He then notified me of my court date. I was enraged. Everything else he said was not processed through the red that was flowing through my eyes and ears. A ticket? A court date? For a scratch? This was my first vehicular accident EVER. My hormones kicked in instantly, and I was hysterically crying by the time I got to work. My supervisor did not know what to do with me. Three hours late, a sobbing hot hormonal mess, and the meeting was about conflict resolution (in the classroom). </div>
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I was barely present through the meeting, and left as soon as there was a break to call my insurance office. Naturally, the woman had already filed the claim and stated that the accident physically injured both her two child passengers and herself. <i>What?!</i> The smiling and waving children that you said were physically injured? If they needed to go to the doctor, it was probably because you kept them in the car for TWO HOURS on blistering hot July morning. I couldn't believe this. </div>
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At least I had my doctor's appointment to look forward to.</div>
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After work, I met Daniel at our apartment on the way to the doctor's office. We were so excited to see our baby. We were back in the ultrasound room in no time. The lady started the ultra sound, and I immediately knew there was something wrong. I looked at Daniel and back at the screen. </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
"Are you sure about how far along you are?" she asked. I had done the NFP calculations in comparisons to the doctor's expected due date, and they were only one day off: March 31st and April 1st. So, I answered in the affirmative.</div>
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"Well, either your due date's wrong or this is a bad pregnancy."</div>
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Bad pregnancy.</div>
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What?</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Bad and pregnancy shouldn't be in the same sentence together let alone should describe one another. I was numb. Just like that she told me I could clean up and see the doctor. Bad pregnancy. I barely remember walking back to the doctor's office. I have no idea what Daniel said to me although I'm sure it was reassuring. Bad pregnancy. We went and got blood work done and then returned to the office. When we got back to the room, that's when I lost it. I was uncontrollably sobbing. Bad pregnancy? But how? I had felt this baby. I had known this baby. The baby was real. The baby was here. What does she mean <i>Bad pregnancy?</i> </div>
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After a little consoling, I cleaned myself up a little so I wouldn't be a mess when the doctor came in. Finally, he came in. He was so kind as he both gave us an opportunity to hope while realistically explaining that it looked like I was already in the process of having a missed miscarriage. Because the baby had already stopped growing two weeks prior, he discussed options we had. Options. I was numb. My body had a deadline of 2 weeks before medical action would need to be taken to protect my health and my future ability to have children. </div>
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But we would have hope. He scheduled a follow up blood test on Monday and a follow up ultrasound the next Friday. It didn't matter though. When we got to the car, we were a disaster. We were not as eager to make phone calls, so we didn't right away. This was not good news. This was not joy. And now, we had to share this grief, this sorrow, with so many because we had not been patient enough to wait until the ultrasound one week later.</div>
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The next week was agony as people gradually checked in and were shocked into silence. What is to be said? What could make this better? I was carrying around a dying child. My dying child. I knew that my baby would die. It was only a matter of when. </div>
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A week and a half later, sliding right in under the deadline. God called my baby home. So desperate had my body been to hold on to this baby, that it not only clung to the baby a full month after it had already started to die, but for another two weeks after that as well until I finally ended up in the Emergency Room. </div>
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I'm sharing this 8 part tribute for two reasons.</div>
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<br /></div>
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1) For my baby Raphael, named so because Daniel says, "He's our angel now." You brought us such joy and taught us so much about who we would become as a family.</div>
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<br /></div>
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2) 60% of first pregnancies end this way - with an inexplicable loss of life. Daniel and I have always looked at our lives as a witness for the benefit of others. The remainder of these parts are details of my recovery process. The number of people who came through the woodwork sharing their stories was unbelievable and comforting, so here is mine. In case someone else needs to know. You are not alone. You will get through this. In general, sharing stories of suffering can be beneficial both for the teller and the listener.</div>
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Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-91110965316196414652018-04-01T00:00:00.000-04:002018-04-15T23:19:04.438-04:00A Tribute Part 1<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sunny Summer Smiles</span></b></div>
<b>July 2017</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
July was absolute bliss. Daniel and I enjoyed the beautiful landscapes and food of Iceland on our honeymoon, and when we got back, we traveled down to our first home together. Daniel started his new job, and I was enjoying some much needed time to rest before the school year started. At that point, the month still held my best friend's bachelorette party and one of my good friend's profession of her vows. We unpacked, we settled in, we began our forever.<br />
<br />
Bliss.<br />
<br />
Naturally, because I am who I am, I instantly began seeking the next step - that next moment of bliss that often comes with getting married. Daily, I closely evaluated all NFP signs that pointed to pregnancy. Within a few short weeks I was absolutely, without any doubt, 100% positive that I was pregnant - even when the test came back negative. I was still sure. The test was wrong. I was definitely pregnant.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Daniel, being the incredibly patient husband that he is, told me to go and enjoy the bachelorette party, and I could take another test when I got home if I was still so sure. So I packed up my bathing suit and a bunch of CDs, and I drove from Charlotte to Virginia belting out the Wicked Soundtrack start to finish like I was Idina Menzel - I had to expose the baby to excellent music after all. There were definitely a few times when I chatted with my belly telling it that I knew the baby was in there even if no one else did or would. We were connected. I could just feel it.<br />
<br />
I stopped at my parents' in Virginia to sleep before I drove to New Jersey to meet up with the other girls at the tubing place where we would kick off the bachelorette party. As I enjoyed each moment with these people who were so dear to me, an extra dose of happiness flowed through my veins with the secret that I carried. I kept my suspicions to myself though - just in case I was going a little whacko. After all, I didn't want to look like a fool claiming it so soon - the test did come back negative after all. The trip came and went, and each day that passed only solidified my suspicions. Joy grew within me. I was pregnant - had to be.<br />
<br />
So I finally got home and bought a test, telling my husband I was definitely pregnant (though in the back of my mind I feared getting another negative and looking really silly). The next morning, in tears, we found it to be true. We were going to have a baby!<br />
<br />
We did not waste a single second. Before Daniel went to work, we managed to call both of our parents, sharing the good news. I drove down and told our closest friend, just bursting to share our new joy.<br />
<br />
Pure Joy.<br />
<br />
We kept it secret for a little while from everyone else, waiting for our first doctor's appointment in August - you know, just to be safe.<br />
<br />
<b>August 2017</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
We had our first prenatal appointment on August 18th, and we were so thrilled. The doctor answered all of our questions - even the ones we didn't know we had. He supported our use of Natural Family Planning. We got our due date. The baby would be born on April 1st, and he said everything looked good. We scheduled our ultra sound for the following week on August 25th when we would get to see our baby for the very first time! We couldn't believe we got an appointment so early, and I couldn't wait to meet the little one that I already felt like I knew.<br />
<br />
We practically skipped out of the OBGYN's office to call our siblings and close friends. My hands were practically shaking each time I shared the news that I had known for weeks. The connection that I had known to be real. The baby that I carried and knew before anyone else. The tears, the words of encouragement, the shouts of joy and disbelief filled my heart and soul.<br />
<br />
My joy was uncontainable.<br />
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For today, to honor this baby, I will leave this joy untouched.<br />
A tribute to celebrate the joy that our baby brought.<br />
<br />
Check in on April 5th for Part 2.<br />
<br />Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-69416478014202557262017-07-01T20:13:00.001-04:002017-07-01T20:13:53.891-04:00Faxa Bay<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/AVvXsEi46E2j80QBEkBhNYRcaFFlP0FJS90tdZSbyRrLJ862sfYKECypUFF4mKikgaefnG4BDEvqudkY7Sk4elWK5pDLPR7yGgw9LWDJyvqVRBYmNQ3pkBK53UhNLj365mUk75JZqHwkbHzwd7s/s1600/SAM_0928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46E2j80QBEkBhNYRcaFFlP0FJS90tdZSbyRrLJ862sfYKECypUFF4mKikgaefnG4BDEvqudkY7Sk4elWK5pDLPR7yGgw9LWDJyvqVRBYmNQ3pkBK53UhNLj365mUk75JZqHwkbHzwd7s/s400/SAM_0928.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Faxa Bay, Iceland<br />Taken by yours truly. </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Stretching beyond what the eye can see<br />
Lies the never-ending sea,<br />
Inhaling, exhaling peacefully<br />
The serene waters sigh and sway<br />
shore to shore through night and day.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
Yet the waves swell there<br />
and sailors from their vessels tear<br />
until it does engulf and ensnare,<br />
But here: The serene waters sigh and sway <br />
shore to shore through night and day.<br />
<br />
Like mountains the waves grow tall<br />
Crushing all things big or small<br />
Leaving natives there to bawl,<br />
But here: The serene waters sigh and sway<br />
shore to shore through night and day.<br />
<br />
Beneath the surface, in the depth<br />
Further than man can hold his breath<br />
The pressure rises and evokes death,<br />
But here: The serene waters sigh and sway<br />
shore to shore through night and day.<br />
<br />
At sunset gazing out on this beautiful bay,<br />
My heart sinks as the day fades away<br />
No matter how much I long to stay. . .<br />
<br />
<br />
Across the sea I must return<br />
Even though my heart does yearn<br />
For peace: Where the serene waters sigh and sway<br />
shore to shore through night and day.Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988596235364423366.post-57331091712234940652017-04-17T19:32:00.000-04:002017-04-17T19:47:37.451-04:00A Letter to My StudentsIF I could say anything to you, if I was ever asked what I really wanted to say, I would tell you that school matters - but that is NOT what I want you to think of when you look back on this year.<br />
<br />
IF I could give you one thing to take away from this year, if I could have just one small thought stick with you for the rest of your life, it would be this. No matter what happens to you, not matter what you do, there is one thing you must always remember: Never give up on your superlatives.<br />
<br />
IF I use the word "superlative" in class, if you are all really listening, I'm sure I'd get a lot of questioning looks, maybe a few laughs, but mostly I'd get "superwhat?"<br />
<br />
IF I wasn't so worried about the test you have to take at the end of the year, if I didn't feel the weight of your future upon my shoulders, collapsing my limbs and drowning me, if the pressure of "growth data" and "effective teaching" wasn't suffocating me, if fear wasn't convincing me otherwise, I would say the things that really matter.<br />
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I would say: "Never give up on your superlatives."<br />
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Webster defines superlative as: of, relating to, or constituting the degree of grammatical comparison that denotes an extreme or unsurpassed level or extent<i class="sense"> OR</i> surpassing all others <span class="intro-colon">:</span> SUPREME <span class="intro-colon">:</span> of very high quality <span class="intro-colon">:</span> EXCELLENT.<br />
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One translation of the word "excellence" into Latin (as used by Aristotle) is virtus or virtue. So when I say don't give up on your superlatives, I mean don't give up on your excellence, don't give up on your virtue.<br />
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Fight to be the best you and NEVER GIVE UP.<br />
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Always be the smartest you.<br />
Always be the nicest you.<br />
Always be the most beautiful you (inside and out).<br />
Always be the happiest you.<br />
Always be the holiest you.<br />
Always be the most charitable you.<br />
Always be the most eloquent you.<br />
Always be the most grateful you.<br />
Always be the most respectful you.<br />
Always be the most honest you.<br />
Always be the most authentic you.<br />
Always be the strongest you. <br />
Always be the most disciplined you.<br />
Always be the best advocate for yourself.<br />
Always be the most confident you.<br />
Always be the generous you.<br />
Always be the most faithful you.<br />
Always be the most loving you. <br />
Always be the most virtuous you.<br />
Always be the most excellent you. <br />
Always be the best you.<br />
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Never give up on you.<br />
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Don't let them persuade you that you are anything less than yourself.<br />
Don't let them convince you that you can't be exactly who you were created to be. <br />
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But they are not your biggest adversary.<br />
<br />
You are.<br />
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Do not persuade yourself that you are less than you are.<br />
Do not convince yourself that you can't be exactly who you were created to be.<br />
<br />
You were made for excellence.<br />
You were made to be the absolute BEST version of yourself.<br />
So be that person.<br />
With every fiber in your body, fight for excellence and NEVER give up on your superlatives.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
L O V E </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Ms. Amanda Young</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Freshman English Teacher </div>
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<i class="vi"><i></i></i>Amanda Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14072901269649205460noreply@blogger.com0