tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57253430270317306052024-03-05T13:16:00.245-07:00Love and BlasphemyI write memoir and fiction. Both involve love and blasphemy.Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-22296780108302411842013-11-27T10:41:00.000-07:002013-11-27T10:41:25.277-07:00Love and Gratitude Are Always AvailableExcept for New Year's last year, this is my first holiday without my son. My heart is heavy when I think of a couple of different family issues going on, but I am still so very grateful for many things.<br />
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This moment, I just got a phone call from my boy! You should have seen my smile when I heard my phone going off because I just knew it would be him. <br />
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I know that he will have a good time visiting that side of the family. I love when he can be around family, even if it's not with me. </div>
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I am also grateful for the show, <i>Long Island Medium</i>. You know that satisfying moment when you are DONE cleaning the house? I sat down yesterday after cleaning and watched an episode of Theresa Caputo talking to the dead. I realized the error in feeling alone. People often struggle with loss, grief, and sudden changes and feel that they are alone. But, we are never alone. I am not the type to be freaked out by that. All around us, in the spaces we move in, is love and guidance that we do not see. </div>
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I am grateful for my home - that I have it, that I pay for it, that I cleaned it all yesterday. It has a chance to stay clean for a few days at least. Feels good. </div>
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Finally, I will be introduced to a new family at Thanksgiving. I will host the meal at my house, so I will have visitors at my mercy when I get a little crazy in the kitchen with my wine. I may sing and scare people off. We will have to see. </div>
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My focus for now is to remember what I am grateful for and all that I have. I'm happy and hopeful for the future and have a lot of love in my life even when I'm missing others. </div>
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Cheers to you all for a beautiful Thanksgiving! </div>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-67556649775187484352013-10-23T19:28:00.001-06:002013-10-23T19:28:19.758-06:00Divorce.<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know the answers anymore. I thought I had a certain life. All picked out and planned. It was all going well, until…Until time did
us in. We went along thinking time would
take care of us. But it does not. You fuck it all up when you don’t keep an eye
on time. Time brings all these things
you are supposed to do and be. You are
trapped in thinking you are supposed to keep everything going and hope that’s
enough. It’s not enough. I know that now. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You are supposed to exist in a life that is shared with
others. The biggest lie I believed was
that I was supposed to find my own happiness.
Of course, you are supposed to find your own happiness. But what I didn’t know, and perhaps what we both didn't know, was that your own happiness is supposed to be shared with someone
else. It doesn’t exist on your own
island. Hopefully, the happiness you are sharing is with the one you married. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If I am to face this crushing heartache and a total “fuck
you” to my life, then I must believe in what can come of this and be good. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My son. My son
doesn’t understand why mommy and daddy aren’t together. Sure, he’ll tell you the pat answer, “They argued. They just couldn’t get
along.” But he has no idea. He has no idea what has gone into all
that. A lifetime. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course it’s not a lifetime. It is a chapter, as they would say. But, there’s my son. Maybe he’s wondering why his chapter ended. Maybe he is wondering where his new chapter
begins.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He sees his new chapter.
He is living in his own chapter that was created for him by the adults
that messed up the last chapter. </div>
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If I want good to come of this, then I must be sure my son
grows up to know some things. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He needs to know that you have no fucking idea who you are
when you are eighteen to thirty years old.
At least. If you are going to
choose someone during that time, then you better choose someone who will grow
with you. Someone who will be, at the
core, a lot like you so they can grow with you.
But then, you see, there is the mistake.
You think you know who you are when you are twenty-two. So, you think you can find someone enough like
you who you can grow with, have a life with. But life is long and so many lessons to learn.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You see how complicated this is? I want good to come of this – life lessons
for my son. However, I am still learning. It’s all we’ve got in this life, to keep
learning. I still don’t know how I fell in love so hard, so right, so
forever, and now, forever has ended with
that person. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In spite of all I don’t know, I want my son to know…<o:p></o:p></div>
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That love exists, and it exists hard, for the moment. <b>You create for yourself a life that can live
on the waves of love that go on forever</b>.
One love may not be enough. One
love may not see you through to all that you can be. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My son, I loved your daddy.
More than words can say. I always will in a way. I am still realizing
the mistakes we made. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Life doesn’t wait for your learning. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Life goes on and on, and you better pay attention. You need to pay attention to yourself and the
people you are closest to in order to make any meaning of it. <b> Don’t ignore the whispers of your heart</b>. Act on them.
Fear will keep you from that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Fuck fear</b>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Fuck fear and all that it implies. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am not “down on love.”
I am not saying “only serve yourself.”
The messages I intend to instill are much more complicated than
that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Realize that life will bring you so many surprises. In so many stages in your life, and in so
many ways. Whether you are ready or not,
<b>you will handle those little shockers as well as the love you have built inside
you.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Only love rules.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Me saying that only love rules is ironic, I know. I am telling a story about divorce and
life-lessons-for-my-son, and I am saying love rules all. Well, it does. Self-love, gratitude, and love for the world
around you is what will help you build a good character – a good inside – <b>so
that you may steer through these challenges with a trust-worthy inner ear. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe all of this is more about myself than my son. He will figure it out, just like we all do
eventually. My hope is that he knows,
all along the way, <b>the love that was there for him.</b> I want him to build on that love so much that
he is able to look at the world with a lens of his own, <b>a lens that has been</b>
<b>tinted with good intentions. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
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What I need to remember is that I did the best I could at
the time. If I don’t learn from that,
then damn me. I don’t need to be
perfect. I don’t need to create the
perfect life. My perfect life exists
right now. It exists right now in the
choices I’ve made. Most of those choices
I’m happy with. The other choices – I’m
trying to listen to my inner ear, my inner heart about all of it. I can only hope my son lives life the same
way. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And there is the gift to myself. Hoping my son lives his life the same
way. Learning from mistakes. <b>Living life with love. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>The above was written many months ago. I have sat on it awhile. It was writing that, in a way, inspired this blog, but I could not share. I felt it was too soon. Although truth exists in the moment, sometimes, we wait to share it for when it feels ok. I don't know that me sharing this will feel ok with others, but it is my truth. And, dammit, I know that so many out there deal with divorce with children and struggle to make sense of it all. </i></b></div>
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<b><i>It's something I believe in. Writing. And sharing my words.</i></b></div>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-80771336598140987672013-10-14T17:53:00.001-06:002013-10-14T17:55:48.797-06:00"I Wanna See You Be Brave"I am no longer sick, but I have a damn busy life to live, you know. I can angst about what to write. I try to be all "intentional" about it. There's something the reader wants to connect with, and I've got to hint at it every time. <br />
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It's hard.<br />
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So, I was thinking today (well, actually, I think a lot about this) about how we live in a very fear-based, fear-motivated society.<br />
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Wait! Don't go. Stick with me here. You may think I'm going to get political and rambly, but I won't.<br />
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I think that we're on to something when we think about how NOT to live that way. It just feels right to question this fear. I speak for myself, I guess. You may not feel the same. <br />
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Regardless of what we think about fear, I want to think about what it means to BE BRAVE.<br />
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Does it mean you are vulnerable?<br />
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Honest?<br />
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Dangerous?<br />
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Confident?<br />
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Gutsy?<br />
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Honorable?<br />
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It is a fascinating word. Thinking about what brave means is like trying to perfectly capture "love" in one sentence.<br />
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I try to be brave. I am still just so silly when it comes to some things. Things that really freak me out: the first 10 minutes roller skating, going down escalators, heights, and I don't like socializing sometimes. I know I get better at being brave with age, so that is nice. I do think I am braver in many "small" ways. I'm pretty honest and speak my thoughts, and socialize more. I have been brave in tough circumstances like giving birth, surviving surgeries and calamities, moving different places, trying new things, going through divorce. <br />
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It's a good thing that my brave is increasing because I have a son. Maybe, even though he is so sensitive, he'll have a pretty good chance at living his life in a brave manner. I guess, to me, brave is authentic. It's really hard to be authentic, but to be authentic is good. Right? Or, is that another conversation?<br />
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Moving on, I am madly in love with this song. I'm totally providing free publicity here because this song was my entire inspiration for this blog today. A welcome inspiration. <br />
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I love the video. You will too. <br />
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I promise.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/QUQsqBqxoR4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUQsqBqxoR4" target="_blank">Brave, Sara Bareilles</a><br />
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Ok, so it's kinda cheesy, but there's a place for that in my heart.</div>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-1982667580325430002013-09-10T12:28:00.000-06:002013-09-10T12:28:35.576-06:00Report Me for Mucinex AbuseYou know when you're going on the third week with a lingering head cold, and everything just feels shitty? That is the funk I've been in. Plus, my job has been very demanding. I come home, and I am a zombie. I'm tired of feeling this way! <br />
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I took the day off today for rest and an attitude adjustment. I remind myself of what I'm grateful for, which always helps. I started feeling positively inspired, hallelu-yar! Then, I remembered a poem I have written before that captures my mind space right now. I published it on my previous blog, <a href="http://pampersandpinot.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Pampers and Pinot</a>. I will re-post it today and keep resting. Enjoy!<br />
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<b>Great Expectations</b><br />
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Why do you worry<br />
And pick at your finger.<br />
Stop.<br />
Put your hands down<br />
And put them to the keyboard.<br />
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Take the load off your shoulders.<br />
Set it down next to you.<br />
Take a look at it,<br />
Assess its mess<br />
Of guilt, expectation, and shame.<br />
Leave it there<br />
To melt into the floor<br />
And walk away.<br />
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You will start by walking<br />
Then jogging<br />
And running<br />
With no expectation for how long,<br />
And why can’t I go further?<br />
<br />
This moment does not need to be<br />
Perfect.<br />
This moment<br />
Exists for you.<br />
And you can push the breath<br />
Out of your body –<br />
Feel your shoulders relieve<br />
Down.<br />
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You will give to yourself<br />
The love that is reserved for others.<br />
Let your heart pour out.<br />
Into your own body<br />
And own the feeling it gives you.<br />
Whatever it is - sadness, loss, joy, or hope -<br />
It will run its course<br />
Through your veins.<br />
And you will still be the same.<br />
<br />
A woman,<br />
With hope for healing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6Y1Wd0TIkZefKIUYzZ4n00WdpBIb77lqwuhz01CdnJvvQmaRx7IMncQXUxYn6QcUTbrVdceql5EJbYBTggKrn4b_CbQs4XwbP8-HkfzVGxs3xdoI2RFiF8AmjDgoGnl-2h79qTBHQNo/s1600/FlamingJune.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527224609785551874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6Y1Wd0TIkZefKIUYzZ4n00WdpBIb77lqwuhz01CdnJvvQmaRx7IMncQXUxYn6QcUTbrVdceql5EJbYBTggKrn4b_CbQs4XwbP8-HkfzVGxs3xdoI2RFiF8AmjDgoGnl-2h79qTBHQNo/s200/FlamingJune.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 170px;" /></a>Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-39449223124484118142013-09-01T21:10:00.001-06:002013-09-01T21:10:13.147-06:00Defined Lines (We Ain't a Good Girl)I am obsessed with a song today. This happens sometimes. It can be a crap shoot sometimes what I'm temporarily obsessed with. My choices are dicey. My family and friends also shudder when I announce a movie suggestion. It can be either really good or really suck awful. <br />
<br />
But, this song. This song is really catchy. It entertains me over and over. So much that I will announce it to the Love and Blasphemy world. <br />
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It is a little odd that I like this song so much. I enjoy a sexy, dominant male, even in a feminist world. (Or, is it a feminist world? Has it only been attempted?) I also love being female. I find it fun. <br />
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So, you should watch it.<br />
<br />
I will probably post this blog, watch my own video, and watch it again. Makes me happy to think that maybe one of you will also watch it more than once.<br />
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.................................<br />
<br />
Hours later - an update!!<br />
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The original You Tube video of this video was taken off You Tube for "violating the terms of policy," and upon further investigation, this was because it was too "sexually explicit." <br />
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I find this very interesting because the original Robin Thicke Blurred Lines video is still on You Tube, naked girls and all. And goat. Cause, you know, sluts hold goats. <br />
<br />
WTF, You Tube? <br />
<br />
So, these girlies are university types in New Zealand. They put this "feminine parody" up on Friday night, and it's going viral.<br />
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Anyways, lucky it's a free of speech type of country. Here's the link:<br />
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<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/73587193" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/73587193">Robin Thicke - Blurred Lines [Feminist Parody] "Defined Lines"</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user20569826">Law Revue</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-11065449363866646562013-08-21T15:33:00.000-06:002013-08-21T15:33:41.632-06:00Put on a Brave Face<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUiCAJ5Ok3MWWiWUepURW94c3zLulp96bjZTBEXmb3kc77G9dRueNO3Dhb4vlMFoBKoKOxUCYbL7CMprXxgXBYvjKdDiTDZtrkWdsNHmgKd9DAn5Y8e6BFT6TiygHI4xkQoYqz7JPrT3x/s1600/workshop-button-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUiCAJ5Ok3MWWiWUepURW94c3zLulp96bjZTBEXmb3kc77G9dRueNO3Dhb4vlMFoBKoKOxUCYbL7CMprXxgXBYvjKdDiTDZtrkWdsNHmgKd9DAn5Y8e6BFT6TiygHI4xkQoYqz7JPrT3x/s1600/workshop-button-1.png" /></a></div>
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I'm linking up with <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/" target="_blank">Mama Kat for her Writer's Workshop</a> this week. The prompt I chose was:</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #606060; line-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Open your picture folders, close your eyes and pick a random photo to share and write about.</span></span></div>
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I randomly opened my pics folder on my desktop and quickly
chose a folder without thinking, and this was the first picture I saw:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjotX2PMF0GyS2dqn1zR25dFqG-2CMWog-FgKJvM22DaALmsVHgiWXj00_JFwUQaXr4VdHMvqd16ZRzfLjpoxdw7zdDvRqPe1JXBJMl36brxQyneZ_AWBNSwecU0RcWeJL_lnEZnbg-5n9e/s1600/IMAG1163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjotX2PMF0GyS2dqn1zR25dFqG-2CMWog-FgKJvM22DaALmsVHgiWXj00_JFwUQaXr4VdHMvqd16ZRzfLjpoxdw7zdDvRqPe1JXBJMl36brxQyneZ_AWBNSwecU0RcWeJL_lnEZnbg-5n9e/s320/IMAG1163.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It took my breath away.
My heart hurt a little.
Unresolved grief washed over me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I try to stay positive, laugh through the tears, and
reassure myself that it’s all going to be ok, but then there are moments when I
have to just let myself feel the grief again.
Just for a moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That picture was taken this time last year on the day that
my ex-husband was moving out of the house.
The hardest part of that entire experience was worrying about my son and
how he would handle all the change. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I took him to the Manitou Arts and Crafts Festival for the
day so that he didn’t have to watch his daddy move out. He knew the basics of what was occurring that
day, but he didn’t have to watch it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Don’t worry, he wasn’t stricken with grief, lying on the
sidewalk, and I wasn’t taking pictures of sad things. We had walked a lot that day, and we had to
make it up a big hill before reaching our car.
Parker was in good spirits, but he was tired and decided to rest for a
moment. I was giggling as I took the
picture, saying, “Geez, Parker, you’re just going to lay down right here? I’m going to take your picture!” <o:p></o:p></div>
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My happiness that day was basically fake. I was just trying to get us through a very
hard day. I was putting on a brave face
for my son. I remember many times that day when I held
back the tears and kept pressing forward.
You just aren’t allowed to grieve anytime you want when you have a
child, and every mom can relate to that in some way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I took him to lunch, and I remember every detail. What we ate, where we sat, what toys he
played with at the table. I was
hyper-alert because of my conflicted emotional state. I was nervous, worried, and sad, and I just
wanted my child to make it through the day without his mother losing it. We went to the park and the festival. Live music was playing, face-painted children
ran around at the playground, crowds of people milled about talking and
laughing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s the thing about life that we all inevitably
learn. In every experience that is sad
and awful and heartbreaking, there are reminders all around that laughter is
around the corner, rest will eventually come to you, and life goes on. </div>
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And, sometimes when you're just putting on a brave face, you need to stop and lay down.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WktGcj_HiiMQbEFfEofakP3At77UGeEYY_9lQuJCPFWrp75mtquuXi_jky4T1ph5tZ7SREdQ9HCASCWjt0wkK-zNyKbV_F7spIaLHKwN-sVkKNu5ax6p0fDWjbfLrIdq7hpJ0OOwEUM8/s1600/IMAG1159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WktGcj_HiiMQbEFfEofakP3At77UGeEYY_9lQuJCPFWrp75mtquuXi_jky4T1ph5tZ7SREdQ9HCASCWjt0wkK-zNyKbV_F7spIaLHKwN-sVkKNu5ax6p0fDWjbfLrIdq7hpJ0OOwEUM8/s320/IMAG1159.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghfRXWz-IIlOBn63UYggJoeZcvAPL5Al_yVvMWgopJCgb6V8ZDnA9Hs1aUSPV7ippJ20fcZzSAXkcBIYZ-kCc3b9ARePEO7LhIcDVL-GXicn3bIUgct2fovyJcKKEY8m-e-wuc8hLIK6dT/s1600/IMAG1162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghfRXWz-IIlOBn63UYggJoeZcvAPL5Al_yVvMWgopJCgb6V8ZDnA9Hs1aUSPV7ippJ20fcZzSAXkcBIYZ-kCc3b9ARePEO7LhIcDVL-GXicn3bIUgct2fovyJcKKEY8m-e-wuc8hLIK6dT/s320/IMAG1162.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-59865532703947475842013-08-11T21:31:00.000-06:002013-08-11T21:35:39.824-06:00Work. It's Sometimes a Problem.I know I've not been a frequent blogger lately. I have good reasons (excuses) for that. <br />
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I started back at work. I have nearly two months off every summer, and I am extremely grateful for that. Going back to work can be a bit of a shock to the system (e.g., WTF? I still have to do laundry and dishes?!). I do love my career; however, no matter what, I will always maintain that a four-day work week would always be better than a five-day work week. <br />
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Here are some illustrations of the adaptations to change I've been faced with lately.<br />
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<u><b>Level of Rested-ness</b></u></div>
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Off Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikalFHfzereUS7sPpVMTUR69U87u88r83ZAu4avEwS1j5OuvCDxTTI1vb7FBKFu1EfOqWfaQhYd45_ilsP5qUqYxoNc_9w3as0S95wPJ1CAxyj6wV44FUkFJGDhpsRwdzBOvrQVHJYyDr_/s1600/d457cd8dd2322b045e2998f1c4826178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikalFHfzereUS7sPpVMTUR69U87u88r83ZAu4avEwS1j5OuvCDxTTI1vb7FBKFu1EfOqWfaQhYd45_ilsP5qUqYxoNc_9w3as0S95wPJ1CAxyj6wV44FUkFJGDhpsRwdzBOvrQVHJYyDr_/s320/d457cd8dd2322b045e2998f1c4826178.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Found at: <a href="http://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/">fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net</a></span></div>
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During Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7aiP30QN7Xz2OPH-jWf-wbKEDufXcHrbfLZvrYywmrNQNltHLMVNAu-j4Sjl_rq_yMcovQOJaVk10EYEGlZLOun_01RfX3cvwhr8lvW03rbBSnXnNvefpMEwKPnEzn8Ny-PddEmJO7UpS/s1600/6d1e0e8bf0f4ef6dde41149f98bfc18b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7aiP30QN7Xz2OPH-jWf-wbKEDufXcHrbfLZvrYywmrNQNltHLMVNAu-j4Sjl_rq_yMcovQOJaVk10EYEGlZLOun_01RfX3cvwhr8lvW03rbBSnXnNvefpMEwKPnEzn8Ny-PddEmJO7UpS/s320/6d1e0e8bf0f4ef6dde41149f98bfc18b.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Found at: <a href="http://nbc.com/">nbc.com</a></span></div>
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<b><u>Level of Overall Well-Being</u></b></div>
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Off Work:</div>
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<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5_9vBTOlqwlXqfVlwGSqQRwAyWXvCoT6r8t2izLm31uDlNxFMBpOUQTJxRDftRGOphgwlzMwMt1iZNQ9aKqt2kR_cjkCZrHvYA4pw-EQBksn-IBTD23XI_Lq_oDLh9ndcIEyfLzkzu9K/s1600/1f8e8b3d225612090d2b776683b82b2e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5_9vBTOlqwlXqfVlwGSqQRwAyWXvCoT6r8t2izLm31uDlNxFMBpOUQTJxRDftRGOphgwlzMwMt1iZNQ9aKqt2kR_cjkCZrHvYA4pw-EQBksn-IBTD23XI_Lq_oDLh9ndcIEyfLzkzu9K/s320/1f8e8b3d225612090d2b776683b82b2e.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
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During Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOjrq61fWjzgUDd9VZvn8oC29LTXQbEur_EC4hwYisnxPUUBgXvPaTWU2NZpfLg1jTv_Z-_bFfyNbjhib3QDeL3uzhVwJYItAcSZqjbfZ49GqPEXzGHfgXLVljTDmLT156M9tKXDCfDpq/s1600/736dcb7f56de4217c791fe08896fac7b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOjrq61fWjzgUDd9VZvn8oC29LTXQbEur_EC4hwYisnxPUUBgXvPaTWU2NZpfLg1jTv_Z-_bFfyNbjhib3QDeL3uzhVwJYItAcSZqjbfZ49GqPEXzGHfgXLVljTDmLT156M9tKXDCfDpq/s1600/736dcb7f56de4217c791fe08896fac7b.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.memepix.com/" target="_blank">Suspicous</a></span></div>
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<b><u>Ability to Handle Stress</u></b></div>
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Off Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZjNhyphenhyphenDIZS-gRZIB7WVM_Y-DhuqFimvvhR2bxlcPTRGZfRnijcIEILMjK8XuEimW5JRI2GMdKM-Zb1092WNYvFnkJfIY76zBT2KLjmIdcS286mlccpm047m3EvZ0BWHiPEFqlsKYoA855/s1600/788b06ef3f759b69c129f60a098fe58c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZjNhyphenhyphenDIZS-gRZIB7WVM_Y-DhuqFimvvhR2bxlcPTRGZfRnijcIEILMjK8XuEimW5JRI2GMdKM-Zb1092WNYvFnkJfIY76zBT2KLjmIdcS286mlccpm047m3EvZ0BWHiPEFqlsKYoA855/s320/788b06ef3f759b69c129f60a098fe58c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/nikoliolga/" target="_blank">Repinned From</a></span></div>
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During Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvDdL3hdGp_tUA4DOT-AWw6duhCe8UmwZ0nWfLhbrC1gRnLcksgqe60fv7Ds8wdWswOne7GrdnOnRtsvC_EuAg-EcZeTaZDE8bkvO4le4BR24R7WS4iUmGEJTk7KT1hA4a6NsDy9t_UF7/s1600/bulls06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvDdL3hdGp_tUA4DOT-AWw6duhCe8UmwZ0nWfLhbrC1gRnLcksgqe60fv7Ds8wdWswOne7GrdnOnRtsvC_EuAg-EcZeTaZDE8bkvO4le4BR24R7WS4iUmGEJTk7KT1hA4a6NsDy9t_UF7/s320/bulls06.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://blogs.sacbee.com/" target="_blank">Run</a>!</span></div>
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<b><u>Hobbies</u></b></div>
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Off Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSp1dIUw5-KRZfTvWw62KbfrR5s9gY3gL6IVEoojhyphenhyphenkKzmU8H9oy9Gt4fsKfD0QgWpR2Yg_odAFK7P_qufB2_UGkZSoKAK-kK1U1dOtFuQxviZAWBp1_3ObulK3VZjNr7uwEsLpxmS2EOH/s1600/f0d39d2aa2a0ee5f50d36877f71b276e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSp1dIUw5-KRZfTvWw62KbfrR5s9gY3gL6IVEoojhyphenhyphenkKzmU8H9oy9Gt4fsKfD0QgWpR2Yg_odAFK7P_qufB2_UGkZSoKAK-kK1U1dOtFuQxviZAWBp1_3ObulK3VZjNr7uwEsLpxmS2EOH/s320/f0d39d2aa2a0ee5f50d36877f71b276e.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://crittersandcrayons.com/" target="_blank">You too could quill Superman.</a></span></div>
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During Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNILgQg1DF5YNNSGTAMWorPtL3naIyNcdNPtlqOzZeLc42SyvTewydIIrZPXc9PcKeNmsakOIiCUjWug4rT_r8bL7cZCfRbCNPt-RuR9W1LV7VWt15bwSXSrgrsSz43KHrkKwbdIlziiU2/s1600/e520e4ec7caeaa23da4993f83fc836d1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNILgQg1DF5YNNSGTAMWorPtL3naIyNcdNPtlqOzZeLc42SyvTewydIIrZPXc9PcKeNmsakOIiCUjWug4rT_r8bL7cZCfRbCNPt-RuR9W1LV7VWt15bwSXSrgrsSz43KHrkKwbdIlziiU2/s320/e520e4ec7caeaa23da4993f83fc836d1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://postgradproblems.com/" target="_blank">Grocery shopping</a></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Time with your Kid</b></u></div>
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<u><b><br /></b></u></div>
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Off Work</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfSftq0hU50kAdV2HfVtVJ5DQBhVQV_Z7pUPfXCIObeWzUm01aEpwx6EMaM0vE_DGugF-HsfGa7bgMQF1CdJmip3VEINpv8aOgpzGjYCYNonoy0wglkNvYyULH9a1e9-rwa1mb8PttE_U/s1600/AmusementParkIntro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfSftq0hU50kAdV2HfVtVJ5DQBhVQV_Z7pUPfXCIObeWzUm01aEpwx6EMaM0vE_DGugF-HsfGa7bgMQF1CdJmip3VEINpv8aOgpzGjYCYNonoy0wglkNvYyULH9a1e9-rwa1mb8PttE_U/s1600/AmusementParkIntro.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://parentsconnect.com/">Parentsconnect.com</a></span></div>
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During Work:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8ZNo2SEpJ2-LXb7FgSWoWk27luHk_iYMO1heyDBNIgaI1dSOWAdENK5mU7VofH1zKvUx9VPKFIUreuVwzAKhban2iN_XjnCrc6s6R3DoHToIOdC6bkWMOTsFpYvBPkROE3K_uQOFumnA/s1600/2024dfa1e0f710e6804a641406bf22b6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8ZNo2SEpJ2-LXb7FgSWoWk27luHk_iYMO1heyDBNIgaI1dSOWAdENK5mU7VofH1zKvUx9VPKFIUreuVwzAKhban2iN_XjnCrc6s6R3DoHToIOdC6bkWMOTsFpYvBPkROE3K_uQOFumnA/s1600/2024dfa1e0f710e6804a641406bf22b6.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://amazon.com/" target="_blank">Just Go To Bed</a></span></div>
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That's it. It's way past my bedtime. Tomorrow is Monday, and I'll be stealing moments in Blogland here and there but never when I'm at work. </div>
Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-3250012366450842252013-07-30T20:14:00.001-06:002013-07-30T20:14:58.985-06:00Call Me Cake BossAs I'm known to do, I made my cousin a custom birthday cake. She requested carrot cake with raisins. I made her that, but I added some signature touches:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWcpnQV3GYqkjQ7WMkXDE0wlF5itDTo3hQtY8jNI-5A3lctWtT1POU3pcK_NaYxk9XzpozAQs4GgsaN6TICKDxS9XqdUWQwNpKPHnaZJNxsZ0lLhecw-zmrZBSc4nniK547JK0FhUZxqC/s1600/IMAG2556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWcpnQV3GYqkjQ7WMkXDE0wlF5itDTo3hQtY8jNI-5A3lctWtT1POU3pcK_NaYxk9XzpozAQs4GgsaN6TICKDxS9XqdUWQwNpKPHnaZJNxsZ0lLhecw-zmrZBSc4nniK547JK0FhUZxqC/s320/IMAG2556.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
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To see more of my fabulous cake skillz, you can click <a href="http://www.loveandblasphemy.blogspot.com/2013/07/i-like-you-so-much-you-get-chicken-poop.html" target="_blank">here </a>and <a href="http://pampersandpinot.blogspot.com/2011/03/lets-party-down.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/9655789/?claim=qq4b7eu3yzj">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-71075061437920292862013-07-25T10:21:00.001-06:002013-07-25T10:21:13.413-06:00Don't Call Me Dummie<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm linking up with <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/blog/" target="_blank">Mama Kat </a>for her writer's workshop. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59DiZe3rHLCy-brTWJzomdY6pbcs_c9C2ikKOMiP5j6p6zW0N-6yHKcH0-f-TLpN3_uYrQIt4xwahqMTbwbEzoC6815jukwk5y_ixyedRk8ogIwsLgIjh0-MackRFZrgdCsccH0dInL5s/s1600/workshop-button-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59DiZe3rHLCy-brTWJzomdY6pbcs_c9C2ikKOMiP5j6p6zW0N-6yHKcH0-f-TLpN3_uYrQIt4xwahqMTbwbEzoC6815jukwk5y_ixyedRk8ogIwsLgIjh0-MackRFZrgdCsccH0dInL5s/s1600/workshop-button-1.png" /></a></div>
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The prompt is: retell a conversation that made you laugh.</div>
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<b>Don't Call Me Dummie</b></div>
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“Geez, I hope she’s alright,” I said. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Earlier, I was talking on the sidewalk with a neighbor
mom. Her little daughter had run across
the street to get to her mom. She had
tripped in the street and then gone into a seizure. Everyone was shaken by the event, but
everyone ended up being ok. The little
girl went with her mom in an ambulance to the hospital to be checked out. After the fire department, EMT workers, and
police had left, we were still talking about the event.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Dummie? Yeah, she
runs and falls all the time,” my son said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“What did you call her?”
I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Dummie!” My son exclaimed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Surely, her name is not Dummie. Why do you think her name is Dummie?” I asked.
I was part exasperated that my son could unknowingly be so rude, but I
was also trying not to laugh.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s what her brother calls her!” My son explained. (My son usually shouts everything.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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I laughed. “Well,
that may be what her brother calls her, but I’m sure that’s not her name.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It is her name!
Darren calls her Dummie!” My son was getting frustrated with me, but I couldn’t
stop laughing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Parker,” I said, “Brothers call their sister’s names. Dummie is not a nice word for someone. Even if that is what Darren calls her, you
should not call her Dummie!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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……………………<o:p></o:p></div>
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The next day, Darren came over to play. He explained that his sister was
alright. She would be monitored for the
seizure. It could have been a one-time
occurrence, but we wouldn’t know yet. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I said, “Hey, Darren, by the way, what is your sister’s
name?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Demi,” Darren said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I just laughed and laughed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why are you laughing?” Darren asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh, nothing, we just thought her name was something
different.” I tried to calm my
laughing. “Demi is a pretty name.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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My son, Parker, who has the social grace of, well, a five
year old, shouted, “We thought her name was Dummie!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And we all laughed and laughed, but Darren did not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Cringe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_EX6SkJtKrgNiECU5cA5eb99nn_oFNQQXYcSD1qFd33Zz77qPsOqD6eGwWCCN0D1IcfuzkNtOX41vXtmSOcl3mJyHy28O756Gcy3_-weODTdqPBKQ2kATNlFw0DY-bpz-5cdX-EJhBec/s1600/3860d5adb37d68652c48349f1df80aa4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_EX6SkJtKrgNiECU5cA5eb99nn_oFNQQXYcSD1qFd33Zz77qPsOqD6eGwWCCN0D1IcfuzkNtOX41vXtmSOcl3mJyHy28O756Gcy3_-weODTdqPBKQ2kATNlFw0DY-bpz-5cdX-EJhBec/s320/3860d5adb37d68652c48349f1df80aa4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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from <a href="http://pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=socially%20awkward" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">And now my son is too.</span></b></div>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-69335745954460760812013-07-22T13:47:00.002-06:002013-07-22T13:47:22.783-06:00About Me...<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.actingbalanced.com/search/label/meet%20me%20on%20monday" target="_blank"><img alt="Acting Balanced" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9w3mtUFr5ij0vByRcNLIU7fYMs7nYJsitD2zxns3uw9T3WtjIXo-hR1cSz6W3reOMDkok9hrgoT4dWk9jaqwcKYnOdtoqQh_v8uMI9i5u1YOWTKT0yHkL90sRU6mqUGhSuBV2MjZZeho/s1600/MondayQuiz.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>1. Wednesday, July 24th is Drive Thru day - do you have any drive thrus that you have a hard time passing?</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Taco Bell is my fave!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>2. Other than signing your name, when was the last time you physically wrote something?</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lists. Many, many lists all the time. Revised ones, typed ones, weekly vs. daily ones, grocery template lists, weekend task to-do lists. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lists keep my life flowing at a comfortable pace. Or else I wouldn't know what the hell was going on. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPY2r8cz-YkZPe9XyWFIgkOXvvVEE5p-3L0fAfPwvkCHZDpHZhFuzrZKOKkk9OH4qaJhztU9M-ItGK8bOazmbFe4mBbcBxQkCUdlbEa0qjhqvbqvpLU70vBwJ74X9tXs1doiXpY12w6gj/s1600/df465c02e1d8eac541fec6de07087351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPY2r8cz-YkZPe9XyWFIgkOXvvVEE5p-3L0fAfPwvkCHZDpHZhFuzrZKOKkk9OH4qaJhztU9M-ItGK8bOazmbFe4mBbcBxQkCUdlbEa0qjhqvbqvpLU70vBwJ74X9tXs1doiXpY12w6gj/s320/df465c02e1d8eac541fec6de07087351.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white;">
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>3. What was the first movie you saw in a movie theater? the latest one?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think the first was <i>E.T</i>. The last was <i>Monsters University </i>because, you know, I have a kid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>4. Have you ever visited Disney?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Many times!! Love it!! Can't wait to take my son there for the first time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>Now, you all need to answer this question in my comments!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; line-height: 19.5px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Is the world going to hell in a hand basket, or is everything going to be alright?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="line-height: 19.5px;">(I am of the strong belief that everything is going to be alright. People need to settle down with the Chicken Little attitudes.)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="line-height: 19.5px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/9655789/?claim=qq4b7eu3yzj">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-80694562137594365852013-07-16T10:45:00.002-06:002013-07-21T20:49:56.838-06:00You is Funny. You is Silly. You is Hilarious. I want to get something straight around here. There's a whole lot more love in my life than blasphemy, and I still deal with life with a wicked sense of humor. <br />
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Even during my hardest and most stressful times, my go-to strategy for feeling better is getting on Pinterest and perusing the "humor" category. <br />
<br />
If I can squeeze out a couple of LOL's, everything's gonna be alright. <br />
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Let's see if it works for you. <br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/" target="_blank">Pinned </a>from <a href="http://dailydawdle.com/">dailydawdle.com</a></div>
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Sometimes, you just need to put that baby on the floor...Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-58999508002646745552013-07-14T16:51:00.000-06:002013-07-14T16:51:41.537-06:00An Independent Woman<div class="MsoNormal">
I listened to my father talk about his health, giving up
trying to put a word in edge-wise.
Instead, I sat silently, chewing the skin off my left thumb. Having a “conversation” with my father was
hard work, emotionally. I stepped
outside of myself and noticed the gnawing anxiety growing in the middle of my
body. I noticed my stomach churning, and
my impatience growing. When I was able to ask a question, I asked something I knew would pique his interest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, did you have lunch with Aunt Sandy recently?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, oh, yes!” he
said, surprised I knew about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I saw it on Facebook,”
I explained.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dad has not joined the Facebook world. So, mentions of Facebook are amusing to
him. I believe my father does not join
Facebook or engage in much of the world around him because it does not revolve
around him and his issues and his health and his feelings and his ideas and his
needs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dad continued on, “…It was so funny when I saw my sister
and cousins – they were talking about you!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh yeah?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dad said, “They were talking about how upset they were
that you were taking a break from…what is it….your blog? They were so relieved to know that it is just
a break and that you will continue it sometime.
Is that right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes,” I said, laughing, always flattered by hearing that
others follow my blog and care to read what I write. I haven’t even seen this aunt or cousins for
many years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My father has never shown interest in reading my blog. In fact, the second time I asked him about
checking it out, I believe he said, “Oh, no, I have no interest in that kind of
thing.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At that moment, my son started shouting in the
background. I tended to his needs,
talking to my son while my dad waited on the phone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sorry,” I said to my dad for the interruption. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, that’s ok,” my dad said. “I always remember your brother shouting
whenever I got on the phone! There’s
just something about being on the phone.
They suddenly need you then!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes,” I said, chuckling along while trying to wipe up the
spill my son had caused. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dad went on, “You, though, you were always so
self-sufficient. So
self-entertained. You were a good
girl. Well, not that your brother
wasn’t…anyways, you know what I mean.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, I know,” I said.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We wrapped up our conversation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Self-sufficient. I am
used to making myself this way. It is a
way of life. Until you start to feel a
little lonely. Then, self-sufficient
kind of sucks. But, it appears that the
men in my life need me to be self-sufficient.
So that I do not mind what it is that they need to do. I am just now beginning to realize this. What this means for the men in my life, I
don’t know. I am only starting to be
concerned for what it means to me. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/9655789/?claim=qq4b7eu3yzj">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-11100511481606497102013-07-11T11:21:00.000-06:002013-07-11T17:19:38.888-06:00I Like You So Much, You Get Chicken Poop Cake<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/9655789/?claim=qq4b7eu3yzj">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>
<br />
<br />
We've been partying like animals over here. My boyfriend's birthday has come and gone. Just like I like it, there was lots of absurd hilarity.<br />
<br />
One of my favorite absurdly hilarious things was the cake I made. I am a really good cook. <br />
<br />
When my birthday came around, my boyfriend made me a delicious and beautiful cake. It was a raspberry cake filling with a light pistachio icing. He even made the cake topper from clay and topped that with a butterfly. You see:<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Now you all know my age. It is what it is.</div>
<br />
For his birthday, my boyfriend asked for a peanut butter cake. Well, alright. I made a peanut butter cake (with home-made peanut butter) with a peanut chocolate frosting (with home-made confectioner's sugar!). But, I didn't stop there. The cake topper I chose was a stately and beautiful chicken. It's what tied it all together.<br />
<br />
My chicken poop cake:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
It was really delicious. </div>
<br />
(Shhh! Don't tell anyone. The cake was even more blasphemous because I used a Paula Deen recipe. From now on, I know she has a really fabulous chicken poop cake recipe.)Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-14164910555678540912013-07-07T16:27:00.001-06:002013-07-13T10:21:39.397-06:00I am Mine<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am alone in a living room filled with toys.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shoes on,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With nowhere I want to go,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only wondering where I went.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You used to think I was so interesting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You used to think,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So captivating.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here I am,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wanting your approval,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your desire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am in a living room full of toys</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With my shoes on,<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wondering where you went.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am alone in my thoughts,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On what I am and who I can be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I push past any moment that was defined by</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Others.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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I’m left with an ocean that goes beyond eternity, and it is mine alone.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The seas are rough,<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I call them home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My heart has weathered more beyond your <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Callous skin<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And careless time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am here,<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I am mine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW7nI6h4G2NIwjAXwF5dGdDXDu3-xeDjYjvuT1y_T3oveadxRVNhkTWSO8NEBLEyIu88pVoN49qMFq8lf5pTc3UddaRh1S2qLN6DAODXrlNBKDs6kMu-ymM71Gord3NB1KSYum_HvXe-V/s1600/c65449ca3a243b0c1d6a9419c7a73841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW7nI6h4G2NIwjAXwF5dGdDXDu3-xeDjYjvuT1y_T3oveadxRVNhkTWSO8NEBLEyIu88pVoN49qMFq8lf5pTc3UddaRh1S2qLN6DAODXrlNBKDs6kMu-ymM71Gord3NB1KSYum_HvXe-V/s320/c65449ca3a243b0c1d6a9419c7a73841.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Patrick Palmer</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Pinned from<a href="http://www.saatchionline.com/" target="_blank"> saatchionline.com</a></div>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-65524513100789505932013-07-05T16:25:00.000-06:002013-07-05T16:25:45.435-06:00Brothers from Other MothersOne day, my little boy discovered that there was another little boy on the other side of the backyard fence.<br />
<br />
They would look at each other and giggle and talk, but they were too young for climbing fences, walking around the block, or going over to someone's house alone. <br />
<br />
I wrote about the cute-ness of it all on my previous blog, <a href="http://pampersandpinot.blogspot.com/2011/09/suburban-friendship.html" target="_blank">Pampers and Pinot</a>.<br />
<br />
Now, nearly two years after that post, there is a gate in the fence that separates our yards. They can play to their hearts' content, and boy, do they play. They are "best friends." They say they wish they were brothers. <br />
<br />
We went from this kind of experience:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37dgYjJx6K4LlcVznOpYSPH1MuUvM-1RQtj_T8dpLJ0nypvU5xSyArMrbEjuG5kU1kW8FRzF4zhAlVakJfnRmzq7Yc0KuOVCIO5fAf8XCKfj2JgJ03uiNJrNTE3jJbFtTNzG0U06vOTD9/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37dgYjJx6K4LlcVznOpYSPH1MuUvM-1RQtj_T8dpLJ0nypvU5xSyArMrbEjuG5kU1kW8FRzF4zhAlVakJfnRmzq7Yc0KuOVCIO5fAf8XCKfj2JgJ03uiNJrNTE3jJbFtTNzG0U06vOTD9/s1600/index.jpg" /></a></div>
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To this!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nMcCUzPpTrln4cn-QUKJCbug3QjAD4aMg2saOBixJBovHPSBcMtf4HYqK0vTKu2fdiRaVleaaWqVIZXYPcr5K0irLKNEsA0-5lNVgVZ1xR4LuDd87hJCJuNxJUPCfH5vL5PRVvbW8T96/s1600/969880_10151491427993021_691533732_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nMcCUzPpTrln4cn-QUKJCbug3QjAD4aMg2saOBixJBovHPSBcMtf4HYqK0vTKu2fdiRaVleaaWqVIZXYPcr5K0irLKNEsA0-5lNVgVZ1xR4LuDd87hJCJuNxJUPCfH5vL5PRVvbW8T96/s320/969880_10151491427993021_691533732_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It helps to have a handy boyfriend around!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhSg_fgBexH74TLcv2ynfsySiPJC9Qc3u6ec_cJC3SbyciFaVuc4mQ0wyWJWFwTVCWmPrvfuYlPIdIy0FwnIiGXSQLs0Z32o8i93BhEi236kcwQJUiaTDPZsDGu-ya56y7QbAKP0rN6ri/s1600/IMAG2353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhSg_fgBexH74TLcv2ynfsySiPJC9Qc3u6ec_cJC3SbyciFaVuc4mQ0wyWJWFwTVCWmPrvfuYlPIdIy0FwnIiGXSQLs0Z32o8i93BhEi236kcwQJUiaTDPZsDGu-ya56y7QbAKP0rN6ri/s320/IMAG2353.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">That's my Parker boy. His friend was not in the picture, but he was there, running through our sprinklers.</span></div>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-29823593964118148712013-07-03T11:27:00.001-06:002013-07-03T11:27:10.002-06:00You’re Allowed to Feel Good<div>
I'm linking up this week at <a href="http://writeonedge.com/" target="_blank">Write on Edge</a> for their Write at the Merge prompt:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaqhJOjL9kpGmPObQAkIVWqHQ2vMFZWdzyLEovdhIelSP97k1ponll7teXMy45yj9dR1tWkiLmmb0ixsviuaG79hbMokMXVgt0qE5Xwf4P27bJGAs4SIVi4nE7tdLyJfpelfUPGFNp0m3/s1600/Katherine-Hepburn-quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfaqhJOjL9kpGmPObQAkIVWqHQ2vMFZWdzyLEovdhIelSP97k1ponll7teXMy45yj9dR1tWkiLmmb0ixsviuaG79hbMokMXVgt0qE5Xwf4P27bJGAs4SIVi4nE7tdLyJfpelfUPGFNp0m3/s200/Katherine-Hepburn-quote.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I chose to write fiction with my Kate and Dr. Chase characters. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You're Allowed to Feel Good</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
“No, keep going. It’s
nice to hear about the good times,” said Dr. Chase.<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kate smiled a little.
“Ok. Well, we weren’t supposed to
be there. The lake was on private
property, but Marisa and I would be up after work. We’d sit by the edge of the lake and smoke
and talk. We hadn’t ever had any issues
or seen anyone around the place.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kate blushed a little before continuing. “A couple times we had gone, um, skinny
dipping, when it had been really hot out.
It just feels so good, you know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dr. Chase smiled, “Yes, I know.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Kate continued, “We weren’t too scared. So we went ahead for a swim this one night,
and while we were in the water, we saw flash lights approaching!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, no!” Dr. Chase
was happy to see her patient lighten up a little. Kate’s shoulders had lifted, and her face
became brighter with animation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah! Then we heard
someone asking, ‘Who’s down there?’
Thank goodness our clothes were right at the shore. We were so quick. We didn’t even say a thing to each
other! We just both knew that we were
going to run and get the hell outta there.”
Kate laughed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you get away?
Did they see you?” Dr. Chase
asked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I mean, yes, we got away! They didn’t see us. Well, I don’t think,” she said with a
chuckle. “We splashed out of the water,
grabbed our clothes and took off toward the tree line away from them. Do you know how hard it is to get your
clothes on quickly when you’re wet? Oh,
man. We pulled them on though and got to
our car and sped off.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They spent a moment in silence while Kate was still smiling
at the thought. Gradually, Kate’s face
began to change. Tears came to her eyes,
but she quickly wiped them away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I like hearing about some of the fun you guys had,” said
Dr. Chase.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kate sniffed and looked away. Dr. Chase felt Kate pulling away and shutting
down. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You know, you’re allowed to remember the good times and let
it feel good,” Dr. Chase said softly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kate said nothing.
She looked out the window.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are you feeling?” Dr. Chase asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kate shifted in her seat.
“I don’t feel anything,” Kate said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“You look like you feel something,” said Dr. Chase.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Kate’s foot began to bounce.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Dr. Chase continued, “Can we just try-“<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No!” Kate interrupted.
“We’re not going to try anything.
We’re not going to talk about ‘how I feel and why’ because there’s no
use! When it comes down to it, I feel
like shit and it’s all my fault. Simple
as that,” Kate said, looking the doctor straight in the eye. “I’m fucking stuck in here, getting nowhere,
but you know what? I may as well
be. I may as well be stuck in hell for
the shit I’ve put people through. What
makes you so lucky, Dr. Chase? Why do
you get to listen to my bitching and moaning?”
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kate stood up. “Never
mind,” Kate said as she stood up. She
opened the office door. “God dammit,
this is a waste of time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9I8GyPf5jOWSIZiwsbJJH2b1UQlZafaYajedQJryR6SLjJkBBuKl3ksclqfCsVKMwvzaHkOTThGoDY-rCNgArW7aBDwRDiPyGNa3Mqp2wZVV7UvajEbe8ROtWdgwfkZWo8rcvpovF_Y2k/s976/WatMButtonTake2wText.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9I8GyPf5jOWSIZiwsbJJH2b1UQlZafaYajedQJryR6SLjJkBBuKl3ksclqfCsVKMwvzaHkOTThGoDY-rCNgArW7aBDwRDiPyGNa3Mqp2wZVV7UvajEbe8ROtWdgwfkZWo8rcvpovF_Y2k/s200/WatMButtonTake2wText.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://writeonedge.com/" target="_blank">Write on Edge</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5725343027031730605.post-61949023240608273332013-07-01T15:25:00.000-06:002013-07-01T15:25:23.200-06:00I Live to Blog Again<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">I am ready again to blog and write.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">Life got in the way in a major way last
year.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">Overwhelmed with personal stress,
I had to end my previous blog, <a href="http://www.pampersandpinot.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Pampers and Pinot</a>.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">It had run its course anyway.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">It was a great blog, and like Oprah, I had to
leave while people still liked me.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">You
see, my head is still big enough to compare myself to Oprah and assume that I
am liked by the masses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I don’t aim to make everyone like me anymore. I am simply myself and that is enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My life went through a complete overhaul – the biggest being
that I went through a divorce. There
were many health problems to get through (all is well now). I had to focus on my son and his adjustment
to all of these stressors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">What hasn’t changed about me?
My sharp wit and tongue are always at the ready. Laughing is an extremely important activity! People may hold their breath
when I begin to speak, but there is no need to worry. My heart is big enough to make me cry every time
I watch <i>Brave</i>. I try to approach people
with understanding and love. My devious
humor is just for fun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am a very creative spirit.
Blogging keeps me writing.
Writing keeps me feeling good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The world is full of love – in so many forms. The world is full of blasphemy – of all
types. I plan to write about both. No holds barred.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Kristy @Loveandblasphemyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634987114195614214noreply@blogger.com28