tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21503833270292667452024-03-13T14:59:23.164-07:00THE LITTLE MAN CANerica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-70568481135803479822016-12-10T10:55:00.002-08:002016-12-15T11:38:47.057-08:00Christmas 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's Christmas Time!! Time for newsletters and family pictures and eating lots of treats. I haven't been good about journaling, or blog posts, and the last time I did one of those picture books it was to commemorate Sophie's birth...so this newsletter is my way of updating friends and family, but also documenting for any interested future generations. Here goes:<br />
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Kate and Clint are spirit buddies. When Clint gets home from work she finds a way to crawl onto his lap and they sit together, both possessing an ability for stillness and quiet. Kate is my child that surprises me the most, probably because she is least like me and most like my husband. Her preschool teacher described her as a quiet leader, analytical, independent and focused, which are things I could pretend that I am, but really I am not. <br />
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Around Halloween we drove past one of those huge inflatable spiders and Sophie said it was scaring her so we all launched into the things we would do to the spider. I said I would stomp it with a giant shoe, Zachary would flush it down the potty and Sophie would 'get it.' Before we launched into round two of group think in killing a blow-up spider, we asked Kate, who had remained quiet, what she would do. She said "I would do nothing. I would cheer you on." Smart girl.<br />
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Kate started taking speech therapy this year and works so hard at it. She has gotten many of her sounds and patterns down and I am so glad that we have found good therapists and programs. All her therapists are kind and encouraging and during one session Sophie looks up at me and says "Wow, Kate is really good at this!!" Which is not really accurate, because well, speech therapy, but the sentiment of us being proud of her could not be more true. <br />
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Zachary started kindergarten in the fall and the transition from him being home most of the day to being at school most of the day was relatively smooth and organic. The other day he found out that I volunteered to help with his Christmas party and would bring Kate with me, and he turned to Kate in all seriousness, "But Kate, you cannot be crazy. This is <i>kindergarten</i>." <br />
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In September he did the jog-a-thon where the collision of youth, health and impermanence left me both nostalgic for the past and excited for the future. They had a parent blasting pop music from a car hooked up to a couple of speakers, and all the kids were so excited to run around ten times in a circle. I think that was the longest and the fastest Zachary had ever run (I seriously could not keep up with him), and at one point he said "Mommy, feel my heart...can you feel it? It is beating so fast." His blond curls bouncing, the determined look on his face, all the other kids moving their bodies with their parents and teachers, feeling his heart pumping through his chest, all topped off with a cheesy pop song....ok, ok, yes, I cried. <br />
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I feel like I can't talk about Zachary without sounding cliche and annoying; he really has a heart of gold. Some mornings can feel crazy with all the things one must do to get children and self ready (and Clint is 99% of the time still sleeping from working late) so I am doing it solo. One morning as I was zipping up Zachary's jacket and he was trying to rush off to meet his walking carpool I said, "One day you will be grateful to have a mommy that cares if you are warm enough." Which was a bit melodramatic on my part, (but hey sometimes it feels good to play that part), and Zach's reply was "I'm already grateful for you Mommy." <br />
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He wins!!!! It's like this child came pre-scripted with all the things to do and say that will melt your heart. Everyone loves Zach!!<br />
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Sophie is a trip and the alpha male in our family. She always has something to say and always has something to demand. When she was a baby we would joke that she was vying to be born into royalty and become Queen, and is now resigned to life as a commoner. As a family we have all developed coping mechanisms to live with a jilted queen and really it is not so bad. In fact, I think she is entering a new phase in her reign, one that is less marked with severity and sovereign, and more focused on ruling with charm and compassion. Hopefully this era continues. <br />
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When not overwhelmed by Sophie, I am in awe of her. She is tenacious and witty; beautiful, bright and strong. Really everything a young queen should be.<br />
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This summer she got potty trained and insisted on only going in the little potty, and then also insisted on pouring its contents herself into the big potty. If I can escape these episodes without developing an anxiety disorder I think I am set for life. Sophie with the little potty in her hands is like the girl at a party with her fifth drink in hand. Sloppy and sloshy.<br />
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Our morning prayers usually included praying that Sophie would go on the little potty (can't hurt) and at some point Zachary, in all his perceptiveness, changed it to praying she would go on the big potty. God willing and hands to the sky. <br />
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Clint has had a big year at work. He has grown his company, and what started as something to help pay the bills in medical school (cause you know med students have loads of time) has turned into a legit operation with over sixty employees. He thinks big and so far it is working. We just had his company Christmas Party/Ten Year Celebration, and it was awesome to see what he and his employees have been able to create. <br />
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This growth has had a downside, mainly him pulling all-nighters with his computer and an energy drink that should be illegal. Like I mentioned passive-aggressively in Zachary's section, the late nights have also meant that it is solo parenting for me in the mornings, and often him crashing on the weekends. Zachary has fully taken advantage of this situation, and if I am gone exercising in the morning he asks Clint in his sleep if he can watch a show. Clint has evolved to the point of being able to carry on conversations without waking up, gives Zachary a sluggish 'yes' and then when I get home and gives him the eye its always "What?! Daddy said YES!!" If I had a dollar for every time I uttered the phrase "you need to get on family-time" I would be more privileged than I already am.<br />
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This crazy schedule has somewhat started to taper off in the past months and we all love spending more time with Clint. With the kids he wrestles and gives horsey rides and cuddles and indulges them with gifts that I am too cheap to buy. He also lets them destroy the house while he watches football, and has coached Kate to cheer "Go Utah!" Kate loves sitting in his lap while they watch the endlessness that is football. <br />
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Now that we are out of the baby stage we can do things like go skiing, go on the occasional <i>sans</i> <i>kid</i> trip......or just experience general happiness together. I'm kidding, we experienced that with babies, just at more exhausted and less frequent intervals. All in all this year has been good to be a Womack and be married to one.<br />
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You probably have a good idea of what my year has been like through my family, as I am the one both orchestrating and being affected by everyone's comings and goings and life events. I am mostly content to play this role, although I have been able to also carve out some autonomy this year, more than previous years, which is great, but initially felt self-indulgent. Before the birth of each child I had a feeling of 'incomplete' and then a child would come and fill that hole. Next the baby grows and becomes more independent...and before you know it you aren't even responsible for their bowel movements! I used to be in charge of wiping all the dependents bottom's, and every year that number goes down.<br />
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When Sophie was 18 months I went through a transition where I knew I did not want anymore children, but I mourned the completion, and the 'not wanting any more children.' Both my mother and the environment told me I was done, but I found myself thinking that if I were different, more Mother Teresa-like, I would keep at this game of creation.<br />
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Then I realized that Mother Teresa did not have any children. Which is not a negative because guaranteed she was feeding the needy and making the world a better place while I was getting a pedicure, but why I am a comparing myself to other situations and people?<br />
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This 'owning who I am' has carried over into other aspects of my life, like moose tracks ice-cream. I'm sorry, but I am not going to apologize for excavating all the chocolate swirls and leaving the left-overs for the next unlucky person. I'm an adult, the ice-cream costs 4$, and those are my choices. Its like I'm an archeologist.<br />
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Anyways, the phase of mourning my empty womb passed, I told my eggs to take a hike, and I've settled into the idea that I can potentially have a waist for the rest of my thirties.<br />
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I like being able to spend time with my children but I also like not spending time with my children. While the girls are at preschool I teach a dance class at the community college, I wake up early to jog or do pilates, and I imagine that as the kids start to spend more time at school I will teach more or maybe just watch bad television.<br />
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There is so much sadness swirling around us, I appreciate this season where we can try to carve out the hope and peace that is there as well. God bless you all, and cheers to a wonderful holiday season.erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-83989003685089387462016-01-05T21:34:00.002-08:002016-01-05T21:38:23.858-08:00goals<div style="text-align: center;">
I am totally into New Years Resolutions. I love that small window of time where you ride the momentum of change and control, and 'this time it will be different.' Who cares that it will all be forgotten by January 20th, I am living in the moment and 2016 is going to be my best year ever!! Yessssss!!!!!!! (fist in the air!)</div>
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I have two resolutions this year; one is to be better at cooking and having family dinner. That was actually my resolution last year, but it turned out that<i> that</i> year was not so different, so now <i>this</i> is the year that is going to be different.</div>
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My other resolution is one that I just added today, and was feeling a little insecure about until I talked to my sister. She said it was a really great idea. In fact, she was so enthusiastic I think she might adopt it for her own.</div>
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My other resolution is to work on being more vain. Maybe even the kind of vain that takes selfies with duck lips.</div>
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But even if I don't take it that far, I at least want to be vain enough to figure out a better hairstyle. And a lipstick color. And up my everyday wardrobe. Since going through pregnancies and kids the questions that I ask myself before making a clothing purchase have become this;</div>
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But does it feel like I am wearing my pajamas? (Proceed if yes)</div>
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BUT is it a slight upgrade from actually wearing my pajamas. (Proceed if yes)</div>
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Me wearing upgraded pajamas became glaringly obvious when on a shopping trip with Clint at Anthropology. It was my birthday so I felt justified both in buying something and making Clint wait while I shopped the sale-rack (seriously the rest of that store doesn't even exist. Like who does the rest of that store exist for???)</div>
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I came out of the dressing room in this longish open sweater that kind-of draped open in a way that felt breezy and forgiving. But it was made of sweatshirt-ish material so it was really comfortable. </div>
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"This is cute, right? I mean I know its not <i>really</i> cute, but its like comfortable-cute, right??'</div>
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And I can't even remember what Clint said because really, it doesn't matter, it never does with shopping, I bought the sweater. The wake-up call came when I looked down at the receipt and it read: </div>
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<b><u>Fringe Blanket</u></b></div>
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I couldn't believe that I had just bought a wearable blanket. Like when did it get that bad??!! </div>
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For this being vain resolution I also want to work on getting better at taking family photos. Now that I am of a certain age and have children I feel like family photos are a big thing. They are important.</div>
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This is a family photo that my sister took over the holiday while we were all in California. I love how happy we look (she was saying 'poop' and 'fart' to get the kids to laugh) and I love how I am doing that thing with my leg to make that little calf muscle pop. That was a good <i>being vain</i> choice. But I wish I would have not laughed so enthusiastically that my eyes closed, and why didn't anyone tell me to wear lip-stick? Or get a tan?? Or do that arm pose that everyone does??? </div>
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These are the things I need to get better at for next time. I read somewhere that the most flattering pose is to turn your body three quarters away from the camera, and then turn your head back to the camera so you are kind of looking over your shoulder.</div>
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I wanted to try that for these photos but I wasn't sure what to do with all the children. And then there is Clint. What would he do while I am three-fourthing??!!! Also I am not sure that my neck has that kind-of flexibility. Its like the E<i>xorcist: Fashion Edition</i>. </div>
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Anyways, those are my New Years Resolutions. I would love to hear yours! Happy 2016!</div>
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<i>Sophie working on the 3/4 rule</i></div>
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erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-25602684599543916632015-12-12T19:08:00.002-08:002015-12-12T20:59:46.124-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is that time of the year where everyone is sending out holiday cards and newsletters, and while I know some roll their eyes, I love it all. Here is the Womack Family Newsletter for 2015:</div>
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Big news for Kate--she is potty trained!!! When Kate was 20 months we were swimming at my uncle's pool and she suddenly got out of the pool, said "te-ee" and then peed. And I remember saying confidently to my Mom, "I could potty train her, she is ready." And then Sophie started crying, and Zachary wanted me to watch him do a trick, and Sophie needed to be changed and you know the revolving door of children and their needs. Fast forward a year and change and we celebrated Kate's third birthday with cake, pizza and her still in diapers. <br />
The breaking point of our dependency was when she demanded to be changed in the middle of the night, started crying when I tried to prevent her from cuddling with the full diaper, and came down the stairs in the morning cradling her diaper like a baby. Creepy. And weird. And gross.<br />
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In other news, Kate loves to help make eggs and cookies and pancakes, and she loves going to preschool. Her teacher told me she has a little friend in the class and they are always together playing dolls and dress-up. When I asked Kate what her friend's name was, she looked at me a little bewildered and said, "I don't know."<br />
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Sophie wakes up at 5am every morning. She doesn't take a day off for holidays, late nights or good behavior. There is nothing I can do to gloss this over for the family newsletter, it is by far her worst trait.<br />
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Other than catching that damn proverbial worm, she loves reading books (no shows for this intellectual baby!), her bathing suit (suit-tay) and going in the hot tub (hot TAA!!). This past November we spent a week up in Park City and went in the pool and hot tub everyday. Really it was the only thing we really did on that vacation. I have never seen Sophie more content; warm water, cheeks flushed, round belly, big smile.<br />
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This year Zachary learned how to swim. Or really I should say he learned how to not drown. Learning how to swim is the next installment. <br />
Learning how to not drown was not going well in the beginning, he was reluctant to go under, it was a pain take all the kids and then keep Kate and Sophie occupied and alive, and one day it was so hot in that indoor pool that as I started to sweat I decided that this would be our last day. <br />
But then I found out you have to cancel four weeks in advance or pay a fee, and I am way too cheap to pay fees, so instead I called my mom and complained. <br />
"Is this what it takes to get a kid to swim??!!! I mean can you believe how expensive it is??!"<br />
And for some reason the person who shelled out money for my own private swim lessons, not to mention four years of college, failed to react. So then I had a heart to heart with Zachary and told him that I really wanted him to learn how to swim but until he 'went for it' he would never learn, and have to wear a floaty the rest of his life. And we talked about being brave and doing things even if you don't like them.<br />
The next swim lesson he 'went for it.' And every swim lesson after that he 'went for it.' What a stud.<br />
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This past November he turned five. I love this age and all the funny things he says.<br />
When he failed to listen one day I said, "Zachary, you are five now. You are old enough to listen and follow directions." And his reply was, "Dude, I am <i>only </i>five! Like maybe when I'm fifteen or something!"<br />
And one day when he was acting crazy I told him, "Zacahry, I am not very impressed with your behavior." And he said, "Hmmmm that's fine. I'm still your kid, right?" <br />
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Clint is a super-dad. Whenever he takes a kid, (even only one of them!) to the grocery store someone confirms it. This obviously is annoying to me because I never get those accolades. This senario climaxed when he took the three kids to Costco one Saturday, which is impressive but something that I do <i>ALL </i>the time, and there happened to be a Chinese tour bus. (Why I have no idea, although now we do have the biggest Costco in the world.) Clint came home triumphant and smug; "You are not going to believe what just happened. I was putting the kids in the cart and like ten people from this tour bus start clapping and taking my picture. I don't know if it was because our kids are blond or there are three of them, or maybe because I'm a Dad doing the grocery shopping with three kids?? But it was so awesome."<br />
<i>Whatever.</i><br />
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Besides being super-dad, Clint is still running his company, binge watching TV, and is going to start playing in a flag football league come January. He loves his family and he loves chips. <br />
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Now that I am officially out of the newborn stage I find that I have a bit more energy to be on a health kick. I love eating healthy because it makes me feel so much better than everyone else. How else could I be any more superior than when I am mindfully dining on soaked chai seeds with fruit, sipping a kombucha, and Clint walks in and pours himself a bowl of gluten and sugar with lactose???! It's sad really, I feel bad for him. <br />
I also feel bad for him when he doesn't get the satisfaction of seeing me hiding in the pantry eating microwaved cookie dough and ice-cream. But that's life. <br />
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Soon I will have two years of having three kids at home under my belt (kindergarden looms in the future!), and while at times I feel that it is getting easier, there are other times I just want to lay down on the floor and give up. So that is what I do. <br />
Aren't you supposed to play dead when fearing for your life from certain beasts and wild animals? This is where I took my cue, and the first time I did it it was very effective. <br />
"Mommy is dead??!!" they all said, and there was a feeling of alarm and importance. Clint helped, Zachary and Kate settled, and Sophie just kept wailing. (You can't expect 100% success. There will always be one rouge beast.) The technique was so effective that every time I was feeling overwhelmed, I would immediately drop to the floor. Problem is, it happened one too many times, and it became classic 'boy calling wolf syndrome.' Me laying facedown on the floor became common-place, I was an extra piece of furniture that you now had to walk around. It was the new normal and the demands kept flying. Getting a new coping mechanism is my New Year's Resolution. If you all have any ideas let me know. <br />
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I love this time of year; the music, the gifts, the decorations, the food...everything. I love the feeling of building traditions for my family and making things special. Over the summer we were at my parents house in California having movie night, and while they have every Disney VHS created, their kid DVD collection is pretty slim, so the kids were watching the 'Polar Express.' And there is this scene where the boys sees Santa for the first time and there is a feeling of awe and faith confirmed. In that moment I felt something special, and Baby Kate, who is not the most verbal of my kids, looks at me and says, "That's Jesus."<br />
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We felt the Christmas spirit in August, and I have been actively searching for it all this month. The hope of something better and brighter, of peace and love in the midst of darkness.<br />
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Happy Holidays to you all!!!<br />
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XOXOXOX,<br />
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the womackserica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-32478958331064765942015-10-17T14:01:00.002-07:002015-10-17T22:19:23.219-07:00baby kate turns three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The other day Zachary came zooming past and yelled, 'See ya later alligator.'<br />
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You scrunched up your face, made two fists, and yelled, 'I not a gator!!!! I BABY KATE WOMACK ROSE!!!'<br />
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Happy Third birthday Baby Kate Womack Rose. While you were the one child that was planned, you are the one that surprises me the most. You intrigue me. There is a quiet power in you that is hard to place. In this way I think you take after your father, you say what you need to, but stop there. While the rest of us gush and annoy, express and then apologize, you two watch and calculate. I wish your father would fawn over me, but after 20 years with the man I know that his independence is what drew me in, and in this same way you draw us in.<br />
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The other night I came into bed, your dad in that place of sleep where you can still be pulled out of it, and asked '<i>Do you think that you understand baby Kate more than Z and Sophie?' </i><br />
And he rolled over a bit and said '<i>No I think I understand them all the same.'</i><br />
And of course I wanted to have a long conversation where we figure everyone out and feel good about ourselves and how we are living and solve all our stresses in the way that parents only can when their children are finally asleep and you can parent without them being there, but I heard the breathing deepen and it was done. <br />
Regardless, I see so much of your father in you and seeing you two play and laugh and wrestle fills my heart. I like to imagine you becoming very close as you grow, hopefully you admiring the strengths that you inherited. <br />
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<span style="text-align: start;">While your brother and sister never give me the luxury of not knowing where they are, two bees buzzing all day, you are often off by yourself, organizing your dolls and animals, transporting them from one room to the next. You love collecting your loot in a big pink polka dot bin and when you come into our bed (every night around midnight) you drag the big bin behind you.</span></div>
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I can count the number of tantrums that you have had in your life on one hand, you are easy-going and undramatic. I've never put you in a time-out, partly because you don't mis-behave, and partly because you mostly get what you want. When you say you're done with a meal, and I say '<i>ok, just have one more bite of carrot', y</i>ou say '<i>no I not, I done' </i>and climb down and walk away. And I really don't know how to respond other than smile at your little person-ness. </div>
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Kate, you are so many things...you are so beautiful. When I was pregnant with you I knew you would have brown eyes and brown hair, just like I knew your siblings would have blue eyes and blond hair. But I couldn't predict the softness about you. I'm always trying to capture that softness with my camera, but because I'm not a great photographer I never quite do you justice.<br />
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I remember holding you after you were born, you so quiet, just taking everything in, and thinking I could do this a million times. And I could. If I could have a million of <i>You </i>I would. But instead I will cherish the one You that I have. Happy Birthday my daughter. </div>
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Ok wait, I could have a million of you......if you got better at sleeping. You. Are. The. Worst. Sleeper. Please work on it this year. Seriously, go to sleep Kate.erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-20988989667970558582015-04-25T20:19:00.003-07:002015-04-25T20:21:21.182-07:00sophie turns one<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sophie! You are one!</div>
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We made it!!</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">The other night your father and I sat in bed with
the lap top, looking over our genealogy and filling in information and photos
to our family tree. And there your name was: <i>Sophie Jean Womack, </i>like
it belonged from the beginning and made perfect sense. I felt content in
that moment, to know what wasn't there before is now a fixture. Seeing
your name and your brother and sister's, so neat and clean, branching off
of your father's and mine, made me want to just add a couple more to the list, so
we could have this robust little collection of people. What a feeling of
accomplishment. And because all you children were sweetly sleeping in
your own rooms, your bellies rising and falling with the even breath of deep
sleep, the soft glow of night lights and shadows of stuffed bears and figurines
drawing shapes on the walls, well in that moment it all felt possible, I mean
why not?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">But there are novels that aren't told in these
organized family trees, details of joys and anguish that are missing behind
each name. I saw three of my mother's siblings that have passed away and
found myself staring at the starkness of their names and dates of birth and death in slight disbelief that that was the only information included.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">So Sophie, my point is this, we are so glad that
you are part of us, that we could add your name to ours, but this first year of
your life has had its …. <i>details</i>. When I was pregnant with you I remember saying, <i>Well this
baby will just have to be mellow and learn to go with the flow, because whew!
its going to be busy!!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">What an idiot. Pregnant delusions and wishful
thinking. Babies don't go with the flow, they create the flow. And
then they destroy the flow for sport.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Your father says that you feel you were destined to
be born in a royal family, the next Middleton baby to be exact, but somehow
things got switched, and you were born into our family instead. And so
you are jilted. And pissed. At first I just laughed when he said
this, but over time I have become a believer. I really think you should
have been royalty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">This year has left me exhausted and hagged (a new
word I made up when I was crying to your father about how I felt, I think its a cross
between haggard and ragged??) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">On the bright side, this year has given me a new respect for yoga. I used to always get frustrated
with yoga. Like for example during shavasana I would think <i>I know
this is constructive rest, but wouldn't it be <b>more</b></i><b> </b><i>constructive
if we<b> </b>rested while stretching? </i>Now I cannot wait for that
moment in class where I just lie on the floor with my eyes closed. In
fact about 30 minutes into yoga class I start to think <i>Can we just get to
the punch-line already?! </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">When I had one child multi-tasking meant making
dinner while the baby played with the tupper-ware drawer. Now
mutil-tasking means nursing the baby, while wiping the boy's bottom while
yelling out a safety precaution to the toddler. True story. And I
did it all without breaking latch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Queen Sophie, you haven't been an easy going baby,
but sometimes we still have a good time. Now that you are eating more you
and I have bonded over food. The other day we shared yummy coconut and
chocolate chip cookies, and then when I declared that it was time to lose this
last bit of baby weight and limit desserts, we shared a big bowl of fresh
berries. And then the following day, when I found a blessed loop-hole in
my plan with coconut and chocolate chip pancakes, we jointly devoured those. You
had a big smile and a ring of chocolate around your mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">You squeal and pump your legs when you see your
brother Zachary, and after not seeing Baby Kate for a couple of days scooted up
to her and gave her your first deliberate hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Which brings me to the distilled
version of this post, my royal daughter:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 21px;">you are loved, happy first</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> birthday.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-35453755911102457512014-12-11T19:16:00.001-08:002014-12-11T19:16:37.942-08:00christmas 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love the holidays! And I love getting Christmas cards and Christmas newsletters! I wish this was being sent through the mail to you all, but for this year this will have to do. I will start the updates with the oldest and hairiest and go from there.</div>
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Clint is crazy. Sometimes I look at him and just can't even believe it. He started his real estate and mortgage company (<i>Vintage Lending and Realty) </i>several years ago and is doing really well. In our family we call him the Mogul, except for that one time I mixed up my words and called him a Mongrel. Despite his success I still nag him to help more with the housework and children. He bought a pass to our local mountains for some snow boarding this winter, and loves nothing more than curling up with a space heater, some chips, and an entire season on Net Flicks. This Thanksgiving he played in the annual Turkey Bowl, and as I was walking up to the field to watch, Clint scored a touchdown. And then he threw a couple of touchdowns. My heart went pitter patter for my stud of a husband and Zachary kept saying <i>Daddy!! Daddy!! I am so proud of you!!!</i></div>
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I take spot number two in terms of hair and age. I have been thinking about how I want to sum up life in 2014 and realized that for the past five years (minus one month in Jan 2012) I have either been pregnant or nursing (or both). What a blessed life! But to sum it up: I am tired. </div>
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Despite the general fatigue seems to line both my days and nights, I am happy and I feel tremendously lucky. I love going on morning jogs for Sophie's first nap (God bless the jogging stroller.) I step outside and it is like taking a bath in cool fresh air. I am starting to feel stronger and am inching my way back to long lost pieces of clothing, but really the nicest thing about my daily exercise is I have yet had to wipe a butt while doing it. I am still teaching dance courses at our local community college as an adjunct professor, and I love getting to know my students and I love being an educator. Next semester I will be teaching a couple of nights a week, which means on those nights Clint will be doing dinner/bedtime/bath solo. I bid him good luck and goodbye.</div>
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Zachary turned four this November and started going to a fine arts preschool, which means that they are essentially learning through dance, art, music and theatre. It's probably not unlike most preschools out there, but the dance curriculum is based around creative/modern dance so I felt especially excited about it. Grandma Womack went to Grandparents Day with him back in November and upon getting in the car says <i>Welllll he definitely is a </i><b style="font-style: italic;">four </b><i>year old </i><b style="font-style: italic;">boy. </b>Followed by <i>Annnd I don't think he is going to be your artist. </i>So theres that. Future career aside, Zachary loves running and jumping and riding his green scooter with his green helmet. Green is his favorite color. He is enthusiastic about lots of things, and is so fun to be around. He still loves drinking milk out of a sippy cup, and putting the lid on (which is this strange ritual that we really don't understand). This is a habit as an over attentive parent I have tried to break several times. But he always wins by saying <i>Mommy its just my favorite hing (thing). It's my favorite hing in the whole wide world. And bemember I wanna put the lid on!!! </i>And so I give up and give in because really who cares? I figure there are worse things then being a grown boy and still drinking your milk from a sippy cup.</div>
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Baby Kate turned two in October. She is finally starting to talk, although we really never quite know what she is saying. I wouldn't say pronunciation is her strong point, but she sure is cute. She is our family DJ and is always cueing up 'Don't cha wish your boyfriend was hot like me' by the Pussycat Dolls and some other equally awful song by Chris Brown. We have lots of dance parties initiated by Kate and her signature move is called the <i>peacock</i>. When she runs she picks her little legs up really high and essentially runs in place. Again, not great in terms of function, but really really cute. The other day she took off with Zachary's suitcase (a beloved possession) while he was doing his business. Zachary started shrieking hysterically, trapped by the the call of mother nature, while Baby Kate looked at me with a sly smile. </div>
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What can I say about Sophie? She is a baby. She does lots of cute things like laugh at her older siblings' antics, kick her perfectly chubby legs, and smile so big her cheeks almost burst. She also does lots of annoying things like cry in her carseat, get tired and cranky multiple times a day, and in general really cannot do<i> anything</i> for herself. What gives?! </div>
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Like I said, she is a baby.</div>
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This year was filled with many exciting things like Sophie's birth and moving to a new home. We initially tried to sell our first home, but no one wanted to buy it because it has a small yard and no garage. Which is exactly why we wanted to sell it. <i>What's wrong with you people?!!!</i> </div>
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However, we were able to rent it out in a matter of minutes, so all is well. And really we are happy to hold on to it. So many memories and life happened between those walls.</div>
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This year also had its share of loss and sadness. My Mom's sweet sister Betty Whitley and prankster brother David Hair passed away within a month of one another. It was really sad and they will be so missed. Betty was loving and strong and the glue of her family. David was the brother that would stand behind my mom and make her hands make him a sandwich. Clint's uncle Larry passed away just a week ago, and leaves a legacy of ten children behind.</div>
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I have found that I as I get older I experience more joy and contentment, but am also more affected and aware of the sorrows and sadness that inevitably affect us all. For those of you with heavy hearts this season my love and heart is with you. I pray that you find eventual peace and comfort.</div>
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You know how some things just appear and you don't know who gave them to you or how they got there? Such is the story of this Christmas/lullaby CD that appeared in our house. We have been listening to it non-stop in the car and while I did yell at the man singing a painfully slow rendition of <i>The First Noel </i>to "SPIT it out<i> ALREADY</i>!!!!" and Zachary thinks the boy drummer song that says <i>rump pa pa pumb</i> is basically the same thing as saying poopy poop poop diaper face and each time produces fits of laughter, I have really been touched with songs about the birth of Christ and have loved basking in the spirit and hope of the season. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><i>For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counseller,The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.</i></span></span></div>
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I wish you all a wonderful holiday and hope that 2015 brings us all peace and good times.</div>
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<i>With love,</i></div>
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<i>Erica Clint Zachary Kate and Sophie Womack</i></div>
<span class="p" style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-26232232317475332902014-09-28T20:12:00.000-07:002014-09-28T21:34:52.503-07:00fall 2014<div style="text-align: center;">
It has been so long since I have taken the time to write in here, yet so much has been happening that I would love to write about. Motherhood (of course), dance and trying to get out of the house with three very young children (challenging), death and the bond of families (sad yet life affirming), and marriage (as in trying to find time and energy to nurture one).</div>
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But because I am limited on time; I went downstairs to sleep Sophie, (which was not successful, she is sitting flailing on my lap whilst I write), I will organize this around my children and what they have been up to. Which is more than fitting because that is exactly my life. While most of the time I am happy that this is my life and privilege, I have on occasion sat in front of Clint with tears and whiney exasperation lamenting how I cannot do <i><u>anything</u> </i>without organizing and negotiating what feels to be a million details. And with these negotiations I seem to always have to push back the feeling that I am slighting someone and their needs. <b> <i>Ahhhh!! Everyone and their needs!!!</i></b></div>
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Anyways,</div>
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Zachary is full of life and enthusiasm. He glides through his days with ease and energy. He loves going to his preschool; to see him tear away from the car and run into his classroom with such confidence makes me smile and feel nostalgic for past days of dependence. I love carving out time to talk to him about his day and his thoughts. He says that 'praying is a lot like sleeping' and when accused with watching more than one show on grandpa's iPad responded 'well you were asleep and grandpa was asleep and I don't care.'</div>
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This summer he watched <i>American Injury (Ninja) Warriors</i> and now finds every opportunity to make obstacle courses. His life is one big Parkour! I should probably be more regimented on what he can and cannot climb/jump/hang/repeal off of, but as a dancer I get satisfaction seeing him physically explore his surroundings, and love that his life is one big site specific improvisation.</div>
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I took him to his first dance concert (Mudson at the Masonic Temple) a couple of weeks ago and I loved watching him watch dance. Sometimes I question staying involved in dance when my children are so consuming both in terms of time and energy, but it was affirming to watch through his eyes. To watch him watch dancers construct realities with their bodies reminds me of why I am so smitten with the world of movment, and inspires me to keep juggling it all.</div>
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<i>Zachary working the fish lips rage and schooling everyone</i></div>
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Baby Kate, who we still call Baby Kate, can now climb out of her crib and pack'n'play. She was sleeping in the laundry room for a time (middle child in a small house), but ever since her climbing exploits has now been sleeping with Zachary in his room. Which is adorable but has had its challenges. Sleeping in general has had its challenges. I never thought Zachary was a particularly good sleeper, but compared to Kate he is. Kate <b>does not stop</b>. When we stayed in a hotel room on our way back from California this summer there was Kate, at 10:30pm, playing and singing and laughing in the pitch dark while the rest of us slept, (well I tried to sleep.) It was hilarious, but not really. In fact, that was the night that I eventually screamed into a pillow, threw the pillow at Clint's head and yelled at him for sleeping through it all. How does he sleep through<i> everything</i>??!!! I know it is Darwinism functioning at its finest and I will die first due to all this sleep deprivation, and you know, that pisses me off even more. Regardless, Baby Kate soldiers on. She is easy-going, adventurous and loves chocolate. She also loves wearing her shoes. She has gone to bed many times refusing to take her shoes off, which really is the least of my concerns when it comes to bed-time. </div>
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And now Sophie. The dessert of my children. Sometimes I feel like I can't carve out enough time to truly enjoy this sweet baby, for she was born in the midst of two other young children with their demands and schedules, and parents that are frankly a little burnt out. But when I do get to indulge in her babyness I am in love. I love getting right up to her mouth and smelling her milky breath, and feeling the weight of her increasingly sturdy body. I am now teaching a couple hours a week at the community college, and while I love getting out of the house, I hate coming back and hearing that she cried, which she does pretty much every time. On the way back from dinner the other night Sophie was screaming in her carseat and Clint asked if I thought she was our fussiest baby. I started to launch into all the ins and outs of her and her schedule and the family dynamics, and then stopped and said <i>Honestly who cares, lets just survive and get through this.</i> And so we are. We are getting through this messy beautiful exhausting time. And sometimes we love it, and sometimes I cry and throw a pillow at Clint's big head. <i>Se la vie.</i></div>
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erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-25078372509230926952014-05-21T08:13:00.001-07:002014-05-21T08:15:27.131-07:00Sophie,<br />
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You are three weeks old! You are still so brand new, but somehow it feels like you have been a part of our family for a long time. This past Saturday, after Kate had napped and Zachary had boycotted his nap, and well your life right now is one long or short semi-continuous nap so we don't plan around that, we got out the double stroller for the bigger kids and the carrier for you and walked to get some frozen yogurt.<br />
Both your dad and I noticed that people in the shop were really checking us out, and at first we thought it was a little strange because a family of five in the beehive state is hardly rare, and then I said that maybe they thought we were Brad and Angelina or some other famous good looking couple, and then your Dad said that they probably were just debating whether or not to give us advice on birth control. <br />
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After yogurt your Dad took Zachary and Kate to the dollar theatre to watch some movie about Legos?? and I realized this was a prime time to get a pedicure. Because when the rest of you isn't exactly <i>on pointe</i> it feels good to have something looking good. The no nonsense woman who worked on my feet saw you in your pink and white stripped layette and pink floral blanket and asked<br />
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and in that proud new mom voice with a hint of a smile I said<br />
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and she said<br />
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So now your father and I have been saying <i>look like boy </i>in our best Vietnamese accent (which I must say is the only good accent that we can do) pretty much non-stop. It is awesome (and hopefully doesn't count as cultural appropriation), and at this point I do not see it ever getting old.<br />
But really Sophie, you are a beautiful baby, and after seeing plenty of babies I'm still not sure what a boy or girl baby is supposed to look like, although everyone does say that you look so much like your brother Zach, but everyone also said that Zachary was too pretty to be a boy.....so whatever, I don't get it. You are you and completely perfect.<br />
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When you were just a week old we went to a local photographer friend (hmarie.photos.tumblr.com) to get some proper baby and family photos. This is something that I didn't do when Zachary and Kate were babies, but with you I felt was needed. When you are not attached to me (which is most of the hours in the day and night) I am taking care of another child, or doing something indulgent like showering. Heidi did such a great job of getting some good shots of us all, and her house was equipped with plenty of toys and an outside playground which made it even more of a great expereince.<br />
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This is your brother Zach and he is so into you. He calls you <i>new baby</i> and lets me know right away when you start to cry. The first time that he heard your little newborn scream he came running in with big tears and said <i>the new BABY is crying!!! quick mommy, come help her!!! </i>He has such a big heart and although at random times he will let us all know what we can't do with you, which are alarmingly violent (<i>we CAN'T hammer the new baby!), </i>he has been nothing but sweet and loving to you.<br />
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This is your big sister Baby Kate. I was a bit nervous to have you two so close together and wondered what Kate's reaction would be---would she feel like her babyhood was being robbed? But so far it has been business as usual for Kate, which means she just wants play and party party. When she sees you its always a <i>muhahhh </i>with an awkwardly placed kiss, and then off to be busy busy busy.<br />
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And this is you, Sophie. You are the sweetest baby. You have two dimples, blue eyes, and more hair at this point than any of your siblings did. Dad says you are a man hater because you cry on him and are instantly soothed when I take you; I tell him he just has to remember all the tricks and try harder. Babies can smell apathy. Either way you are a generally mellow baby and this has been my smoothest transition with a newborn yet. I've had lots of help (I heart grandparents!), and your dad took a whole two weeks off of work. And while sleep deprivation is never easy, and I'm working on <i>my tone </i>for those utterly exhausted moments (although we have agreed that what happens in a sleep deprived state doesn't count), in general I have felt pretty good and have enjoyed you and spending time with family. Thanks for joining us!<br />
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erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-59905725235427522892014-05-08T07:22:00.002-07:002014-05-08T11:37:47.618-07:00the third birthThis birth story starts with a miscalculated due date and ends with a head cold.<br />
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When we found out we were pregnant with baby number three it was a big surprise. When we calculated my due date based on my last cycle, which also happened to be my first cycle I had gotten since having and nursing Baby Kate, I thought it was a little sign from heaven/the baby/cosmos/whatever that everything was going to work out just as it should.<br />
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Our due date was April 8th, Clint's birthday and the day we were married. At that rate I was already well into my first trimester and feeling great!! This pregnancy was going to be the pregnancy that I always wanted: no depressing debilitating morning sickness, lots of yoga, dance, walking and pilates, healthy fresh eating, rubbing my belly all day with a contented smile, lunching with my friends who may also be with child....you know, like how the celebrities do it.<br />
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When I went to see my midwife Rebecca for the first time she did an ultrasound and said<br />
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<i>That is not an eight week baby. You are pregnant, no doubt, but just barely.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Got it. Cue morning sickness and all the other challenges that can come with growing another human. Also cue a new due date: April 25th. <br />
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There I finally said it. The date I avoided my whole pregnancy. When asked <i>so when are you due?</i> I would give some ambiguous answer that involved April almost as a high conceptual theory that one could never be sure of. Partly because I really hate due dates, and partly because I was in denial about that being my due date. I was more accepting of the middle of April, it just seemed to make more sense, seemed more fair.<br />
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Fast forward to the middle of April. I got subs for my technique and choreography class that I teach at the community college and started to get ready for baby. Between my sluggish/indifferent immune system that really only cares for baby, and two young kids that bring in a lot of germs, I was constantly sick this pregnancy, but was relieved that I had just gotten over a cold and wasn't going to be sick for the rigor of labor and delivery. When people asked<i> when</i> <i>are you going to pop!!</i>? I'd say <i>any day now!</i><br />
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Ten or so days passed and instead of <i>popping!</i> I got cornered by a man at the grocery store who bent down and put his face level with my belly and insisted that I was having twins. <i>Whatever</i>. Too tired to even care.<br />
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Then the cold that would accompany this birth arrived, and I started to question if I even wanted to go into labor, and if I would have the energy to do an unmedicated birth. And I also started to feel that I really might be the first woman to be pregnant for the rest of her life. One night during my regular bout of waking and peeing and insomnia I googled <i>longest time a woman has been pregnant. </i>I got some bizarre story of an woman in India and that medicine and due dates weren't refined in the early 1900s. Nothing to indicate that I might be pregnant the rest of my life. It was a little reassuring.<br />
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As I approached, sort of accepted, and then passed my given due date I started to feel that maybe I would be interested in Rebecca <i>stirring things up. </i>Which basically means drinking kohash, an herb that stimulates uterine contractions and having my membranes stripped. If baby is ready to come this can kick-start labor, if baby isn't ready then you are signing up for an unpleasant day of cramping. I still felt pretty awful from the cold, but I also felt extremely ready to be done with this pregnancy. I wasn't sleeping at night, having a hard time caring for my three and one year old, and was growing weary of the contractions and cramping that I recognized as my body gearing up for labor.<br />
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I went to Rebecca's office on Saturday morning, she did an exam to see if the <i>stirring</i> would likely be effective and said<br />
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<i>You are three centimeters dilated and 70% effaced. She is really low and lined up perfectly. If we do this, you will probably have a baby by dinnertime. And it feels like she is about eight pounds.</i><br />
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Done. We took the plunge and did it. In the parking lot I turned to Clint and said<br />
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<i>Would you mind taking the kids to Costco and picking up some food?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Sure, what do you need?</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Hmmmm.........I just need you to take the kids and be gone at Costco for awhile.</i><br />
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During the Costco run I cleaned house in prep for our dinnertime arrival. It was a good, emotion filled time, and I stared to think of the things that I would focus on during labor. My first birth, Zachary, really shocked me. I of course did not know what to expect, and the sheer force, intensity, and pain of it was something that I was not anticipaing (understatement). During active labor I began to doubt myself and fear that I would not be able to do it. It was then that I felt my Grandma Em in the room, and she stayed with me the entire time, a strong, comforting matriarch of a presence. She had and raised ten children, and I am in awe of what she was able to accomplish as a mother. She passed away when I was 22, before childbirth and parenting were relevant in my life, and I so wish that I could talk to her now, ask her a million questions about her experiences, and get advice. With Kate's labor I actively sought out her presence and once again felt her there, a hand on my shoulder and an energy of power and encouragement. Thinking of being with her at my third birth was something that I latched on throughout my pregnancy as a positive aspect of labor, versus getting bogged down by how hard it all is. (although I did do some of that as well.) While I cleaned, and cried and listened to the Lorde station on Pandora, I began to sense my Grandma there with me, thinning the distance between birth and death, old and new.<br />
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Shortly after Clint and the kids came back I started to have some contractions that felt much different than the contractions I had been having for the past two weeks. We called Megan, our awseome babysitter, and Amanda, our awesome neighbor, and between the two of them they whisked our kids away---thank goodness. Having kids around while contracting did not work for me. Once the kids were gone Clint and I put a movie on, ate some snacks, and just enjoyed each other's company. At one point I said:<br />
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<i>You seem really happy---like almost giddy. Are you just so relieved that it is me about to go through labor and not you?? And that you will never have to experience this??</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>No, I'm just glad the kids aren't here. This is a nice break.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And it really was. The lights were dimmed, it was raining outside, Clint had gotten me roses from Costco, we lit a candle....all great little details that were setting the mood for a relaxing birth and would serve absolutely no purpose once I was in active labor. I don't think seeing the polar bear from the Hogle zoo smoking a cigar at my kitchen table would have gotten me to look twice during active labor. But regardless, these were nice details at the time, and added to the relaxation of a Saturday afternoon without kids. I guess sometimes it takes having a baby to get some adult time???<br />
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Then the somewhat consistent, but very bearable contractions just stopped. And I thought<br />
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<i>Oh, hell no! This baby needs to come today! The kids are taken care of, the candle is lit, come on already!!!</i><br />
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I texted Rebecca who offered to come over and do a second <i>stirring.</i> I agreed, she came, stirred, told me I had dialated to a four, and then went to Trader Joe's and told me to call if anything progressed.<br />
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We put on another movie, <i>The Fifth Estate (</i>about Wiki Leaks), which is not a great movie to watch on the brink of birth. The only thing I can tell you about it is that Sherlock Homles guy looks awful with blonde hair. Within half an hour (it was probably about 4pm now) labor started again and I could tell this time it was going to stick. Contractions became all-consuming, about a minute in length, and pretty close together so Clint texted Rebecca to let her know. She thought I had awhile yet to go, we said that I didn't, she agreed to come.<br />
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By the time she got to our house it was about 4:30, and she could see/hear that I was really in labor and similar to my other births I was on the fast track to have a baby. She gave me the ok to get in the tub (something that can slow down labor if not far enough along). Although contractions will be contractions, being in warm water always seems to make it all more bearable, and I was thankful for the small relief. <br />
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Transition was hard (understatement). I thought that I couldn't do it, I felt alone, I wished I was in a hospital hooked up to pain meds, and I just wanted it to all be over. But really this pregnancy was harder than any part of labor, and so when Rebecca said<br />
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<i>Look for pressure. You are looking for pressure.</i><br />
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I thought<br />
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<i>Forget looking. I am going to find it.</i><br />
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And I'm pretty sure I did find that pressure because by 6:00pm I was holding my little girl!! It was a fast and get er done sort of birth. Each birth I have cut my time in half---it's like I am back in highschool looking for ways to shave off my mile time. If only birthing were an Olympic sport...<br />
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After Kate's birth I had so much energy and endorphins, I felt ready to take on the world. (Or at least make a grilled cheese sandwich and walk across the street to pick up Zachary.) After this birth I felt pretty drained. I'm sure it was the cold, the full day spent with kids and labor and stopping labor, and just this pregnancy rearing its last exhausting head. In fact right after I didn't even think that I had the energy to hold my new baby, but Rebecca in her wisdom gave her to me anyways, and for the next hour we cuddled and nursed and looked at each other. Vitals were checked, no stitches needed for me (always a plus), and the baby passed all those tests that seem like a screening for the Kirov. Eventually I had the energy to shower and while I was putting on my face cream the thought<br />
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<i>I LOVE home birth!!!!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
went through my head. <br />
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Wait, What?!!!...Seriously??! Can't I be tramitized for a little bit longer? Is the human capacity for intense and painful experiences that great?? I swear I hated it all two hours ago and now I'm totally like loving it?!<br />
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I have found pregnancy and birth to be complicated up and down relationships, but how I feel about this new baby is very straight forward. I am head over heels in love. She is absolutely perfect. I am the luckiest girl out there.</div>
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My Mom's middle name is <i>Jean</i>, and so in honor of my grandmother, who over 60 years ago birthed my mother, and I imagine held her for the first time with complete awe and wonder and love, and then named her in a way that felt special and treasured...and of course in honor of my own mother who birthed me over 30 years ago and raised me with complete love and sacrifice, we name our daughter:</div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Sophie Jean Womack</b></span></i></div>
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<i>April 26th 2014</i><br />
<i>6:00pm</i></div>
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<i>8 pounds 6 ounces</i></div>
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<i>21 inches long</i></div>
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Photos by hmairephotos.tumblr.com</div>
erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-1625774530047741352014-04-05T07:18:00.001-07:002014-04-05T07:22:16.866-07:00hide and seekHaving children, taking care of children, is hard. And tiring. I think everyone knows that and accepts it on different levels depending how much sleep or free time has been had so often we just skip to the other side of it all: how amazing and fun and intoxicating it can all be. But for posterity's sake I want to write a bit on the parts that sometimes get forgotten as the years go by and time rounds out any sharp edges.<br />
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Zachary was a hard baby. He cried a lot. And every time he cried I felt like it was an indication that I was doing something wrong. Now I know on both an intellectual and felt level that it wasn't the case, but as a first time mom...well, I was just beginning to figure it all out. At one point, probably after a long day and night and probably another day and night of trying to continually soothe him I called my Mom close to tears and asked<br />
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<i>This is really really hard. Was it this hard for you?</i><br />
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And my Mom replied<br />
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<i>Ummm sure, maybe.</i><br />
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Which wasn't the most reassuring to a postpartum sleep deprived first timer. And I know my Mom wasn't trying to be unsympathetic, thirty plus years smoothed out the hard and what was left was the memory of a sweet new baby. So here is an outtake of our family life. Because one day someone will want to remember.<br />
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<i>Hide and Seek</i><br />
Lately Zachary loves to play hide and seek. Except he is missing some of the key elements.<br />
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<i>Mommy, I want to hide and you find me!!</i><br />
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<i>Ok, where are you going to hide?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In the closet! Come find me!</i><br />
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Every time that kid tells me. Which is really a plus for me because I am usually tired and don't want to get up, and so I sit on the couch or chair and verbally look for him in a couple of places and then ask:<br />
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<i>Wait, are you in the closet???</i><br />
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<i>Yes!!! You found me!</i><br />
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Clint and I also have our own version of this game. We usually end up playing it on the weekends. Weekends can be challenging. Before children weekends meant a stretch of time to rest, recuperate and recreate. And not that those things <i>never </i>happen anymore, but lets just say that on weekends we often both look up to the heavens and plead <i>Where is a grandma??!!!</i><br />
And the answer to that question is <i>California,</i> the state that we both willingly moved away from seven years ago, before our children were on the scene.<br />
Anyways, our version of hide and seek is played in a couple of different ways. Sometimes we are on the same team. We see a moment of opportunity; maybe the kids are playing nicely with some toys or having a snack or show, and we quickly and quietly remove ourselves from the situation and crawl into bed. Then:<br />
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<i>How long before you think they find us?</i><br />
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Last weekend I guessed three minutes which was a huge err of optimism. Clint gave us a minute, which was more accurate. This version of the game always ends with the four of us in bed, which is fun and cozy until Zachary steps or jumps on a head, groin or baby in utero and Baby Kate finds one of our phones and starts pushing buttons and discovering screens and settings that we didn't know existed.<br />
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The other version of this game is the every-man-for-himself. Clint is really the one that excels at this, maybe it has to do with his maleness or upbringing in a large family, however over the years I have been taking notes and can sometimes pull off the <i>looking after number one </i>with surprisingly skill and presicion.<br />
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One memorable go at this game was Christmas 2013. Zachary had just turned three, Kate had just turned one, and I was four months pregnant. We were both tired and both looking for a break. I hunted down Clint room by room, Zachary and I yelling his name at the top of our lungs (it really wasn't his turn at a break) and found him wedged half-way under a bed with a pillow awkwardly placed under his head and a frilly bed-skirt sort-of covering his body. It was so ridiculous and so desperate that all we could do was laugh----and then negotiate who really deserved the nap.<br />
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<br />erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-43124550137688096502014-01-30T04:55:00.001-08:002014-01-30T07:04:03.801-08:00last babyWe are saying that this is our last baby. During the first trimester, when I was so sick, and still nursing Kate, and trying to keep up with everything that was swirling around me, this little fact was at times felt like my one silver lining. <br />
When I watched my belly get full and round, and the rest of me get full and round as well...When I stored away the pants and skirts that bear the mark of my <i>real </i>size, (the ones that I had just started to be able to wear after baby #2), I told myself that after this baby my body would be mine again---no more transitional clothes and elastic waistbands. This made me feel good, like I would soon reclaim something that had been lost for what has felt like a long time.<br />
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I have asked my husband <i>We are stopping at three, right?? You feel good about three, right?? </i>so many times that I can literally see his brain reverting to auto-pilot-robot mode when he gives me his answer, which is always some variation of <i>Yes. </i>When he has the energy to to elaborate on his reply, it is usually an amused laugh and then after I ask him <i>why are you </i><b style="font-style: italic;"><u>laughing!??</u> </b>His reply is a <i>I just think this is funny, because I mean haven't we already decided this like a million times?!!! </i><br />
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Which we have. But here is the thing: I really don't want to be pregnant again (and three has always felt right for us), but at the same time I always want to be pregnant. Pregnancy has its downsides, but to be the literal home of a perfect sweet innocent being is more than a miracle. Having a newborn is exhausting and often emotional, but is also like waking up to Christmas morning over and over.....and over and over and over......<br />
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I know I am not meant to be a Dugger-type whipping up tator tot casserole to a crew of twenty, but there is a part of me that never wants this all to end.......<br />
I often look forward to the time when all my children are in school and I can start to have a bit of career, but then I realize that means I won't have a toddling child or a soft squishy baby and it makes me want to freeze time.<br />
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Through the pregnancies of my three children, and the birth of two, so much about myself and how I think about things has been transformed. <br />
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Instead of viewing labor and birth as an ill-designed painful process, I now see it as an all-powerful initiation rite where a new mother is born right along-side her new baby. <br />
This time around I cannot wait to be chubby and soft, sitting on the couch, nursing and burping and staring at my baby.<br />
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Really I can't wait to be a mother all over again.<br />
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erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-34545466330316737182014-01-10T05:20:00.003-08:002014-01-10T05:28:12.871-08:00a california christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This pregnancy has been challenging. When I haven't been sick (which has felt like most of it) I have just wanted to sleep. Like sleep forever. But with two young children that usually nap at different times...well its just not happening.<br />
But you know what makes everything better?? Cute maternity photos. And thanks to my sister and our friend Maria Torres I got some over the holiday. Now when I look back I will remember the beauty and miracle of this pregnancy, and not just me wanting to it be over already.<br />
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Cute pictures of your kids also help. </div>
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The weather over Christmas was amazing. We got to spend time at the beach and Zachary and Roan even went swimming. My sister bought Roan a wetsuit for Christmas, which turned out to be a good buy; Zachary got to wear my old wetsuit from the 80s. He didn't seem to mind.<br />
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Zachary loves Roan. He is always saying "my best friend Roan......." or "Roan be there????" They play like my older sister and I used to play: Roan is the boss (my sister) and Zachary is happy to go along with all the games and their oh so important rules.<br />
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Traveling with kids is never fun, but seeing family is. Cheers to a great 2014!</div>
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I got pregnant with Kate when Zachary was 15 months old. Kate is coming up on 15 months and I keep looking at her unable to imagine how I felt that Zachary was old enough to start on another child. Kate just seems so young. She is still my baby. How did I feel so ready to be pregnant again when Zachary was so young?<br />
I find myself thinking that this time feels different and I don't feel quite ready yet.<br />
And then I look down and see my big belly and remember that I am already six months pregnant.<br />
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Well so much for that.erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-29943652778458938692013-11-06T08:35:00.001-08:002013-11-06T08:36:56.709-08:00oh baby!Dear Baby,<br />
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You are early. Which is very like your mom, and very unlike your father. When your baby sister was born, and for the first time I was holding her slimy perfect little body, I looked over to my midwife and your father and said <i>I'll do this<b> one</b> more time. </i>And I guess you were listening and I should have been a little more specific as to <i>when</i> the <i>one more time</i> would ideally happen.<br />
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But I wasn't, and now you are on your way. And you did try and let me know from the beginning. There was that morning where I had the most bizarre craving for vitamins. I devoured Zachary's gummy vitamins like they were the last piece of chocolate that you vowed you would ever eat. And then there was the irrational thought that when Kate was nine months old <i>that </i>would be the perfect time to get pregnant, and the distinct impressions that I would be once again spending time with my midwife, Rebecca. There was the weekend road trip when I thought about arriving home and the unpacking, feeding, bathing, and the general care that has to occur when you have small children... I turned to your father and said <i> </i><br />
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<i>I think I'm pregnant.</i><br />
<br />
<i>What???</i><br />
<br />
<i>Well, when I think about getting home and all the things that need to get done a very distinct wave of hopelessness/tiredness sweeps over me. And that feels like being pregnant . </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And your Dad didn't really believe me because based on a number of things (things that obviously didn't make a difference to you) I really shouldn't have gotten pregnant.<br />
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Baby, I know you care nothing about this letter, and probably by the time you do, this will all be a nostalgic memory for me, and the utter bewilderment of having three children three years old and younger will have faded and make perfect sense in the big picture. But know that even in the midst of the awfulness of nausea, fatigue and hormones that comprise the first trimester, I am glad you are on your way. And the morning that I stood over the sink cutting strawberries, too nervous to watch the pregnancy test clock go round and round and round because I already knew the answer and simply needed to prove it to a skeptical husband that thought I was on some sort of weird obsessive <i>I AM pregnant!!! </i>kick..........well know that mixed in with the anxiety and the life recalculations was giddy excitement. Because new life is a miracle and new life is always exciting.<br />
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<i>Room for me?? </i>is a question Zachary asks as I nurse baby Kate in our rocking chair. I bought this chair before Zachary was born, before I could fathom that one day I might have two (three!?) children to snuggle and be close to. I bought this chair thinking how its petite frame would fit nicely with our 1950s home with its small rooms and low ceilings. Slightly misguided purchase aside, there is always room for both Zachary and baby Kate, and there will be room for you as well.<br />
<br />
We just might have to buy a bigger chair.<br />
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<i>Baby Womack coming April 2014</i> </div>
erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-45809274281216209342013-08-31T13:25:00.000-07:002013-08-31T13:25:01.249-07:00bedtime dramaWe have been struggling the last while to get Zachary to stay in his bed at bedtime. He initially goes down easy enough, but after a couple of minutes will reappear with some demand for more milk, more books, or a <i>why don't you tell me bout it mommy?</i><br />
The first round of demands can be kind of endearing, but by round five we are done.<br />
Here is an exchange that happened the other night:<br />
<br />
Clint: <i>Zach, if you get out of your bed one more time we are going to have to shut the door.</i><br />
Zach: <i>Nooo! I no want you to shut my door daddy!</i><br />
Clint: <i>Then STAY in your bed and go to SLEEP.</i><br />
Zach: <i>Geeez this is a disaster---why this always happen??!!!!</i><br />
<br />
Zachary, we ask ourselves the same question every night.<i> </i>erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-81162346852781338992013-07-19T21:25:00.001-07:002013-07-19T21:34:35.902-07:00california A couple of weeks ago I went to California with the kids. I love going to California for so many reasons. The mild weather, the beach, my father's sailboat, see old friends....but I mostly love going because being a mom can be tiring and in California I get to be lazy. Like <i>really </i>lazy.<br />
In California I don't have to cook, clean, organize, pick-up constantly, and if I wait around long enough, I don't even have to do my own laundry. Don't get me wrong, every once in awhile I do these things so I will continue to be a welcomed guest in my parents home, and to prove to my parents that I have matured past 13, but really my contributions are pretty weak. It is <i>fabulous.</i><br />
<br />
I also love that I get to go on jogs everyday. I always come to California with some absurd fitness goal that I never accomplish, but motivates me to at least do something. My Dad took Zachary on all his errands, plus had endless patience with playing black steam engine, which freed me up to take Baby Kate running for her morning naps. I love how once you have two children life seems so easy breezy when you are are only caring for one. While Zachary spent lots of time with other family members, Baby Kate and I spent lots of one on one time together. It was nice. We watched some bad TV, went shopping, and took some killer naps. And I got some great pics of this cutie.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCn-oSMDh_htqXyX5GNRjmIxRZvmQZN1AGyaSCj3-h81A5Ii29YjLP_2-CXc0C1BITohz9Cc-SV2nlnN28tWZXL8bnBPMm0hLZywRfeUkJWjDYq2Eb3vPkS9RldGVO23Dr5jr0psIBbMw/s1600/IMG_2228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVriQQS9ApSyKPNoIz4kxWl5mza8HbfQTXEydMsf28EvqizZvAgbX747q-jLlRQMnd5WeUu34Z9I0QVfIb1dAZ0ZUxo9koT7o_EXvPoRTM9p8b1fP5l581aFcE9CBoxIinnlD_JkNJY4/s1600/IMG_4620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVriQQS9ApSyKPNoIz4kxWl5mza8HbfQTXEydMsf28EvqizZvAgbX747q-jLlRQMnd5WeUu34Z9I0QVfIb1dAZ0ZUxo9koT7o_EXvPoRTM9p8b1fP5l581aFcE9CBoxIinnlD_JkNJY4/s400/IMG_4620.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3XJRyq7snjovLVJBqOaZsxlW7cZdpQTetZXljtNAIrX9jehHWD6BpynFN5hJJ5o-qtiiHK9y6f8RXg7VlexXHxaqFlnHWVtKob3wxUzPTRG79XkqOCq_30H5MCXHiWPF2SQfyofeL40/s1600/IMG_2401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3XJRyq7snjovLVJBqOaZsxlW7cZdpQTetZXljtNAIrX9jehHWD6BpynFN5hJJ5o-qtiiHK9y6f8RXg7VlexXHxaqFlnHWVtKob3wxUzPTRG79XkqOCq_30H5MCXHiWPF2SQfyofeL40/s640/IMG_2401.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGip0K90sRlYaYw_AHp3R3ja2F0YvG6vZQnZ-TqR83igVaNILvex38cop2a8Fl1HvHKxUGzwAdSAfH31MhjB8ZhYVQ2OuodMBhzqKLxXe7wDNc_35_noIQxxi9dI7-RTHLr5JxIxAKlds/s1600/IMG_4339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGip0K90sRlYaYw_AHp3R3ja2F0YvG6vZQnZ-TqR83igVaNILvex38cop2a8Fl1HvHKxUGzwAdSAfH31MhjB8ZhYVQ2OuodMBhzqKLxXe7wDNc_35_noIQxxi9dI7-RTHLr5JxIxAKlds/s640/IMG_4339.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>this picture makes me laugh every time. if we ever buy a grown-up house with a fancy serious adult room you will find a framed version of this.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCn-oSMDh_htqXyX5GNRjmIxRZvmQZN1AGyaSCj3-h81A5Ii29YjLP_2-CXc0C1BITohz9Cc-SV2nlnN28tWZXL8bnBPMm0hLZywRfeUkJWjDYq2Eb3vPkS9RldGVO23Dr5jr0psIBbMw/s1600/IMG_2228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQFTEKUAabZPztDQ_g6HbqqWIfypEz6g_sEt4Jc1UGYOHVvNdqrFfyX0_Y15WPiZIeJdQefzoDD_J_G8omIJgu-88vj0aScA_CLujS1od_e1zjYh8HCPodDenUgmD2LPDWtQKGWP142w/s1600/IMG_4634.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQFTEKUAabZPztDQ_g6HbqqWIfypEz6g_sEt4Jc1UGYOHVvNdqrFfyX0_Y15WPiZIeJdQefzoDD_J_G8omIJgu-88vj0aScA_CLujS1od_e1zjYh8HCPodDenUgmD2LPDWtQKGWP142w/s640/IMG_4634.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">couldn't leave this cutie out of the post......</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The second week of my visit my sister came with her boys from New York. It was a blast, and I was going to write about it, but I just read my sister's blog and she did such a great job.......... <a href="http://roboboogiephone.blogspot.com/2013/07/june-cali-trip.html%20" target="_blank">http://roboboogiephone.blogspot.com/2013/07/june-cali-trip.html </a><br />
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You can take the lazy girl out of California, but she will still be a lazy girl in Utah.</div>
<br />erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-67170824840085121552013-05-26T15:22:00.001-07:002013-05-26T15:22:53.466-07:00fat pantsFor Christmas this past year my sister gave me two pairs of fat pants. This was quite possibly the best gift I have ever gotten. She told me that after baby number two she had an ah-ha moment when she bought some pants that fit the body she had in that moment, instead of trying to squeeze into her old pants that made her feel bad about her body. I think that she told me all this while I was eating some sort of chocolate covered nut/carmel/pretzal/toffee, or all of the above (it was Christmas time) and so I declared it genius and couldn't wait to get my very own new fat pants. She then asked me for my postpartum waist size.<br />
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<i>Grub, (</i>I know, awful nickname) <i>I don't think they make pants that big at this store.</i><br />
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I then tried to quantify my body size by saying <i>I'm not like fat fat, just a little fat. I'm pretty sure I still fit into sizes they sell at the stores.</i><br />
And so the story goes, Cameron measured her own waist, realized my chub was within range, and found me two amazing pair of jeans.<br />
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The first pair, the ones that I wore non-stop for about three months, were a pair of Joes. They were soft, and broken-in, and didn't squeeze or taunt any of my flesh. I missed them when they were in the wash, and always felt much better when I woke to find them waiting for me in my closet----like a gentle outstretched hand ready to welcome and love. They seemed to go with all of my tops and nursing camis; the options and potential were endless.<br />
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The other pair were more of a dress jean. On the way too infrequent date night with Clint, or the occasional dance concert with a friend, these were the fat pants I reached for. They were a heavier denim, dark wash, perhaps more slimming, really needed to be hemmed, <i>I mean seriously they make jeans for seven foot tall ladies now!!, </i>but did have one serious flaw, the flaw that relegated them to kid-free evenings out, as opposed to the everyday zoo/park/costco pant. Its what I call <i>the harried mom (plumber) smile </i>epidemic<i>. </i>With the onset of the low-rise pant I am sure we have all witnessed, possibly fallen victim to this problem, but I feel it necessary to make a distinction for<i> some</i> of the moms out there that find their upper bottoms on display:<br />
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It is our children's fault. <i><b> Not our fault!</b></i> <i>(raised fist pump</i>) Perhaps the smile that you see is because our waists' have still not shrunk from pregnancy and our pants stubbornly hang lower than they should. <i><b>Not our fault!!</b></i> Perhaps the smile that you see is because we hold on to a hope that sometime during that particular day a miracle will happen and the said pants will fit. <b><i>We are a hopeful bunch!! (</i></b><i>arms outstretched) </i><b><i>Not our fault! </i></b>And perhaps that smile that you see is because even though we wore a longer shirt to accommodate and anticipate the too-low low rise we find ourselves in a situation where one child is playing on non-child friendly piece of construction equipment and the other other child is awkwardly hanging from a hip, and the strategically chosen long shirt that worked so well before our children were in the equation has raised above the muffin top and those damn jeans are dropping lower and lower by the second as we desperately try to preserve the lives of the two children that we are somehow solely responsible for. <i><b>Safety first!! (</b>index finger pointed) <b>Still not our fault!!!</b></i><br />
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In an alternate universe we would all be extremely well-dressed with perfectly tailored clothes that never bunched, crunched, raised, or puckered.<i><b> </b></i>We would not have four or five different categories of "transitional" clothing that were constantly being rotated to accommodate varying waist sizes.<br />
I must say, after all this drama I now see the beauty and functionality of the mom jean. Yes your crotch may be a mile long<i><b>, </b></i>but at least you can rest assured that you will never show <i>the harried mom (plumber) smile.</i><br />
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When my sister gave me these jeans she prefaced it with <i>you know, you will probably only be in them for a month or so, but even then it is well worth it. </i>Well, I must admit I was in them a lot longer than a month (ugg getting back after baby number two is much harder), but even now, as they sit in the basement patiently awaiting yet another post-partum day, I think of them with only the best of feelings. These are the pants that were with me as I transitioned to being a mother of two children----two nap schedules, two bellies to feed, two car-seats to buckle, two diapers to change, two little faces to kiss, and two perfect beings to marvel at.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14dTUB0CIQMxXsvRfPWjLeVI1N-e-HVLoUp1dXCzmGSrgCB0IrJ5z7sEm4ErM7ycXqZ1QBzOGxBznEjZG8rcg2AYiLNGnaPZ1A6hAlz_Y5zTbEAIR8TDSu5bTDC_hBeqYLuHUZ8QX_FA/s1600/IMG_4403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14dTUB0CIQMxXsvRfPWjLeVI1N-e-HVLoUp1dXCzmGSrgCB0IrJ5z7sEm4ErM7ycXqZ1QBzOGxBznEjZG8rcg2AYiLNGnaPZ1A6hAlz_Y5zTbEAIR8TDSu5bTDC_hBeqYLuHUZ8QX_FA/s640/IMG_4403.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Kate reigns victorious </td></tr>
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<i>To my fat pants and my wise sister that got them: You have seen me through a lot. Cheers, I love you both.</i><br />
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<br />erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-57432067090208851502013-02-11T20:09:00.002-08:002013-02-11T20:19:40.251-08:00the good life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizugCbAl4vcR89HZ-V8IgLQaVnAn8znql_TUQQt7RxVPbArYPuz2zH58nBNzejOLl9BNZu6syfjzhkyTAhUgilA2bOhmPOPhxUZydYLyK73YdzFpxbWxgfbtWICpjCYCuURUc-l1qRO8k/s1600/Cali+Trip+Dec+2012+050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizugCbAl4vcR89HZ-V8IgLQaVnAn8znql_TUQQt7RxVPbArYPuz2zH58nBNzejOLl9BNZu6syfjzhkyTAhUgilA2bOhmPOPhxUZydYLyK73YdzFpxbWxgfbtWICpjCYCuURUc-l1qRO8k/s640/Cali+Trip+Dec+2012+050.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Being a mom is the best. Two years into this biz I think I have finally got it all figured out---ok maybe not, but at this moment Z is sleeping, the baby is cooing, the house has that warm slightly messy feeling of a home, and life just feels sweet.<br />
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I was so unsure of what life would be like with two children, and would often think <i>if I am tired/overwhelmed/busy </i>with one, how am I going to do two?!! But somehow it is all working out, and maybe we are just living in a golden moment, and pure chaos is about to erupt, but things actually feel easier with two then it did with being pregnant and taking care of one.<br />
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Baby Kate is mellow and easy-going, quick to smile, and has this deep throaty laugh that I wish would never stop. She loves her brother in small doses and loves to rock out to the blow-dryer and the microwave vent. Right after I had Kate I was on such a high that I swore I could keep having babies the rest of my life, and this feeling has pretty much stayed with me. She is just a joy to take care of; I find myself getting nostalgic for the baby phase that I know will pass all too quickly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRR57AXW4pcqHNE19bBpAe7Piff50pezFmkMlQP24GN_UNamizf5vCjbWw1EkoZAJqCbceTpBlIjHXDxXUapBHnGjC6fTB60eBUmEFBHAZQnBax6xOLDHVzeK6ip7Gql2q6dqI9TnroTc/s1600/Cali+Trip+Dec+2012+288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRR57AXW4pcqHNE19bBpAe7Piff50pezFmkMlQP24GN_UNamizf5vCjbWw1EkoZAJqCbceTpBlIjHXDxXUapBHnGjC6fTB60eBUmEFBHAZQnBax6xOLDHVzeK6ip7Gql2q6dqI9TnroTc/s640/Cali+Trip+Dec+2012+288.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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Zachary is full of life and boundless energy. At night, after Zachary is asleep, and we have taken a breather from the whirlwind, Clint and I will often lie in bed and laugh at all the funny things that he did and said that day. Zachary loves to hoard his toys, and was recently introduced to a man purse (his jack-o-lantern pail from Halloween) so that he could easily transport all his trains, cars, balls, and what ever else made the cut, from spot to spot. He often has to take his hoardings to bed with him, and the other night cuddled up with a bag of uncooked pasta.<br />
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Clint and I both grew up in Southern California, where we spent the summers at the beach surfing and swimming. I used to charge the water with my board, taking on each wave with determination to get out past the break as fast as I could. It took me a long time to realize that waves come in sets, and in between the sets the ocean could become flat and calm, making it much easier to get out. When Zachary was a baby I would get so upset when things weren't going smoothly. It felt like every screaming session or frazzled moment was an indication that I was doing something wrong. Now during the hard moments I try and breathe, step back, and wait for the break in the set.<br />
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Oh and remind myself that bed-time will be here soon. </div>
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<br />erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-69889669662019715842012-12-02T10:51:00.000-08:002012-12-02T11:03:14.147-08:00Baby Kate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today baby Kate is six weeks old. Time is going by too fast, and the newborn that I knew a month ago is already gone. She is beginning to fill out clothes that seemed impossibly big her first week of life. Before her birth gets too far away from me here are the highlights:<br />
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Saturday October 20th I woke up super grumpy. It was that time in pregnancy when you are just done lugging another human being in your belly. I took myself on a small shopping trip to try and de-grump myself---it sort of worked. I went to bed that night positive that I would wake up in the morning still grumpy and still pregnant.<br />
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Surprise! At two in the morning I woke up to my water breaking. I called my midwife who told me to keep her posted as to when my labor started. Right after we got off the phone I started to experience those lovely labor pains, but nothing unbearable. I started straightening up the house and I made Clint do the same. I'm sure he thought it a bit unnecessary to clean house at two in the morning after being woken from a dead sleep, but he is smarter to know not to argue with a pregnant laboring woman.<br />
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By the time Rebecca got to our house it was nice and clean. Labor progressed super quickly and Kate Rose Womack was born not even four hours later! at 5:48 in the morning. I loved birthing at home. This birth experience was everything I wanted; calm, spiritual, and empowering. She started crying right away and I did as well. I was overjoyed that I was holding my daughter and relieved that labor was over.<br />
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After bonding, nursing and Clint cutting the cord, I took an amazing hot shower. There is something very important, maybe even ritualistic, about taking that first shower after having a baby. Your body is once again yours and a new phase in life is about to begin. I remembered this part of Zachary's birth and looked forward to it with Kate's birth. After everyone was checked out and deemed stable and healthy Rebecca suggested that we all take a nap. Clint of course fell asleep immediately (watching a woman give birth can sure tire a man out), but I was too excited to sleep. I kept looking at this brand new addition to our family, in awe of her every perfect detail.<br />
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I eventually got hungry so I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich and marveled at how good I felt. The recovery, or really lack of recovery of this birth has turned me into a believer. After eating my sandwich I started to miss Zachary, who had been at our neighbors house since 4am. It was surreal walking across the street to pick up my son, while Kate slept at our house, independent of my body. It was only a few hours earlier that she took her first breath and became her own person. <br />
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Kate is such a sweet baby, I love being a second time mom. The good moments are sweeter and the bad moments are less dramatic. </div>
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Welcome to your beautiful life Kate.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Kate Rose Womack</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sunday October 21st 2012</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">5:48am</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">6 pounds 13 ounces</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">19 inches </span></span></span></div>
erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-12628844790107204032012-09-30T20:03:00.001-07:002012-09-30T20:11:05.107-07:00for the grandparents<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-47409461323142546862012-09-30T05:31:00.000-07:002012-10-01T17:19:49.931-07:00birth <span style="font-size: large;">The birth of my daughter is quickly approaching. A part of me wants to have the baby, like right now, and another part of me wants to prolong the inevitable. I find myself cherishing moments with Zachary, knowing that our family dynamic is about to drastically change, and worried that he is not going to be thrilled with the upcoming shift.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sorry Zman, there is no undoing this one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had Zachary at a birthing center in Murray Utah. He was born November 20th at 7pm, and his birth ushered in the first big snow storm of the season. I remember Clint and my midwife Rebecca commenting on 'how much it was coming down' and me not caring one bit. Who cares about poetic metaphoric moments when you are giving unmedicated birth??? It is only now that I can appreciate all the beauty and magic that surrounded his arrival to this world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also remember Clint and Rebecca talking about mortgage rates as I was in the pushing stage of labor and thinking <i>'midwifes know about low interest rates??!!</i>!' Which is of course completely ridiculous and illogical, similar to when I was in second grade and completely shocked upon seeing my teacher at the grocery store.....<i>teachers buy groceries?? and at the grocery store???!!!! Impossible!!!</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I also remember thinking that maybe I should be upset that this converation was even taking place during <i>my </i>birth, but this is where the beauty (and the beast) of unmedicated birthing lives. It was <i>my</i> expereince. It was my pain, my struggle to get through. It was Zachary and I in the throws of one of our first, but certaintly not last, epic struggles. And regardless of outside static, and the shear difficultly work and pain of birth, we did get through it, and you my child, were born.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I cannot say that I am excited to go through the birthing experience again, the naivety preceding my first birth has been long shattered. I.E <i>maybe I will be one of those women who experience no pain.......in fact if I have no fear there will be no pain---calling b.s. on that one hypnobirthing.......)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I am excited to hold my baby girl and smell her sweet smell and welcome her into this uncertain world with all the love and beauty that I am capable of.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lets do this.</span><br />
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erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-16022894046668418902012-07-18T22:30:00.002-07:002012-07-18T22:30:29.725-07:00Dad's Workout<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">it really was impossible to pick just one</span></div>erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-9744664554392715422012-07-18T16:11:00.004-07:002012-07-18T17:39:11.197-07:00Here we go!!!!Well, it has happened again. We went against everything rational and decided to do the baby thing again. I was planning on waiting a bit longer and spacing them three years apart, but in the end I started to get the itch, started to feel like something was missing, and became impatient with thinking about <i>when?? </i>all the time.<br /><br />When I told Zachary's pediatrician that I was expecting he said<br /><i><br /></i><br /><i>Well, two years apart is the most common spacing, but also the most challenging.</i><br /><i><br /></i><br />Ummm thanks alot, buddy. Couldn't you have shared that with me before the fact? I should have come back with some remark about how having eight children (he has <i>eight!!</i> children) is most <i>uncommon, </i>because it is not only challenging, but literally <i>insane, </i>but this man has a heart of gold, and when I was postpartum and totally still chubby he said that Zachary was lean, just like his mother.<br /><br />The first trimester was awful. I was sooo sick....everyday, all day. And I learned that one year olds are not at all compassionate or sympathetic. I tried my hardest to turn Zachary into a TV watching machine, but it didn't work. That damn purple dinosaur can only hold his attention for 20 minutes.<br /><br />One day I was at our local children's museum, allowing Z work out his endless energy, me slumped in a corner waiting for the day to pass, when I struck up a conversation with a really optimistic mommy of four. We started talking about how awful the first trimester of pregnancy is (she said that she at least spends a day or two crying in bed), and then with raised eyebrows said<br /><i><br /></i><br /><i>I can't believe you are here...I mean, way to go.</i><br /><br />And then I started crying and told her that I feel like I don't have any options, my child will not be bribed with TV and candy......and she just looked really sympathetic, which was so nice at the moment. We probably would have had more of a moment but then Zachary made a dash for a different part of the museum, and so me awkwardly crying to a stranger had an awkward ending. I did find out, however, that she is planning on having one more child.<br /><br />Which is really exactly the point. Now that the first trimester has distilled down to a couple of memories, a couple of funny stories that I can smile and slowly shake my head from side to side about, I am beyond excited to meet our little baby girl.<br /><br />That's right, we are having a girl child!!!!!<br /><br />I can't wait to snuggle her and smell her sweet newborn smell and touch her little hands and feet.<br /><br />Here are a couple of pregnancy shots that my sister took while reunioning on the Seattle coast.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN9R25Ax-lZvrxaFpNHn5t_QzIJaEHU5FtB3G54EpC2_9neUQbgyTsACnvvfvTCniTPTHPPTVNgDBJB0sOUcrmBbfN7pbc6swd8LVzvg7Sh8XmWtBkeBI8oVLXk_Nf8V1yE8f-_yTdj8/s1600/2012-07-15+19.05.55.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 392px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN9R25Ax-lZvrxaFpNHn5t_QzIJaEHU5FtB3G54EpC2_9neUQbgyTsACnvvfvTCniTPTHPPTVNgDBJB0sOUcrmBbfN7pbc6swd8LVzvg7Sh8XmWtBkeBI8oVLXk_Nf8V1yE8f-_yTdj8/s400/2012-07-15+19.05.55.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5766657932426677810" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDU8EBUQKGkeajCXho_kfGFL83Zpoq_GuPGQ7grTsw9gEwsgV6K7JqLBqs_k1G7aBSD9hMNGj6ZPJDBebUZoPerPIVzaa8AT__dIgR6ByFLbbxH3uX1JopfNvBmEjWWZKKErhyphenhyphenXhKQ6UY/s1600/2012-07-15+18.57.35.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDU8EBUQKGkeajCXho_kfGFL83Zpoq_GuPGQ7grTsw9gEwsgV6K7JqLBqs_k1G7aBSD9hMNGj6ZPJDBebUZoPerPIVzaa8AT__dIgR6ByFLbbxH3uX1JopfNvBmEjWWZKKErhyphenhyphenXhKQ6UY/s400/2012-07-15+18.57.35.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5766657940502376434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Baby Girl Womack<br />Coming this Fall 2012<br /><br /><br /></span></div>erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-52971443108771406452012-02-18T15:45:00.008-08:002012-02-21T15:33:28.344-08:00dance, dance, dance!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I have an upcoming show. I am choreographing a piece about daydreams. I have been thinking about this piece for about a year now, and have been working on it since last June. I am ready, but nervous. This is my first big piece since graduating, and for some reason it feels vulnerable to be presenting work out of the umbrella of a <span style="font-style: italic;">university student.</span><br /><br />I have five amazing dancers that are so fun to work with. I think I have said <span style="font-style: italic;">i am seriously going to pee my pants </span>and really meant it about 50 times. Quick blurb about each of my wonderful dancers:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Laja is pure unflinching and unforgiving physicality. She can also learn an entire solo and perform the hell out of it in about 45 minutes.<br /><br />Nell has a quiet strength and natural grace that is both spellbinding and intoxicating. She is like a breath of fresh air.<br /><br />Amy' s technique is clear and pristine, yet her performance quality is subtle and layered. I make her shake her hips a lot in this piece, and I would like to think that she secretly loves it, but it is very quite possible that she completely hates it. The truth is hidden in one of those many layers.<br /><br />Anne has impossibly long arms and legs, she reminds me of a daddy long leg spider. With her lanky limbs she makes the most mundane movements look innovative and interesting. She dances with a slight awkwardness that is both endearing and strikingly beautiful.<br /><br />What can I say about Efren? When he dances I feel something all the way to my bones. He is able to leave ego out, and channel whatever is asking to be channeled. I find myself often feeling smug when I watch him dance in this work, like 'wow! I'm really a talented choreographer!' And then I realize that it is him, not me. But whatever, I'm open to taking the credit.<br /></span><br />This is the first piece that I attempt humor. Lisha, one of my peers, always had the most wacky hilarious works. Her work made me laugh for three years, so maybe some of her effortless way at humor rubbed off on me. I love to laugh, and after Clint pointed this out to me a couple of years ago, I now realize that I am often the loudest laughter in any particular group. I probably would have realized this earlier on in my life, but all I couldn't hear because I was laughing too loud.<br /><br /><br />This piece is called <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Promise of a Daydream.</span></span> I got really into daydreams after Zachary was born. All of a sudden my whole life was consumed with another little being, who happened to be very unpredictable. Having a child is the most wonderful thing in the world, but it does take some adjusting (or mild brainwashing) to realize the beauty of your new life.The thing that really helped me with this adjustment was going on daily runs with the jogging stroller. In highschool, before I discovered how much fun dance was, I was a runner. In fact, looking back, I was pretty fast. I mean not to brag or anything, but my best mile was 5:23. I don't think I will be seeing that time again.<br /><div><br /></div><div>At the moment my running has tapered off, by for awhile those runs where an everyday staple. I didn't run at any one particular time of the day (I've learned that I am incapable of a schedule), but would usually know when it was <i>time. </i>It was time when Z was unsoothable and I was unstable. Often the situation felt so intense and urgent that I would run out the door with little prep. I have gone on runs in nursing bras, cargo pants, and flimsy shoes that where clearly not made for running. Now that I am a well-seasoned mother I would let the child scream for five minutes while I put on a sports bra and some stretchy pants, but at the time I viewed every meltdown as a personal insult of my ability to mother.<br /><br />I loved these runs because they were my time to daydream. I love daydreaming because it doesn't have to be about important things; it has no agenda. I would imagine fitting back into my favorite jeans, eating a Chipotle burrito, having a funny conversation with my husband, taking Z to soccer games one day, doing a hip hop dance in the middle of Costco and everyone loving it..........</div><div><br />I also love the start stop structure of daydreams. You are in class thinking about swimming with dolphins in Hawaii, and then you cue into the teacher to hear a bit about idealized Greek bodies, and then you are back to imagining making out with the slightly weird guy with big hair that sits in front of you.</div><div><br />I've grown into thinking that every daydream is a courageous act of hope; it is a mini declaration that although life can be a big piece of poop, things could get better.</div><div><br />Maybe my piece has a little bit of all that in it.<br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br />The other night I went to see <span style="font-style: italic;">Pina, </span><span>which is a documentary about the <span style="font-weight: bold;">amazing </span>German choreographer Pina Bausch, </span>with some dancer friends. The show didn't start until 9:25, which is usually about the time that I am suckering Clint into turning out my light by calling him in for a goodnight kiss. Not that I don't want the kiss, but sometimes that light on the bed stand just seems soo far away........<br />Every morning I am up early to teach pilates or care for a toddler that has not yet mastered the art of sleeping in, so staying out until 11:30 is kindof a big deal. It's one of those things that you know you will dearly pay for the next day, and just hope for mercy from someone, <span style="font-style: italic;">anyone</span>. Seriously, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">anyone out there?</span><br /><br />The movie was amazing. Everyone should see it. I feel in love more and more as the film progressed and even though I was so tired and had to go to the bathroom near the end, I stayed glued in my seat, worried that I would miss something really really important. The theater only had about 10 people in it, and probably half of them got up to leave before it was finished. I couldn't believe it.....were they watching the same things that I was watching?!! I guess <span style="font-style: italic;">great art </span>is not universal to all.<br />My only complaint is that I wish I wouldn't have watched this film so close to my own show. When you see the work of a true master that just <span style="font-style: italic;">got it</span> it is hard to then look at your own work without be overly critical. I do feel like I have some natural talent as a choreographer, love to create, and carry the hope that one day I could create something with as much depth, clarity, and mystery as Pina did...........but am also real to the fact that it could take a bit more experience. And maybe it would also take a nationally funded company, and an endless supply of resources to get there............<br /><br />A couple of years ago I was half watching the Oscars and Miley Cyrus was being interviewed. She had just finished filming some melo-dramatic teenage movie (forgot the name) and made this comment (that only a naive 16 year old could make) that just <span style="font-style: italic;">maybe</span> next year she would be here with a nomination. Because you know, the role that she played was really <span style="font-style: italic;">real </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">raw. </span><span>The interviewer just looked at her and half smiled.</span><br />Well, Miley, if you are out there, I'm sorry you didn't get that Oscar nod you were hoping for, but lets say we both keep at it. Because who knows, maybe one day it will really happen.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMsxUyF-UMcHfcOcgPOudvaQ4P9zBwAMb2XyBpnShu9YYiFykuoP88kSe284GqD06vqheZ1IAiMkO1xO82obNk2i6EX7AE-38jPovVJSmf77AUJQ3RKTXjqvT5jKRo0qs0_zJwaqtt-4/s400/suite2012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711303647380378498" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 463px; height: 723px;" border="0" /></div>erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150383327029266745.post-20917693090064170042012-02-08T15:39:00.000-08:002012-02-08T16:06:31.109-08:00california love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7fwQwmztyqLDGsv_nl023H-Xgw9hbSke77tVUuDHN_mPst3SqDg5SQh_JR7dFbPuh8UhNB97j2qFAKJIenrOsA0xCjpPSPIGRSePSWTE-64sJAcFWFKfGDdZsXEiJu1q2p2keCTREjM/s1600/IMG_3377.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 609px; height: 405px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7fwQwmztyqLDGsv_nl023H-Xgw9hbSke77tVUuDHN_mPst3SqDg5SQh_JR7dFbPuh8UhNB97j2qFAKJIenrOsA0xCjpPSPIGRSePSWTE-64sJAcFWFKfGDdZsXEiJu1q2p2keCTREjM/s400/IMG_3377.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706914160862686498" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzQM8J0ZonMvWwr1elvQuy_H2JNDZGpiM-BHqSYN-5n7tesiuySh8ROlOiWaq0u5a3kEQJsd8Y3cOvuYSpSMYWX4Yganmuy17Sb1e2701D62T-dOTlGEddKFnshHRr-9QMffuFhjlp8U/s1600/IMG_3380.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 598px; height: 520px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzQM8J0ZonMvWwr1elvQuy_H2JNDZGpiM-BHqSYN-5n7tesiuySh8ROlOiWaq0u5a3kEQJsd8Y3cOvuYSpSMYWX4Yganmuy17Sb1e2701D62T-dOTlGEddKFnshHRr-9QMffuFhjlp8U/s400/IMG_3380.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706919078037709362" border="0" /></a>erica and companyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14375774929523005032noreply@blogger.com0