tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4040811405094900882024-02-20T10:35:09.891-05:00Never In One PlaceCrystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-2547688503470218322016-02-10T18:02:00.003-05:002016-02-10T18:08:40.484-05:00Nine Years <div style="text-align: center;">
Today marks nine years since I said "I do" to my amazingly, funny, sweet husband. We always laugh at the thought of how unromantic he is. He truly is, and I am very okay with that. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwETAjfZ3Janahb5QCyWoyemOY21yFIlcGGHzuWj3TnvIdCtni2cmFlB5rX1rYg5VLkKI98lyihC9FGWXT4VhsWEf93ZiNcr8RuCNJSPt0NSwxDZL6gxwlVkCYATQZAaFEOCoNvJkiiaxb/s1600/IMG_3224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwETAjfZ3Janahb5QCyWoyemOY21yFIlcGGHzuWj3TnvIdCtni2cmFlB5rX1rYg5VLkKI98lyihC9FGWXT4VhsWEf93ZiNcr8RuCNJSPt0NSwxDZL6gxwlVkCYATQZAaFEOCoNvJkiiaxb/s320/IMG_3224.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do you know what replaces romance, sometimes? Sweetness, and Scott is full of sweetness. When I was young I always pictured being married to someone who was romantic. Flowers, chocolates, secret trips to secrets places. What I have now, I wouldn't change for all the wine in Italy- and that's saying something. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigC_CiaIfg1TWL4_5RFDdyecwg0g2GHkGzrgeneAcaTd5MLiHAvsRG1vjvrzdhHW8-fazuUefFrfU1d91o933kovGjXqnkBDF9Ieraf5xvgJZk8-z0SvS1xom4Jn1_tH9gDJRfTwHFYWCc/s1600/brr%252C+its+cold+in+whoville+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigC_CiaIfg1TWL4_5RFDdyecwg0g2GHkGzrgeneAcaTd5MLiHAvsRG1vjvrzdhHW8-fazuUefFrfU1d91o933kovGjXqnkBDF9Ieraf5xvgJZk8-z0SvS1xom4Jn1_tH9gDJRfTwHFYWCc/s320/brr%252C+its+cold+in+whoville+%25282%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The kind of things that define sweetness are the little things that Scott does, without even realizing it. It's things like, opening all the cupboards and drawers in the morning before he leaves for work because he knows it drives me absolutely batty, but makes me laugh so hard. It's making me tea on Saturday mornings, that's hot and ready for when I get out of the shower. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
When I was laid off from my job he rushed home from work with my favourite coffee, just to see if I was okay. He couldn't stay home all day but he wanted to check in. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmoa9SPE3qgiLvuDZjhpyQoU_gikLJV48TvLEYjk1t0EVD5eD8oJBA9N2AIlcHAlTw5a2N2yWh2LyO65b0cAlfnVaH66IXmJwSunAVfD-9nIt6Z4LkbH8gs6DcC-GsYGSN32V1lr_c4Vy/s1600/IMG_3198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmoa9SPE3qgiLvuDZjhpyQoU_gikLJV48TvLEYjk1t0EVD5eD8oJBA9N2AIlcHAlTw5a2N2yWh2LyO65b0cAlfnVaH66IXmJwSunAVfD-9nIt6Z4LkbH8gs6DcC-GsYGSN32V1lr_c4Vy/s320/IMG_3198.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Things like loving me when I was really hard to love, and when I was having a hard time loving myself. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Pushing me out of my comfort zone and not backing down on me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Like never sugar coating anything, no cliches. He doesn't tell me that "everything is going to be okay" or " don't worry, it will all work out." And not because he's pessimistic, but because he know those words may not be true.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK0ZqM0pRUtrtMZ6suS1AfrN7wMY7Dsz_wnptdYqG-j8ACU_xWyOYHVYQPKTs17i6lvO4R2K4xbJNxLWm-M0CAagx8hU3Ib6YpBe7jgvgow1fDeYoC5zIdLzfoTt2BhahaxEnl2S0TGsj/s1600/IMG_6434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK0ZqM0pRUtrtMZ6suS1AfrN7wMY7Dsz_wnptdYqG-j8ACU_xWyOYHVYQPKTs17i6lvO4R2K4xbJNxLWm-M0CAagx8hU3Ib6YpBe7jgvgow1fDeYoC5zIdLzfoTt2BhahaxEnl2S0TGsj/s320/IMG_6434.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He's sweet like leaving one of his t-shirts that he's worn on his pillow when he goes away for work. Or calling me to wish me luck when I'm being tested. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But mostly, I am so lucky because every single day that he's been in my life, through all the valleys and hills, he has made me laugh. Not just giggle or smile, but laughter that shakes my entire insides and makes me realize that romance may fade in and out, but sweetness lasts forever. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGjihuhQU4Ljx1__tPR159WdTXISENiwMPaaxsZOciaGM9ugnxVk3XPiQozgFHc8VkvFi1tsRljluVDw5rfUP8kn-h7MJkRJT4hzQ2qSwakuAKN5f9BFvpeDWhFxhhWtn9d_riCKbnpEj/s1600/180576_10150408690135224_579610223_17479397_3842776_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGjihuhQU4Ljx1__tPR159WdTXISENiwMPaaxsZOciaGM9ugnxVk3XPiQozgFHc8VkvFi1tsRljluVDw5rfUP8kn-h7MJkRJT4hzQ2qSwakuAKN5f9BFvpeDWhFxhhWtn9d_riCKbnpEj/s320/180576_10150408690135224_579610223_17479397_3842776_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-81124794606338137122016-02-06T13:21:00.002-05:002016-02-08T09:17:29.325-05:00Hooper<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"<b>Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b> soul remains un-awakened." </b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Last week we had to send our sweet, beloved Hooper over the Rainbow Bridge. It was one of the hardest things our family has ever had to do. We only recently found out that he had lymphoma and had declined rapidly. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7_Olyqg3w40Fq-ijZv36sMK_4YdzodXSpAHnvoiVQBHkTX9h4PFS6X78EBjQVR_DmyJU9TSURUfv-qtvFCCxnUeg6f4fNTfRa7UOyrIWgqwIQxIhACopQ1UBbjZaO9bFAp8xNK9h-ytY/s1600/555666666+-+Copy+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7_Olyqg3w40Fq-ijZv36sMK_4YdzodXSpAHnvoiVQBHkTX9h4PFS6X78EBjQVR_DmyJU9TSURUfv-qtvFCCxnUeg6f4fNTfRa7UOyrIWgqwIQxIhACopQ1UBbjZaO9bFAp8xNK9h-ytY/s320/555666666+-+Copy+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIDlqSEN1cSqzRsYWdHkL_0qPQCwUPwn46k_FDfdPZstvLHVltxX740x2S1nV3hGxFYJ75WMazWDNjcCnMVa_-0GlplTvnbVqlzJzBMkwvm90eM-gx-AMNEDzWicV2KIXqBn4RFvL2E8Q_/s1600/IMG_2126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIDlqSEN1cSqzRsYWdHkL_0qPQCwUPwn46k_FDfdPZstvLHVltxX740x2S1nV3hGxFYJ75WMazWDNjcCnMVa_-0GlplTvnbVqlzJzBMkwvm90eM-gx-AMNEDzWicV2KIXqBn4RFvL2E8Q_/s320/IMG_2126.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvR8-g_wNMgRfYZBdNniuVif_XRSYLxEwqtbJWj8_m2Jt6Rm-aTQpIlM0mg8-sUzZDBInUhk1MXYMHmNqFW4BwiWUIC8A_5Ozb0kipGrvtFkR6HDQYv5EX9nz-bbqgJ1Nn0RfIV50aJs-/s1600/IMG_1337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvR8-g_wNMgRfYZBdNniuVif_XRSYLxEwqtbJWj8_m2Jt6Rm-aTQpIlM0mg8-sUzZDBInUhk1MXYMHmNqFW4BwiWUIC8A_5Ozb0kipGrvtFkR6HDQYv5EX9nz-bbqgJ1Nn0RfIV50aJs-/s320/IMG_1337.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">For anyone who had met Hooper, you know that he wasn't just an ordinary pet. He was sweet, funny and had a loving personality. We were so lucky to have had him in our lives for the time that we did, even if not long enough. Hooper never thought he was a dog, he thought that he was human like the rest of us. When the kids climbed on the couch to watch a move, so did Hooper. When we all sat down at the dining room table for supper, Hooper sat under it. Usually under Alyson's chair, because her food always seems to miraculously fall on the floor when she said she was "full".</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hMuYdoN5_qrxrySiDQuoHh4bzOaKsqyJ3u_S7pGUULzmwuAC6dfHm-s7p6w5XPyKybxcb_Uu4ftVG2a0P4yyAC-rY32NPVXJxodLrND77y24gi-LdvZZVzCZn3zFo6_VoU9NvbJ4WxZq/s1600/IMG_1119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hMuYdoN5_qrxrySiDQuoHh4bzOaKsqyJ3u_S7pGUULzmwuAC6dfHm-s7p6w5XPyKybxcb_Uu4ftVG2a0P4yyAC-rY32NPVXJxodLrND77y24gi-LdvZZVzCZn3zFo6_VoU9NvbJ4WxZq/s320/IMG_1119.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hooper adored attention and even if you accidentally grazed your hand on his head, he was your best friend. He would adoringly sit at your feet, looking up at you with his beautiful brown eyes begging to be scratched or played with. His love for water, snow, stolen blueberry pies and roast dinners are something that we will laugh about for years. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZJTyvbbI3Rp15OJ5Xl2jdehV1_KbU5T_ovZFL9tvTa_6A13k3J-aLMYXUoTymkx0PHBfRK6myeQAyVX13kZNCO3AnLKGzP_WEtQcQVdHH12mCMhr1lngbAeTabgC4221jvxiYV8CvDoR/s1600/IMG_1182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZJTyvbbI3Rp15OJ5Xl2jdehV1_KbU5T_ovZFL9tvTa_6A13k3J-aLMYXUoTymkx0PHBfRK6myeQAyVX13kZNCO3AnLKGzP_WEtQcQVdHH12mCMhr1lngbAeTabgC4221jvxiYV8CvDoR/s320/IMG_1182.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8AYr9mNet50cCtE3W2zaBuSpJiGusrbyIQeZTNeLvn-AksWxGTLaMf8LvG_bmD5xDEXrTWG220nipO_lpOOguXHc72M2zpI_Kn32f9zlrIncFkXxHy1Ue2jEzz6QkUcdE6iqC4Ikw7le/s1600/Jonathan%2527s+Birthday+and+Oct+073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8AYr9mNet50cCtE3W2zaBuSpJiGusrbyIQeZTNeLvn-AksWxGTLaMf8LvG_bmD5xDEXrTWG220nipO_lpOOguXHc72M2zpI_Kn32f9zlrIncFkXxHy1Ue2jEzz6QkUcdE6iqC4Ikw7le/s320/Jonathan%2527s+Birthday+and+Oct+073.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_rRwIktT-qJt2j_iZROTpXBcDJrlkQi-MxDWoDUzB1t6T0U-U3kbE4rT36iefNr29jcZwfnL-rCQLfmvClcHmhZpIEx3aTZa_4zgmTcQJKc4CGyiwdiF2d8-9yjmg_yVIczaehqQn-M8/s1600/IMG_1100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_rRwIktT-qJt2j_iZROTpXBcDJrlkQi-MxDWoDUzB1t6T0U-U3kbE4rT36iefNr29jcZwfnL-rCQLfmvClcHmhZpIEx3aTZa_4zgmTcQJKc4CGyiwdiF2d8-9yjmg_yVIczaehqQn-M8/s320/IMG_1100.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hooper held within his heart secrets that our family whispered when we needed to talk but couldn't find the words. He held patience for all the trucks that Jonathan has drove over his fur, for Alyson dressing him up in all of her clothes and covering him in blankets. He held love for everyone in our family, the way he greeted Scott at the door each day, the way he nudged Destyni back out the door when she came home from school because he knew that was his walk time. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He was incredible and amazing and he kept our family happy and protected, and we will miss him with our entire hearts. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxxPxIfKajpG7x9fOY25R5H0iiLNCG__33LrfD-SwCdWBMprE3oM92QcrqJ-UDcQ7k3y1ryv2dPuPqdfQDme1-SDFa6o0b9WZVZhtibhZWtnRxO46lbKgdD_MIzZ3XJHanmKwSiqm7K8K/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxxPxIfKajpG7x9fOY25R5H0iiLNCG__33LrfD-SwCdWBMprE3oM92QcrqJ-UDcQ7k3y1ryv2dPuPqdfQDme1-SDFa6o0b9WZVZhtibhZWtnRxO46lbKgdD_MIzZ3XJHanmKwSiqm7K8K/s400/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9ZHr3LUxZiteoXubP0M5bh03INYv7OJ9Co_9YkkJQ4LkQUVyK9eLvpGXqbsvjuHJ83CfKrltuYekFQ1KVIBJ0iQGl5SrgBmh9tFfu7QVzM2OPpiJA-nhEsXeSYjPDhbd1hrOYSVbO2ff/s1600/IMG_0637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9ZHr3LUxZiteoXubP0M5bh03INYv7OJ9Co_9YkkJQ4LkQUVyK9eLvpGXqbsvjuHJ83CfKrltuYekFQ1KVIBJ0iQGl5SrgBmh9tFfu7QVzM2OPpiJA-nhEsXeSYjPDhbd1hrOYSVbO2ff/s400/IMG_0637.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Until we meet again...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-27646595970637755472015-12-11T19:24:00.004-05:002015-12-11T19:41:43.727-05:00Drunk & Driving <div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was hit
by a drunk driver a few nights ago. I was driving home after my last clinical
shift of the semester. After our class finishes a clinical rotation most of us
are quite happy and almost euphoric, because it’s a huge accomplishment and we
are proud of ourselves and our classmates. And we deserve to be happy, because nursing
school isn’t always a walk in the park. So I was happy, and couldn’t wait to
get home to tell my husband, who would have been in bed because it was late,
but I was going to wake him up anyway. He’s used to it and probably expects it.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was going
to make a turn and from behind I was hit, and it was a hard hit. I don’t usually
write about things other than my children. I don’t like the attention; my inner
core tends to be an introvert. But this time it’s important. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-CA">I can remember
the crash and find myself waking through the night hearing the crunch of metal
or the impact of my head off the headrest. It was a hard hit.</span>There are
more details to the story but they aren’t all that relevant, the important part
is that the driver was impaired. He was driving IMPAIRED.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have a
concussion. That’s what happens when you are hit at 45km an hour when you are
stopped. Your body retains most of the hit, or maybe your head. It’s been a
rough few days to say the least. I have forgotten what I was doing twice, I
have forgotten my daughter's name once. I asked Scott the same question three
times within an hour. I am tired and have migraines and it’s almost Christmas.
I understand things like this can happen, but who is most affected by this? Not
me. When something happens to you, well, you just deal with it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So who is most
affected?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My family. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They don’t
understand why I need to nap throughout the day. Why they have to stay so quiet
all of the time because the noise puts me to tears, that the lights are dimmed
or off because the brightness makes the room spin. They don’t understand why I just
look at them when they ask a question because I’m not quite sure of the answer,
or I’ve forgotten the question. And it
sucks, it sucks so bad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So friends,
people in my life, anyone who may read this. Please, please don’t drink and
drive. The holidays are upon us and celebrating goes hand in hand with that,
but leave your car. Find other arrangements. I am sure you all have that one
friend (or five) who has said “if you need anything”. Well call in that favour
because it’s worth it. Trust me, it’s totally worth it. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpSZaz6r0spEUb_yVLmNZgd9CMRdmhz6UInOO7dHhLycS0rRSnJ14Gc10xiuddOt6TUFis2X8hdph0AgqsRCbt_GhV1SjyDuXIQ5bYex8o3Uv5tM53rVuLVOrNYFQ_lwD6zqdl98kxUR1/s1600/IMG_6649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpSZaz6r0spEUb_yVLmNZgd9CMRdmhz6UInOO7dHhLycS0rRSnJ14Gc10xiuddOt6TUFis2X8hdph0AgqsRCbt_GhV1SjyDuXIQ5bYex8o3Uv5tM53rVuLVOrNYFQ_lwD6zqdl98kxUR1/s320/IMG_6649.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-67147008578120813702015-12-05T13:14:00.004-05:002015-12-05T13:14:57.869-05:00Christmas Shopping and Tears<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes it’s so obvious that I know that feeling as
soon as I see a memory or her face. Her eyes with their deep intent, or how her
hair sways when she walks quickly down the hall. And sometimes I am just going
about my day and it hits me with such a force that I feel myself reaching where
my heart is and trying to dull the emotional turmoil that awakens just beneath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMhkDUpJW8Z51ZdU4uFiDlEWd3hj_AKATdQwijzKbC22RK1Cb7BPDvVZkJKVeCLf7F5zcWCLtPTuhFXUF6r9upLOlnldYyR52Ce5KddVIL8OKIeS3dCivs-CS5M8vZn2ONDK2qhLUKJI6/s1600/IMG_5523.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMhkDUpJW8Z51ZdU4uFiDlEWd3hj_AKATdQwijzKbC22RK1Cb7BPDvVZkJKVeCLf7F5zcWCLtPTuhFXUF6r9upLOlnldYyR52Ce5KddVIL8OKIeS3dCivs-CS5M8vZn2ONDK2qhLUKJI6/s320/IMG_5523.JPG.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow', sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I was out Christmas shopping the other day, the
only thing that Destyni asked for this year is clothes, she wants to look in
her closet and be able to see beautiful, soft fabrics all around her and pick
out her “today” outfit. So, off I went to one of her most favourite clothing shops.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Then it began. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I chose some generic clothing, a regular long sleeve
shirt, a pair of pants. I kept walking deeper and deeper into the store and on
a rack was an absolutely beautiful dress. And in an instant I seen my baby, who
just turned 14 wearing that dress. In my mind’s eye I could see her twirling,
laughing, her head thrown back, her beautiful brown eyes glittering with
happiness, and I reached for my chest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I don’t know what causes the wakefulness, I don’t know
if it’s the clothes, the time of year, her birthday or what my soul knows is just below the surface-
the feeling of letting go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And I’m not really good at it. On the outside I try
and hold it together, but there is always an escape tear, a hug that I make
last longer than just a few moments, or my tip toes that lead me into her room
late at night, making sure that she’s still my child. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquR6OiZFu8t9r_ACPgn-VjmpfJZpZRboJQ-1dldT_q73pksUKp-m0MGNO_iup43gC1W-4Mnkkg9Xb14PZw0uZVuB-jDlejXZ8IN6JMji6lWNrIZyn6RBbsNQ8ykZ0RdEW3DxRGJAvfaSW/s1600/IMG_6621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquR6OiZFu8t9r_ACPgn-VjmpfJZpZRboJQ-1dldT_q73pksUKp-m0MGNO_iup43gC1W-4Mnkkg9Xb14PZw0uZVuB-jDlejXZ8IN6JMji6lWNrIZyn6RBbsNQ8ykZ0RdEW3DxRGJAvfaSW/s200/IMG_6621.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQNFxuLWIxklZbwmosCG5AKcvZiusFDvquhyClNtG-riwW-WsiyCrKNV-D7cGtz9Xua0znqY8WbIKwtJACl_8OTn92OdZsdjKXLImpONz68UWaBgpXM678YY3-B-FHXQUgj-P-sNqSWnY/s1600/IMG_6458+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQNFxuLWIxklZbwmosCG5AKcvZiusFDvquhyClNtG-riwW-WsiyCrKNV-D7cGtz9Xua0znqY8WbIKwtJACl_8OTn92OdZsdjKXLImpONz68UWaBgpXM678YY3-B-FHXQUgj-P-sNqSWnY/s200/IMG_6458+%25282%2529.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I told Destyni a few years ago that when she grows
taller than me, I will ground her from leaving our home for two whole weeks. I like to remind her of this a few times a month. And we laugh and she always wraps her arms around me and says, “Oh, Mommy.”
But if I could keep her for two weeks without leaving I would. And I would let
her know that I need those two weeks because once I am looking up to her I can’t
hide the tears that slowly fall down my cheeks, so I need time to adjust. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">On the night you were born, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The moon smiled with such wonder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">That the stars peeked in to see you <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And the night wind whispered, “Life will never be
the same. “ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Because there had never been anyone like you…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial Narrow, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;">Ever in the world. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvJrhgPfSQEQ8fvxD3VjK5zUuoOWPYBGo9UBf0w1cUJyz5o-LQwRV2E2c6SsaAO0ZEncfAw86_IwHy3H-BcEuVcIukRvTX3HnOhCl_A8KA5VNrOjaBxej_S33Y-gOgaui1MHmab3H8hNj/s1600/IMG_6648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvJrhgPfSQEQ8fvxD3VjK5zUuoOWPYBGo9UBf0w1cUJyz5o-LQwRV2E2c6SsaAO0ZEncfAw86_IwHy3H-BcEuVcIukRvTX3HnOhCl_A8KA5VNrOjaBxej_S33Y-gOgaui1MHmab3H8hNj/s320/IMG_6648.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-57619623481410002042015-01-30T19:14:00.001-05:002015-01-30T19:14:24.775-05:00For HeatherI love living. I love life. I go to bed each night and am grateful for everything I have in it. I try so hard not to take anything for granted. I work on this daily.<br />
<br />
The week before last I was reading through my old blogs. Sometimes I love to read and remember the feelings that I had about a certain event in my life. I write a lot around my children's birthdays, because I know I will want to remember them in detail as time goes by. I came across a comment that a lady had left for me months ago. There was something about it that made me want to contact her, as she had requested. A few days later I received an email from her:<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Crystal, <br />
<br />
Thank you so much for getting back to me! No worries at all. The
reason I was reaching out to you was because I couldn't find an
email listed on your blog! I wanted to invite you to help me out
with a campaign I was working on to spread awareness of the cancer
that almost took my life 9 years ago, mesothelioma. <br />
<br />
Luckily, I am currently working on spreading awareness of a special
holiday coming up this February 2nd that my husband and I celebrate
each year called "Lung Leavin' Day". Nine years ago on the eve of my
lung-removal surgery, we were all feeling down and fearful that the
surgery wouldn't be successful. So, to overcome our fears, we wrote
them on plates and smashed them in a bonfire in our backyard. Every
year since then, we continue the tradition by smashing our fears and
encouraging others to do the same by sharing them online!<br />
<br />
I would love if we could do something on your blog for Lung Leavin'
Day. Check out our page, and let me know what you think!<br />
<a href="http://www.mesothelioma.com/heather/lungleavinday/#.VL0XXWTF-s" tabindex="-1" target="_parent"><br />
http://www.mesothelioma.com/heather/lungleavinday/#.VL0XXWTF-s</a>4<br />
<br />
Thanks a million!<br />
Heather</span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Heather's story is beautiful and sad and it needs to be read. There was something so revitalizing about smashing that plate at the end of the webpage. For anyone who may sometimes take life for granted, this will bring you happiness.<br />
<br />
<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-85353346747371672732014-11-23T15:22:00.003-05:002014-11-23T15:25:21.476-05:00Goodbye Ordinary NumbersDearest Destyni,<br />
<br />
My precious baby girl. Tonight is the eve of all ordinary birthdays. After toddler-hood, your age was just a number. After midnight tonight, you are not just any number, you are a teenager, you are my teenager.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdYwVFNFK3LoGxcuIG_IalSM_XrwitYbaJZYrzAI3qhS-UI4CBnWntPGVkAkP_izUpnaKVJSqo3yhPYY1eTusTzVY9xDpH_MAofx7kWdRyz4pANtz-RozqjPvvEh9rsSAlSjz4WXjslmI/s1600/13-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdYwVFNFK3LoGxcuIG_IalSM_XrwitYbaJZYrzAI3qhS-UI4CBnWntPGVkAkP_izUpnaKVJSqo3yhPYY1eTusTzVY9xDpH_MAofx7kWdRyz4pANtz-RozqjPvvEh9rsSAlSjz4WXjslmI/s1600/13-2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My sweet Princess, you are the sole person who has taken me from being "just a twenty year old" to "Mommy". You are everything I ever did right in the world. As tomorrow slowly creeps up, my mind keeps flooding with pictures of your life. They seem to rush in without any warning, and leaving me with tears in my eyes and happiness bursting from my heart. I don't ever know if you can begin to understand what you've created by being you, but my child, you have created magic.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBrcnvXWA37VKfD-_vUoZ4LOXF96s8FQQLQ6T9eWAEmpkkoSsoR-IVLjhGj7hetcuikfXFejAqN8vGjZSLU5VuKhoK7yKzrn0bwXO0ShwPajPQ2myl1mjR-pMsiC_RMJpisYCDEr4mjaC/s1600/13-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBrcnvXWA37VKfD-_vUoZ4LOXF96s8FQQLQ6T9eWAEmpkkoSsoR-IVLjhGj7hetcuikfXFejAqN8vGjZSLU5VuKhoK7yKzrn0bwXO0ShwPajPQ2myl1mjR-pMsiC_RMJpisYCDEr4mjaC/s1600/13-1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
This is the beginning of the letting go stage. The age when I have to slowly let you go out into the world, without holding your hand, and guiding you to all the right answers. I know I have to let you venture into unknown territories, and I have to let you make mistakes so you will know how to learn from them. This will be my hardest role as your mother.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3LFQBMU43EKx67JrhVh3HqlpLLFa45u1kMlfYixYFSa6afyMN4qMbwoR8W6mm8SM226yepfsQQCnDGwWqv-fp2TmtaxKziDFhDLfCjvK04DnWYT360pYcIAbDKdpZ4kOv-XjTIaMkdMD/s1600/13-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3LFQBMU43EKx67JrhVh3HqlpLLFa45u1kMlfYixYFSa6afyMN4qMbwoR8W6mm8SM226yepfsQQCnDGwWqv-fp2TmtaxKziDFhDLfCjvK04DnWYT360pYcIAbDKdpZ4kOv-XjTIaMkdMD/s1600/13-3.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Today I will promise you everything I have ever promised you while you flipped in my belly, while you slept in my arms, while you splashed in the tub, climbed the couch, gazed at me reading to you, drove in the car singing at the top of our lungs, holding you as you cried, danced with you, and rocked you back and forth. I promise to love you forever. I promise to always be your confidant, even when I'm not able to be your friend. Know this more than ever, no matter what happens, I am here. Behind you cheering you on, beside you, pushing you forward and in front of you, guiding you.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmm12oZhD84pvECE5AjB7Y1CDI4uP8mi21WR9Wr4i1hsBsFHZN_N4Hb55SpymGceQ-bKX4I7tzBYy0uKs3XFmNZANvKP9bUKjn-8jJf2s5EH6ct5Y-IsYVdZulYForqTY8aT4TmJ0BVPM/s1600/13-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmm12oZhD84pvECE5AjB7Y1CDI4uP8mi21WR9Wr4i1hsBsFHZN_N4Hb55SpymGceQ-bKX4I7tzBYy0uKs3XFmNZANvKP9bUKjn-8jJf2s5EH6ct5Y-IsYVdZulYForqTY8aT4TmJ0BVPM/s1600/13-4.jpg" height="320" width="295" /></a></div>
To my almost thirteen year old, I have never met anyone like you in my entire life. I don't think I ever shall. Happy Birthday darling!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Breathe deep. Talk slow.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Walk soft. Let go.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Give big. Take less.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Don't count. Just guess.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Act fair. Think long.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Laugh loud. Sing strong.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Plan bold. Dream far.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Feel loved. You are."</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCRp-XO5-RFOayejIrNGFK1gD2CYhnZjIBoQsDH7SQ-B2U1MdmueFsskXDZSBYq_cHIYUuNxJ72JCbx5QNvhW55dyhoNUijX8N_qk6a_uGpqYs_mez623XiNimert2e8nTyFhZkMgJvzQ4/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCRp-XO5-RFOayejIrNGFK1gD2CYhnZjIBoQsDH7SQ-B2U1MdmueFsskXDZSBYq_cHIYUuNxJ72JCbx5QNvhW55dyhoNUijX8N_qk6a_uGpqYs_mez623XiNimert2e8nTyFhZkMgJvzQ4/s1600/13.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-39766030374719647852014-10-23T10:33:00.005-04:002014-10-23T10:33:49.278-04:00Oh CanadaOh Canada.<br />
<br />
This past week has been one that will be forever remembered in Canadian history, unfortunately. This week Canadian's were put through emotional turmoil, hurt, pain and grief.<br />
<br />
For twenty minutes I panicked. Full out, taking my children out of school, locking my doors and windows and staying in my basement until I feel safe. Even if it meant years.<br />
<br />
But then I remembered.<br />
<br />
I am Canadian! We are Canadian! And that doesn't mean just ticking off the Canada box when asked what country we live in. It means that we hold our heads high, we sing the national anthem from our hearts and we DO NOT live in fear.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9zBZEOi2hSh9lpLzM2wM2qB4B-ziEHOCDUBCBcQn9hgOA0C9haSORBD1kUWO0W17sBgLy0PHHhLkdHHiP9eShyrbADzusrI9FWyqf2Wr968BilWZeIueY_De06RoLXUERY6H9-8sM7VU/s1600/CanadaFlagSunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9zBZEOi2hSh9lpLzM2wM2qB4B-ziEHOCDUBCBcQn9hgOA0C9haSORBD1kUWO0W17sBgLy0PHHhLkdHHiP9eShyrbADzusrI9FWyqf2Wr968BilWZeIueY_De06RoLXUERY6H9-8sM7VU/s1600/CanadaFlagSunset.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Perhaps somewhere in a history book, some author forgot to take note that we were never just a nation. We don't all just live together because we share a land mass. We live like a family. Behind each and every solider, each and every police officer, and each and every emergency worker is a family. Standing behind them, holding them up and creating an absolute concrete barrier. So these soldiers, police officers and emergency workers not only have the bravery that allows them to protect our country so well, they also have the strength of millions of people behind them.<br />
<br />
Canadians are a lot of things, But we are not cowards!<br />
<br />
We are True North Strong and Free!<br />
<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-10420132859196578212014-08-06T09:53:00.001-04:002014-08-06T09:53:26.153-04:00DreamsYou know those times when you know something as the truth, but your subconscious completely evades that the idea even exists. Alyson is the little sister, so she looks up to Destyni for everything, even when it comes to food. Destyni loves celery and makes ants on a log for a snack almost every day. Alyson cannot stand the taste of celery but thinks that when she is twelve, like Destyni, she will love celery. Being four, she believes that everything Destyni enjoys, admires or does is based on her age.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-ven7mHxzuuQ9hfMUHVrquigTi0mMe6dtNt_IO2nRigf-uQdChBcpFa58D_S3t7XWilHNLoP29G-QD4SExrguUYryeUqrMQW4ecyItbTf1Uz4PFc60sQK-2KIYjIOQoznNSRsH2K3rZL/s1600/DA2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKK5DwSH1xowx3pOFs0f36N7o6j-gE__pPv5yi48i0PwqcrekWK3Iq-U7BALFn0yRpNNjJg8l9Xpq3iKhElOc0EMq08gki6iG20iBZUbfGcWsl946Z7rCF5qP2p4Y-rwBePhGykVEFb0w/s1600/DA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKK5DwSH1xowx3pOFs0f36N7o6j-gE__pPv5yi48i0PwqcrekWK3Iq-U7BALFn0yRpNNjJg8l9Xpq3iKhElOc0EMq08gki6iG20iBZUbfGcWsl946Z7rCF5qP2p4Y-rwBePhGykVEFb0w/s1600/DA.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The harsh reality lies here, Alyson believes in her heart of hearts that when she turns twelve that Destyni too, will still be twelve. Alyson thinks they will be twins, she just has to patiently wait eight more years and she can love and do all of the amazing things that Destyni fills her time with. The first few times that Alyson spoke about this we tried to correct her, but we stopped. There is something so sweet and innocent about Alyson wanting to be everything that Destyni is that makes us want to keep that fragile bubble from bursting.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzzXndZm1juj-CCbuYVBbePNh2cb2vzjgwVk-vWUBhM8mNcLc-7OKACVTjNmv8Ttp3PNok4Z1QmgtbQUGCr-U3RteDXaPDJACSmOpAib2M4qt9s2G3s-QJ1dc0MYigEnyGQdWX-ch7o0a/s1600/DA1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzzXndZm1juj-CCbuYVBbePNh2cb2vzjgwVk-vWUBhM8mNcLc-7OKACVTjNmv8Ttp3PNok4Z1QmgtbQUGCr-U3RteDXaPDJACSmOpAib2M4qt9s2G3s-QJ1dc0MYigEnyGQdWX-ch7o0a/s1600/DA1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Alyson believes her and Destyni will play together in that magical land of twelve - the truth is that when Alyson is twelve, Destyni will be twenty (okay breathe). Imagine the world that Destyni will be a part of then, the world that she can let Alyson peek into to. If twelve is magical for Alyson, I believe that twenty will be breathtaking.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-ven7mHxzuuQ9hfMUHVrquigTi0mMe6dtNt_IO2nRigf-uQdChBcpFa58D_S3t7XWilHNLoP29G-QD4SExrguUYryeUqrMQW4ecyItbTf1Uz4PFc60sQK-2KIYjIOQoznNSRsH2K3rZL/s1600/DA2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-ven7mHxzuuQ9hfMUHVrquigTi0mMe6dtNt_IO2nRigf-uQdChBcpFa58D_S3t7XWilHNLoP29G-QD4SExrguUYryeUqrMQW4ecyItbTf1Uz4PFc60sQK-2KIYjIOQoznNSRsH2K3rZL/s1600/DA2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart — oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape — of your sister. ~Katherine Mansfield</span><!--, writing to her younger sister; GBF, PIH--><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-ven7mHxzuuQ9hfMUHVrquigTi0mMe6dtNt_IO2nRigf-uQdChBcpFa58D_S3t7XWilHNLoP29G-QD4SExrguUYryeUqrMQW4ecyItbTf1Uz4PFc60sQK-2KIYjIOQoznNSRsH2K3rZL/s1600/DA2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-ven7mHxzuuQ9hfMUHVrquigTi0mMe6dtNt_IO2nRigf-uQdChBcpFa58D_S3t7XWilHNLoP29G-QD4SExrguUYryeUqrMQW4ecyItbTf1Uz4PFc60sQK-2KIYjIOQoznNSRsH2K3rZL/s1600/DA2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-1079166999063564542014-07-09T18:14:00.000-04:002014-07-09T18:22:11.594-04:00Gone Baby GoneMy sweet, sweet daughter. As I sit down and try and find time to write this I am stuck somewhere between tears and laughter, I don't know what will come first. What I do know is that I feel torn, pulled in more than a few directions.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vTSlFCfXvSGxq8u2Ym3vm9cpdRjr1dl8hMZNfq4lTWMnSVqIPLVO_QjIDaG_38O5eW5ozvUhJ9ykhq3LSdR_iQ06EpUdT0F-xLCSWXoWUSByVZ9htaSAsTH_bfuc3hK7JrwQc3tu-CAh/s1600/Alyson+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vTSlFCfXvSGxq8u2Ym3vm9cpdRjr1dl8hMZNfq4lTWMnSVqIPLVO_QjIDaG_38O5eW5ozvUhJ9ykhq3LSdR_iQ06EpUdT0F-xLCSWXoWUSByVZ9htaSAsTH_bfuc3hK7JrwQc3tu-CAh/s1600/Alyson+1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In five days, you will be four. I have watched you grow every single step of the way since you made your grand rushed entry into our world. I have carried you, snuggled you, sang you a thousand songs while holding you to my heart and feeling yours beat within mine. We knew you would be our last baby, we knew that you would be the end knot in our family link but we didn't really know what we signed up for.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBg5WRAYkFkbfj-iMB5RJguTqqgm-iaHezS5_Zt6N8nm85g9uiGX77I6awN36E0QORaJO_8pxQDV57gIhdNK0Cw9DP6loU6hhniYklaVcf2ALEB4vGtigkiV47CvgqxPlEBrxxXxLW5Z7/s1600/Alyson+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcAS4O9Q4phyphenhyphendv7QJ7nZfXSBoFNvoPObS2Ms1M_COn3Zboz6pbVFGtIJpat4dvl_uQEBhtOYBi3CxKPErvwhjfRJfsUWXw_L_ODzpU8Q8j3cRMS7mEN18NMJeXP-yiIf_bPEccJ1jt-YK_/s1600/Alyson+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcAS4O9Q4phyphenhyphendv7QJ7nZfXSBoFNvoPObS2Ms1M_COn3Zboz6pbVFGtIJpat4dvl_uQEBhtOYBi3CxKPErvwhjfRJfsUWXw_L_ODzpU8Q8j3cRMS7mEN18NMJeXP-yiIf_bPEccJ1jt-YK_/s1600/Alyson+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I thought you were never really going to grow up, you would stay small and young until I was ready for you to climb slowly and cautiously over the milestones. But one day I blinked and there you were, looking at me with those big beautiful hazel eyes, your wave of red hair and holding out your hand you said, "Come on, Mommy." You were leading me somewhere, you were taking my hand. I think back and wonder when it happened, when I let my guard down and life swooped in taking away my baby and leaving me with a child.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1S4vYDn_2Noh9zxklIqHuJIIpPu6z9he0aup6F_OgvqU-G7qZb2tvkghakOtHgIRbsV5pL3CHBE3DWHWYeUGYlPPaeG96wcgQkHoqg2mfQGCXwq2vySFUe9rOzWLmgfWgU8eIqNvPG2Dd/s1600/Alsyon+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1S4vYDn_2Noh9zxklIqHuJIIpPu6z9he0aup6F_OgvqU-G7qZb2tvkghakOtHgIRbsV5pL3CHBE3DWHWYeUGYlPPaeG96wcgQkHoqg2mfQGCXwq2vySFUe9rOzWLmgfWgU8eIqNvPG2Dd/s1600/Alsyon+3.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I watched you so closely but completely lost sight of what I knew was coming. So as our family will gather around you, watching your eyes sparkle with the candles that you can't wait to blow out, I will be holding on to you, hoping that the next four years crawl by. My baby, my sweet, sweet baby.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KC7_ZVDF6_BB1gQ-kpRHAMLMhvrvErHHxbm2WhUo4ohrKxA5GMAgHjBm_npWUaYncRPBHjpSo1nPDr55qPHsl4AH76JKDh9_iUiQUmaqm8T7qxPky9111oI48mhs3n0hp2rEzm7au1qe/s1600/Alysonn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KC7_ZVDF6_BB1gQ-kpRHAMLMhvrvErHHxbm2WhUo4ohrKxA5GMAgHjBm_npWUaYncRPBHjpSo1nPDr55qPHsl4AH76JKDh9_iUiQUmaqm8T7qxPky9111oI48mhs3n0hp2rEzm7au1qe/s1600/Alysonn.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-85834605555983089542013-11-30T13:13:00.001-05:002013-11-30T13:13:55.778-05:00To the Future Mrs. HarperDear Future Mrs. Harper, <br />
<br />When you read this you may not yet be Mrs. Harper, but I imagine that you are on your way to joining our little circle. It may appear that I am jealous of you, by the lingering looks that I may pass your way, by the way that I watch you move, how you speak and what your interests are. It's so important to me because you are going to be such a huge part of my life, even before I met you I knew you would come along one day. It was only so long that he could have went without having a woman by his side, someone he could love, spoil and share his life with. <br />
<br />
I have known about you for a while. You aren't really a surprise to me, but my heart still clenches and breaks when I think about how you are going to take him away from me. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ASqQk3BY6kRu165q-9qRojpqE3qNMTCnUkdeAFP9bQQx7LaQaO-SL9IOsaK-bAHB0GK1qGYDa0vT5Da59ZaylTxCmfRY8PLbb_eUaU7ik7mxpnl9vI7Dc7oEGRvHJ_Jf3WDdk7lPfOSh/s1600/GetAttachment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ASqQk3BY6kRu165q-9qRojpqE3qNMTCnUkdeAFP9bQQx7LaQaO-SL9IOsaK-bAHB0GK1qGYDa0vT5Da59ZaylTxCmfRY8PLbb_eUaU7ik7mxpnl9vI7Dc7oEGRvHJ_Jf3WDdk7lPfOSh/s200/GetAttachment.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SIXOXYMjirDuLwo9tnNMqK-pVK6TrP1VKqpM5ZfHC_QC3xWRjZgasn10fhhPxzWA_Yuzy04NMWAk5aNMIepJpOkiBYiFVH8u4DfBZsR4r-nhno6ptzigOZnDX1qTOAs0UsswJ1g1vBAM/s1600/J++&+A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SIXOXYMjirDuLwo9tnNMqK-pVK6TrP1VKqpM5ZfHC_QC3xWRjZgasn10fhhPxzWA_Yuzy04NMWAk5aNMIepJpOkiBYiFVH8u4DfBZsR4r-nhno6ptzigOZnDX1qTOAs0UsswJ1g1vBAM/s200/J++&+A.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
When Jonathan was seven years old he came and sat down beside me on the love seat in our home. He looked up at me with his beautiful blue eyes, long eyelashes shadowing his irises. In his hands he had a Mountain Equipment Co-op magazine. It had to have been 150 pages, full of every item you would ever need for any outdoor activity.<br />
<br />
For as long as I live I shall never forget this day. <br />
<br />
He snuggled in beside me, outside the wind was howling, it was a month before Christmas and our street had the beginnings of Christmas joy. Out of the corner of my eye I could see small white lights twinkling and winking as the wind whipped them around. Jonathan opened up the book to the middle where there was pictures of clothing that you may wear if you were hiking or biking. He had quite a few of these items circled in black marker, some of them had a circle and a big X with the number 2, 3 or 4. <br />
<br />
Jonathan started explaining to me all of the things that he was going to do when he was a grown up, but not just what he was going to do, what he and his wife were going to do. He said he was going to buy her all the clothes that he had circled, he was going to buy her a bike, a helmet a tent. Jonathan wanted to buy everything he could for his wife so that he could take her biking, camping, and rock climbing. He wanted to make her happy, before he knew who she was. Then he pointed to a picture with the X and the number 4 beside it and he told me that those were items for himself, his wife, his son and his daughter. <br />
<br />
So, to the Future Mrs. Harper, please understand that at the age of seven, Jonathan knew that he wanted to love someone and take care of them. He knew he wanted a family. I love this child of mine more then words can explain, he is the sweetest, kindest, and funniest boy I have ever known. During those times when you think I am crazy and that I only see his reasoning and not yours, try and understand that at one time he was just mine, I didn't have to share him with another woman. Always try and remember that this child's heart has been pure since the day he came into the world. This change will not be easy, even if I know it's what makes Jonathan happy. Please step into this role graciously and give me time to step out slowly. <br />
<br />
Mrs. HarperCrystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-10545732312751585562013-03-20T19:36:00.002-04:002013-03-21T10:38:55.965-04:00Under My BedTonight I decided our room needed a good cleaning, the kind of clean where you move the furniture, sweep under the bed, polish everything, hang all the clothes that were missed while putting away laundry. That kind of cleaning. <br />
<br />
As I was moving our bed to the other side of the room I couldn't believe what had collected under it. I remember groaning inwardly, thinking I would never get through the mess that lived under there. Then I decided to take a closer look. There was a mountain of odds and ends, but mostly it was toys and projects that our children had either made for us or brought in for us to see and keep. <br />
<br />
One afternoon I escaped to our room so I could read uninterrupted, Jonathan <span style="background-color: white;">eventually sought me out and brought in his own book. While I was relaxing quietly reading I looked over and there was Jonathan, all snuggled</span> in on Scott's side of the bed doing same thing I was. <br />
<br />
There were pieces of paper with carefully constructed bubble letters reading "Daddy" and "Mommy" that Destyni deemed necessary for us to put on our own side of the bed. <br />
<br />
I found a plethora of little toys that Alyson loves to bring into our room and sit upon our bed, playing with them while I hang up the clothes from the laundry. <br />
<br />
There were heaps of socks-- fresh, clean, folded socks from the fights that Scott has on the weekend with the kids. He grabs as many pairs of socks as he can out of his dresser and pelts our kids with them, until they collect enough and release their own little mini army of flying socks. <br />
<br />
There is a small mountain of books that always find their way into our beds on Saturday mornings, only to be left there and ignored the rest of the weekend, while we fill our days with whatever comes our way. <br />
<br />
As I was putting away the medley of things, I couldn't help but let my mind drift to the future, When all of those toys and easy reading books become a part of our pasts. What will be under our bed then, magazines on how to raise teenagers, receipts for drivers ed, university brochures, or a dry cleaning bill for a prom dress?<br />
<br />
I hope that the years will go by slowly, I hope that under my bed will always live the magic and enchantment that comes with childhood. For now, dear dust bunnies, take good care of what is being left there, because these memories are quite important to me. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPxrS6iSmOleyb2_lk8wfFh2YLgK7jarWdREsFYuDYHqm76yws2d11ZRF67Qiuz1Patm00Gsj_d15kQXjzhA8B3Q5kuOrlz7_FF0R3FKW01D-T8LWNb4wIT0cHm695gCGyG1cWxRFDPMH/s1600/32616_10152664571250224_300891934_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNPxrS6iSmOleyb2_lk8wfFh2YLgK7jarWdREsFYuDYHqm76yws2d11ZRF67Qiuz1Patm00Gsj_d15kQXjzhA8B3Q5kuOrlz7_FF0R3FKW01D-T8LWNb4wIT0cHm695gCGyG1cWxRFDPMH/s320/32616_10152664571250224_300891934_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-35411447957774009902012-10-07T07:43:00.001-04:002012-10-07T07:43:30.087-04:00This Thanksgiving...Thanksgiving...one of my most favorite holidays. I think it's so important to spend a day, a minute or even just a cheers during dinner to think of something to be thankful for. <br />
This would be my list...<br />
<br />For Scott, the one person in my life who has never made me walk the bumpy, thorny, narrow and sometimes scary trail of life alone. I am not thankful for you just on this one holiday, I am thankful for you each and every day. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtoccyBI4ZtbKXUL3nlUzULuMYXR6BlWULq2dqbY08tdy3QqEc9fzVv24xQ5kg03hT7yj57opUIfMMiJmFlUKHFbrGTzj9zgUYFj4BbG6kXNPny1ze8i-IjXnKggKh-zHfM6iG68K9LPi/s1600/Alyson's+2nd+Birthday!!+114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtoccyBI4ZtbKXUL3nlUzULuMYXR6BlWULq2dqbY08tdy3QqEc9fzVv24xQ5kg03hT7yj57opUIfMMiJmFlUKHFbrGTzj9zgUYFj4BbG6kXNPny1ze8i-IjXnKggKh-zHfM6iG68K9LPi/s320/Alyson's+2nd+Birthday!!+114.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
For Destyni, the child who took me from being a regular person to bestowing me with the name "Mommy". This child had taught me patience, unconditional love, and has filled my life with many colourful memories. I am thankful that she is so thoughtful and caring, such an amazing sister and friend to her siblings and puts her heart wholly and completely into everything she does. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUArTGOK8KBeruD66cRCdRxV5iikxC8Hkb3vrHitzwxQcnlUCCIj9UVY3tmn8CfrtMZKCdsmM-15K9Xp2adc0qtfmYgZItn_Hngwyd_lwfAj8W-UoIyEO2hyphenhyphenOc1EDqwIqrKezERW45RMFL/s1600/Des+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUArTGOK8KBeruD66cRCdRxV5iikxC8Hkb3vrHitzwxQcnlUCCIj9UVY3tmn8CfrtMZKCdsmM-15K9Xp2adc0qtfmYgZItn_Hngwyd_lwfAj8W-UoIyEO2hyphenhyphenOc1EDqwIqrKezERW45RMFL/s320/Des+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
For Jonathan, the child who taught me that I can push myself further than I thought possible and all before he was six months old. I am thankful for his charismatic attitude, his ability to see the good in everything and everyone. For playing so well with his siblings and for knowing exactly when a hug is needed. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZdXSI87kTWn6e1i83iRQ9yx5eIvkr6y272NOCrcy9XW5wnnNB7WRMwp26J91DufBl-Ji-NiycI0WFcwVbQQlC3EXetlivisI21Wn8iGXdH3S2_Fi7VkScyKapSKpMGgGMeUZlfX8p5WJ/s1600/Summa+008+p.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZdXSI87kTWn6e1i83iRQ9yx5eIvkr6y272NOCrcy9XW5wnnNB7WRMwp26J91DufBl-Ji-NiycI0WFcwVbQQlC3EXetlivisI21Wn8iGXdH3S2_Fi7VkScyKapSKpMGgGMeUZlfX8p5WJ/s320/Summa+008+p.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
And lastly, for Alyson. This child had determination beyond her years. I am thankful for her ability to let nothing stand in her way...ever. For the way she stands in her crib each night and calls for Destyni and Jonathan to give her hugs and kisses goodnight. And how she demands a cuddle on the couch with a blanket as a remedy for anything that upsets her.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyfOSaqJt8xxfldtxpg5iuCDILQftPFaQ1AomW_z52f2JqGOEgBQ8tHhNZKFlmdHOlje9cbUVCeIhOY8TNA7kZ9wlEkRcRef1ep9RTs-L82tKDWz2D16oRyaxNrShLI3DdaoE3P2VjKUp/s1600/Summer+Sweetnes+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyfOSaqJt8xxfldtxpg5iuCDILQftPFaQ1AomW_z52f2JqGOEgBQ8tHhNZKFlmdHOlje9cbUVCeIhOY8TNA7kZ9wlEkRcRef1ep9RTs-L82tKDWz2D16oRyaxNrShLI3DdaoE3P2VjKUp/s320/Summer+Sweetnes+011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
These are things I am most thankful for on this day. Happy Thanksgiving!!! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1y1FSn8A32Njo8YWhH4v7MIEzCyy652FOnIojOGcUPKMCsxoyyhN25tQzKIRz2Bd_Z6gN7vHNsEH7HXgrCPSkO_yuVfmkHn1qnhBxp65mciycGXuKYDH2z5VcTx351f9drmNbs6ED0Flo/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1y1FSn8A32Njo8YWhH4v7MIEzCyy652FOnIojOGcUPKMCsxoyyhN25tQzKIRz2Bd_Z6gN7vHNsEH7HXgrCPSkO_yuVfmkHn1qnhBxp65mciycGXuKYDH2z5VcTx351f9drmNbs6ED0Flo/s320/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-85204744113162757902012-07-13T06:22:00.001-04:002012-07-13T21:29:41.250-04:00730 DaysIt's the Eve. The eve of my last baby's year of firsts. The eve of a birthday that will actually classify my baby as a toddler, well at least that's the box that I will tick off on paper. Toddler...the word frightens me a little. My baby, my last baby is going to be a toddler. In the last year she has learned to walk, learned to talk, to run, to play, to have wee conversations with people, even if she is the only one who can understand what she is saying. Since her last birthday she has gained an abundance of talents and accomplishments. We are so proud of her but my heart races a little to have to say out loud, "I have a two year old." It's a sentence that I have used in the past, but after today I won't ever get to say, " I have a one year old."<br />
<br />
I remember waking every morning for the past year, each and every day, although I don't remember how 364 days passed with such a rush. It's so bitter-sweet, this birthday. There is nothing quite like watching a child find their own path in the world. I loved watching apprehensive, as Alyson took her first steps on wobbly little dimpled legs, I loved hearing her say "Mama" for the first time. I love how she reaches up for me when I am picking her up out of her crib. Those milestones are what makes my heart feel as if it will burst with pure happiness. Although this pure happiness is tinged with a tiny bit of great sadness.<br />
<br />
From now on I have to trust my memory to keep all of those firsts in a safe place in my mind, to be able to replay over and over as the endless streams of 365 days speed past.<br />
<br />
Alyson, my sweet child I hope you have the most happiest of birthdays. I promise a day filled with love and devotion, sugar and kisses and when there's just a few minutes of alone time, a snuggle. Now, let's go and move some mountains!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcoYY2dnjDEVAXyd7QeQL8rtx1TUil1pEhieq76O_h69gEboh3V2P6N9Y8Z3Eg2qA6vrfQWu66uBvLjlAWftOY6iAj-VCkcGOFwWE1fS52s1B_C-WKOXrfapoJiyR4Y-ZM_4aS4aFjjeSD/s1600/A;;+over+147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcoYY2dnjDEVAXyd7QeQL8rtx1TUil1pEhieq76O_h69gEboh3V2P6N9Y8Z3Eg2qA6vrfQWu66uBvLjlAWftOY6iAj-VCkcGOFwWE1fS52s1B_C-WKOXrfapoJiyR4Y-ZM_4aS4aFjjeSD/s320/A;;+over+147.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>
<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-49992767599251763762012-03-24T15:20:00.001-04:002012-03-24T15:24:35.729-04:00Share a Little LoveLast night on my way home from work I witnessed one the saddest things I think I have ever seen with my own eyes. It's one thing to watch or listen to the news to find out terrible events but seeing it with your own eyes can be heart wrenching.<br />
<br />
I was driving down the road and on the right hand side of me up ahead, there was an elderly gentleman on his bike. On this stretch of road there is no bike lane so cars and cyclists were sharing. On the sidewalk three boys were walking, if I were to guess their age I would say between thirteen and fifteen. I saw the boys grab a sign that was placed in the ground, it was one of those really lightweight signs with two thin metal rods that you sink into the grass. As quick as anything one of the boys shoves the sign between the spokes of the bike that the elderly gentleman was on. <br />
<br />
I was a few feet behind him so I watched as he loses control. He veered a little into my lane and then instantly over corrects the other way which makes him run into the curb. The boys take off running, laughing as the man whips around and starts yelling at them. Traffic was heavy at this time and there was no place for me to pull over and see if he was alright. I watch in my rear view mirror as this man pulls over and checks his bike. He then gets back on his bike and starts riding away, but it's veering slightly to the side. <br />
<br />
I enjoy watching practical jokes unfold, be it me that is pulling the joke or the victim of. This was no joke though, that was an immature act that could have had a domino affect of repercussions. What makes three boys all think for one instant that this was a wise idea?<br />
<br />
We are all in charge of what we do, how we feel, how we talk to people and treat people. So perhaps if you all could do just one extra special nice act for a stranger it will make up for the rotten way this poor man was treated.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-38121754836985053572011-12-03T08:11:00.000-05:002011-12-03T08:11:16.412-05:00Losing FaithI lost my faith in humanity two weeks ago.<br />
<br />
I did.<br />
<br />
It was one of the worst experiences in my life. Thankfully it was almost restored by the end of the day.<br />
<br />
I was driving in my van with my three children. It was almost eleven in the morning and we were on a secondary highway. Scott was in his truck heading in the opposite direction that we were driving, he had our cell phone on him. <br />
Alyson started to cough and in moments it went from a normal cough to a coughing fit. I adjusted my rear view mirror so that I could keep an eye on her. She started choking and her eyes were starting to look huge. She caught her breathe and the only thing I could try and wrap my mind around was trying to recall where the hospital was in the direction I was driving.<br />
<br />
The coughing wasn't scaring me, losing her breath was. Seconds later she started coughing again, her eyes were bulging and her face started turning purple. I yanked the wheel and pulled the van off to the side of the highway. I grabbed Alyson out of her seat and ran to the back of the van and started trying to hail down traffic. I could have counted between fifteen and twenty cars. <strong>Not one person stopped</strong>. <br />
<br />
I never felt more useless in my entire life. My child was trying to breath and I had no way to get her where she needed to go. I looked around for a house so I could ask to use the phone to call for an ambulance, but I was pulled over in a fairly isolated area. The only thing I could think of was to grab my GPS and find out where the nearest hospital was. It read ten kilometers away, I didn't feel like I had any other choice. There is an option of calling for help on my GPS but I was scared it wouldn't work, because I couldn't actually speak to a real person. I strapped Alyson back in her car seat and asked Destyni to try and keep her distracted. I drove like a mad woman to the address that was given, it took me to the middle of a industrial park. No hospital, no emergency department.<br />
<br />
I drove up to a man and woman that were walking into a building and asked them for directions to the hospital. The man spoke broken English while his wife walked away from us. It was horrible. For ten whole seconds I sat in my van, tears flowing, anger and frustration tearing through me. Alyson started coughing again. I jumped out of the van and ran into the closest business I could find. Two girls working in the building called the paramedics. In minutes I had Alyson in my arms, trying to keep her calm and at least fifteen people offering help. By the time the paramedics had Alyson in their care the group of people had figured out how to get a hold of Scott, how to get Jonathan and Desytni to the hospital and they restored most of my courage again. There are still really good people left in the world, even if I couldn't find one on the side of a highway.<br />
<br />
Alyson is doing great. It was one of the scariest moments of my life but she is fine now. The doctor said it was croup and she was congested. She was sent home later the same day. Many days after the fact I am still shaken to the core, still in slight shock that no one would pull over and offer help. I am beyond thankful that Alyson is fine, that nothing serious happened but I pray that I am never in a situation where I lose faith in humanity again.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-76506472059684711572011-11-10T10:12:00.000-05:002011-11-10T10:12:32.513-05:00Child At HeartOur family didn't travel much when I was young. The first time I ever left the small Island that I lived on I was almost six years old. My aunts, uncles and cousins all lived close to us so we didn't need to leave home to go visiting. During my parents' vacation it was all about spending time together doing the things that we had access to. The beach, amusement parks and the yearly carnival that floated through town. There was no need for us to leave when we had everything we wanted within driving distance. <br />
<br />
So the heart doesn't yearn what it doesn't know, right? Right!<br />
<br />
Except....when you leave the place you spent your entire childhood and realize what else is out there in the world. While I was in grade six my violin instructor set up a three day trip to Halifax, NS. There was fundraising involved which only heightened the anticipation of being away from your family for three days, being able to sleep in a hotel with friends, staying up WAY too late and eating junk food until you were bouncing of the bed.<br />
<br />
That was the first time I had fallen in love with something intangible. It wasn't the lights, the shops, the business that kept my heart captive for those three days. It was something else. It was the air, the feeling of belonging, the "being there."<br />
<br />
When I arrived home I remember my mother looking at me and knowing something had changed. I needed what that city had to offer and I wanted it yesterday. Immediately I started making plans on how I would live there when I was older. I was eleven years old and knew that I needed to be a part f that world. <br />
<br />
Like most things, the path that I had set out for myself offered me more forks in the road then what my childhood plans could even imagine. I never did live in Halifax, but any chance I could get to go and visit I would jump on. While being there I would fall in love with the city over and over again. I was still in love- but the city and I had a long distance relationship. <br />
<br />
I wish on stars. I have since I was a child and I still do now. I believe that being able to cast a wish into the universe and hoping that your wish is answered allows the heart to stay young and alive. Someone out there must have heard my wish after almost twenty years because I am moving to Halifax. To live! For at least five years. My husband's job is taking us there. <br />
<br />
Since we found out, almost two months ago I have been giddy. I have awoken out of a deep sleep with my belly jumping with excitement. I lose my breathe while talking. It was one of my most biggest wishes-- and it's coming true!! <br />
<br />
Tonight you should wish on a star~ you never know who may be listening!!!Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-56641359743594580562011-10-25T21:30:00.002-04:002011-10-25T21:34:42.610-04:00An Imperfect MomentI have been absent from writing for too long. It's been busy and my life has been wrapped around so many other things. There are so many changes happening at this time and my blog was pushed to the side. But everyday thoughts swirled through my head, ideas about what I wanted to write about, or something I would like to write about in the future. Today I just had to do it<br />
<br />
Tonight as I walked up the stairs I peeked into the living room and I just knew.<br />
I saw Destyni snuggled on the couch with her most favorite blanket, getting over the worst flu that ever hit our house. I saw Jonathan playing on the floor with one of his cars chasing Alyson who was trying to run away using her new found freedom-- her legs. <br />
<br />
I knew right at that moment that I was blessed. The moment wasn't perfect-- Destyni's face was still pale from feeling unwell, Jonathan was yelling a few decibels louder than my ears could handle and Alyson's legs weren't working quite strongly enough and she was minutes from tumbling down. It was being a mother in all its glory. I don't know a time when I felt more comfortable in who I was and what I was doing. <br />
<br />
<br />Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-47498568666141401532011-09-01T10:34:00.000-04:002011-09-01T10:34:41.518-04:00Fashion SenseDestyni loves to get dressed in the mornings. She spends tons of time choosing the perfect outfit, making it one of her very own creations. It's quite amazing how well she can blend colors and styles together. I am a bit jealous, having her around during those sticky teenage years would have done me a world of good. <br />
<br />
Before getting dressed today she told me all about what she was going to wear. She then asked me, "Mom, were you into fashion as much as I am when you were my age?" My mind goes skipping back to cotton candy pink polyester gym suits. The only answer I could come up with was, "Not quite."<br />
<br />
Destyni wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up. She has sketches of outfits she wants to design, complete with accessories and shoes. She loves to walk around in my heels, and each and every time she asks if they fit her well enough to wear. I know that day will be here soon enough, when she is stealing my footwear from my closet. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfrsg628zzDWTIU4Ku-Jy6ZCACJmVuaawSyoHbBzkOZ5ZeVuoXiCEybSaRFhzh29qVL0rXA8akn1TwBbsJYc20fwy0-UDuXis9NdcNsgTtUvNAyDi2VnsctE0GTS13X0drB1JFRcYnfxl/s1600/August+2011+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfrsg628zzDWTIU4Ku-Jy6ZCACJmVuaawSyoHbBzkOZ5ZeVuoXiCEybSaRFhzh29qVL0rXA8akn1TwBbsJYc20fwy0-UDuXis9NdcNsgTtUvNAyDi2VnsctE0GTS13X0drB1JFRcYnfxl/s320/August+2011+007.jpg" width="320px" xaa="true" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I love how she is gaining her own fashion sense and the way that she can put outfits together. A friend of mine gave me a great idea, to take her to a second hand store and let her choose all of her own clothing as well as accessories. Then she will be able to put outfits together using all of her own ideas. I love that she is aspiring to be something wonderful. Even if it turns out to just be a dream I am super excited to help her reach it!!! </div>
Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-46843494061993159602011-08-25T08:29:00.002-04:002011-08-26T17:50:06.541-04:00Cozy In My CoupeThere's this car, a Cozy Coupe to be exact, that has been in our family for years. It was at my parents house for quite some time. I am sure that this car has more kilometers on it then my own. Destyni and my nephew Camron have driven it around countless times while visiting my parents. <br />
<br />
When we moved away from home I don't think my mother could stand seeing it in the yard not being used. Before visiting one weekend they plunked the Cozy Coupe in the back seat of their car and brought it to our house. That's when this car became the love of Jonathan's life. Not a day passed for months that he didn't slip into that car and drive it all over the yard- Fred Flintstone style. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgBfUjg0EACyP8eKp1D0GOs5QXZKqwsYAxDP9G3_HhEwJxSGjyzYBRj0xC6dYcCA8VM5klK3ytfTFOnkC1y0FqBsRzX3B8BrGLwuuhqTL7ETQww_Z7n8Cyimkd3JnS3YquGWJPE7jslDV/s1600/Odd+End+077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgBfUjg0EACyP8eKp1D0GOs5QXZKqwsYAxDP9G3_HhEwJxSGjyzYBRj0xC6dYcCA8VM5klK3ytfTFOnkC1y0FqBsRzX3B8BrGLwuuhqTL7ETQww_Z7n8Cyimkd3JnS3YquGWJPE7jslDV/s320/Odd+End+077.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jonathan parked his car in front of his house </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now that Jonathan has grown so tall it seems that he is a bit big for this little car. Fortunately someone else is in line patiently waiting for the chance to drive the coupe. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6Gq3CJLEqR2P48QuTfd2kgqmQy1eL4XmKMv2aQykGZmT9u0LSUcavO4bG_KuLyzn_ZE0f2i5Wl8N8yIymh5NoW53LqIH4kUhbLpT419x-eUfbSLBp8y1z9GFQnZKM8zgIHo4W0_J_TPG/s1600/August+24+2011+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6Gq3CJLEqR2P48QuTfd2kgqmQy1eL4XmKMv2aQykGZmT9u0LSUcavO4bG_KuLyzn_ZE0f2i5Wl8N8yIymh5NoW53LqIH4kUhbLpT419x-eUfbSLBp8y1z9GFQnZKM8zgIHo4W0_J_TPG/s320/August+24+2011+016.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Where is the steering wheel in this thing?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Destyni and Jonathan may need to teach her the ropes. I wonder what we are going to do with the car after our children all outgrow it? It's definitely a classic. Is there a toy your child plays with that you know you will never get rid of? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div> </div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-55522212263269178892011-08-24T07:54:00.000-04:002011-08-24T07:54:04.716-04:00Three MinutesI had a perfect moment yesterday, these moments are hard to come by these days. I find myself running from here to there, not sitting for more than a few minutes, scarfing down meals, rushing to the next chore, the next need...on and on and on.<br />
<br />
The only hint that reminds me that I have been racing around all day is the ache that my heels give me when I have been on them for more than fourteen straight hours.<br />
I don't want to forget these days though, but this is the time in my life when I need to get so many tasks completed. There are times when I just want to run away for a few hours, escape the housework, cooking meals, little things that are so mundane and uneventful but still need to be done. I can't get away though, I have children that need me, I have a job and loads of responsibility. So I've started grasping little wee moments of time. <br />
<br />
Yesterday I heated my tea up in the microwave for the third time and I went and sat sideways on our love seat. I adore our love seat, it fits my length perfectly. When I am sitting with my back against the arm of it my feet gently brush the other arm. It's my most favorite place to rest, and it's placed in front of our living room window so I can daydream while watching the clouds roll by<br />
<br />
I sat with my tea and thought of all the things that I wanted to write about. I just sat there and daydreamed. <br />
<br />
It lasted about three minutes before I heard Alyson upstairs in her crib having a conversation with Wallace, her new stuffed puppy dog. Although three minutes doesn't seem like a long time yesterday it was the perfect amount of time.Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-48031340243290957152011-08-22T14:38:00.002-04:002011-08-22T21:57:36.739-04:00My Mother's LoveGreen. <br />
<br />
I can't explain the exact color but every single hospital in the early eighties had some part of that green. <br />
<br />
It was the color of the walls. <br />
<br />
It was the color of the vomit bowls. <br />
<br />
It was the color of the scrubs that the nurses wore. <br />
<br />
To this day... twenty eight years later that color makes me nauseous, slams me back to my eighteen month old self and I feel a weight on my heart.<br />
<br />
Eighteen months, my very first memory. It may seem young but I have been remembering it over and over in my head for years.<br />
<br />
I was hospitalized with croup, not the first time I slept over at the hospital and not the last time either. My poor mother.<br />
<br />
I remember lying in a crib. I remember there was a child in a bed crying on my right hand side. I see my mother and she is at the door leaving. I am crying, reaching out to her, needing her.<br />
<br />
She had to go. My sisters were at home and she had to be with them, my father had to go to work.<br />
<br />
I remember my mother standing in the doorway, and she waved. I remember she was crying.<br />
<br />
Every time that memory surfaces it breaks my heart a little. As I grow older I can better understand my mother's complete sadness that she had to leave.<br />
<br />
My very first memory- the love of my mother.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">This was a prompt from <a href="http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/">The Lightning and the Lightning-Bug</a>. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Your first memory.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img src="http://img836.imageshack.us/img836/1093/flickerbutton.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-44238223806008930742011-08-17T09:49:00.002-04:002011-08-24T14:06:42.701-04:00Grass Skirts & WeaponrySince we will be moving in the late fall I've decided to celebrate both Jonathan and Destyni's birthdays before we leave. You know, since I won't be busy back to school shopping, Scott's graduation, moving and shopping for Christmas. I think I may trade in my dinner plate for the platter- that way I won't feel as if my plate is ever too full. I'm a glass half full kind of gal =)<br />
<br />
I told both Des and Jonathan they can choose their birthday theme. Destyni chose a Hawaiian theme. I'm excited about this one. I'm seeing grass skirts, leis, some fruit kabobs, maybe a pineapple cake. This is going to be her tenth birthday, and she happily informed me that double digits is a huge deal so looks like this party has to be quite special. <br />
<br />
Jonathan's party may be more of a challenge. He asked for a party with tons of guns. This is what happens when you have a husband that's in the Army- and one whose son adores him. This party idea definitely won't win me any mother of the year awards. Now that Scott is in the Air Force I am going to try and convince Jonathan that a plane party would be super cool. I wonder how that will go over. <br />
<br />
So if anyone has any ideas about a Hawaiian party or a gun....errr...plane party I would love to hear them. I'll let you know how the planning goes. I have about ten weeks to plan both parties, better go clean off my <strike>plate</strike> platter =)Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-22021066242415277552011-08-12T07:37:00.002-04:002011-08-16T09:37:11.070-04:00Catching Up<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">We've been on vacation!! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">The top reason I love summer so much! We didn't go on a trip anywhere, after the past few months and all it's busyness we decided what we needed was a vacation at home.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"> It was amazing. We relaxed, slept in, had naps, played outside, went to the zoo. Napping---is there anything better during vacation?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">There have been some crazy moments.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnG09i_nQWj8TxcjM9evi8_-pDsVOj0-KUC-H4pcnHXaPkWbKwoqRWZ1ZSAVQfDwX8DdUNpBm4L3z3TmgKOhODUJMsSKU5g3iWBP7bHyXdxH-zPf3OX8TMUadpbUQizsAADp8bzsSs-zB/s1600/Here+and+There+031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnG09i_nQWj8TxcjM9evi8_-pDsVOj0-KUC-H4pcnHXaPkWbKwoqRWZ1ZSAVQfDwX8DdUNpBm4L3z3TmgKOhODUJMsSKU5g3iWBP7bHyXdxH-zPf3OX8TMUadpbUQizsAADp8bzsSs-zB/s320/Here+and+There+031.jpg" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At one point this bowl was filled with spaghetti. <br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">There were some sweet moments.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8fVZSWCYf8f4w3u_7AxkK_0U7REVNoGOQccprmWoW3Wf610MyRApVfaW7sZWN2muH_dvu6nSWEhq4y2zngdgdOCWdJO9iqV7w_Nh0qhAHhOHKd9gEYooits-W_Uc_N80E16_yyTOHBs3/s1600/Picnik+collage19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8fVZSWCYf8f4w3u_7AxkK_0U7REVNoGOQccprmWoW3Wf610MyRApVfaW7sZWN2muH_dvu6nSWEhq4y2zngdgdOCWdJO9iqV7w_Nh0qhAHhOHKd9gEYooits-W_Uc_N80E16_yyTOHBs3/s320/Picnik+collage19.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">We saw some pretty amazing animals. This <a href="http://www.torontozoo.com/">zoo</a> was amazing. The animals had tons of room to roam and it was so clean. It was hard not to take some of them home, especially the <a href="http://liketheclockthatkeepsticking.blogspot.com/2011/07/goats-that-do-what.html">goats. </a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMmx_rJSirHPZ3JmjGkD0t_JeM8kv8tpfPdQxHiVkut9i7y0157ORkcIfaRXKqlgnGsvdoC-IMUy8q584iHiSE3iEZHd-NVCVOR0dXgZtovr5dcFCApKSq2D0JZuHhbj7dg6YvoBGSEUQ/s1600/Picnik+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202px" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMmx_rJSirHPZ3JmjGkD0t_JeM8kv8tpfPdQxHiVkut9i7y0157ORkcIfaRXKqlgnGsvdoC-IMUy8q584iHiSE3iEZHd-NVCVOR0dXgZtovr5dcFCApKSq2D0JZuHhbj7dg6YvoBGSEUQ/s320/Picnik+collage.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">It was definitely one of the best vacations we had. Not a thing planned and no schedule to go by. For the next few weeks, while everything gets back to our normal I imagine that there are going to be a few hectic days. Gettting the kids ready for school, getting ready to move...again, and planning a few birthday parties. Needless to say I napped guilt free for two weeks. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-54233324639004680252011-07-26T22:40:00.001-04:002011-08-16T09:37:37.060-04:00Goats that do what???There's this gem of a girl that I know. She's loads of fun, stunningly beautiful, one of my closest friends and has a heart for anything with fur. That gem just happens to be my baby sister... <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6njdSy3gudNPWs7XQl90hAzVx1iWcDWuOZbw7uoPBBjI1k-DpzdfjrwK9QcIQwiqyqMSeoPB3rEQN32iydXJgfoSofAMLx7JZbqSOMKw5ijF5diZ9DJWq-Z9W_aac-MbjXCialv8ZwQnk/s1600/8928_143618411333_513006333_2721792_1714276_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6njdSy3gudNPWs7XQl90hAzVx1iWcDWuOZbw7uoPBBjI1k-DpzdfjrwK9QcIQwiqyqMSeoPB3rEQN32iydXJgfoSofAMLx7JZbqSOMKw5ijF5diZ9DJWq-Z9W_aac-MbjXCialv8ZwQnk/s320/8928_143618411333_513006333_2721792_1714276_n.jpg" t$="true" width="212px" /></a></div><br />
While my older sister and I have children, Tasha's love is for animals, especially dogs and goats! When she comes and visits I think she <span style="background-color: white;">showers</span> as much attention on my children as on <span style="background-color: white;">Hooper</span>. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2eR9UG5wWr_GndvSpAFRPF3_FPu0jxejJJjTRmTvIUExfJYBEolsE4eBUolZyaabnDXsXGrvY1qqJ9cliDfwMtvZEeKq5tiedzMwcf24zr-AnbZL8u6y2BpZGeGSd1uazpP_NUQXsQ8H/s1600/New+Camera+073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2eR9UG5wWr_GndvSpAFRPF3_FPu0jxejJJjTRmTvIUExfJYBEolsE4eBUolZyaabnDXsXGrvY1qqJ9cliDfwMtvZEeKq5tiedzMwcf24zr-AnbZL8u6y2BpZGeGSd1uazpP_NUQXsQ8H/s320/New+Camera+073.JPG" t$="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you blame her?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I have been trying to sell Scott on the idea of getting a goat for our family for quite some time now. He promised that if we buy a property with a significant amount of land then I can get a goat. This is so exciting for me, but now the big question is, what kind of goat? Tasha, being the huge animal lover, suggested this type of goat. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/we9_CdNPuJg/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/we9_CdNPuJg&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/we9_CdNPuJg&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
Seriously, have you seen anything cuter?? Now I just have to convince Scott that I would like at least two, it would be unfair for them not to have each other when they frighten so easy, right?Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-404081140509490088.post-33499230846350843512011-07-25T19:48:00.001-04:002011-07-25T19:58:09.550-04:00Feeling GuiltyThere is guilt already bubbling up in my mind about what I have planned for next week, and there shouldn't be. <br />
<br />
Scott and I are on vacation together for two full weeks!! I am so excited! Two weeks of not having to worry about work, doing what we want during the day and staying up late at night. Well eleven o'clock seems to be late in my world lately, none the less it's still staying up late. <br />
<br />
Even though I am thrilled to bits about this vacation time I am also aware of the feelings that I have been having lately. I am yearning for time to myself, to do all the little things that I love so much. I even have a plan, it looks something like this. Get up early and go for a jog, come home, take a long hot shower, get ready and leave. Grab the keys and just go. <br />
<br />
There is a lake about thirty kms away from our house. I want to sip a Starbucks while letting my mind open to new writing ideas. I want to sit on the bench and feel the breeze of the water and not do anything else. In the truck I will have my laptop, some other writing utensils (for when the battery dies) and some snacks. I plan on doing some window shopping, taking pictures, writing tons and tons but the bottom line is that I need rejuvenation. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7zKqcwIJTNZFNCz2VuRKgMsZOmq8GdjIxcWcR6L4r0gvRdV5-ZO_Drddj3v3QfKHaJ34-vgWP_CUc-JGKiN9Mb1m3Q5A9AL09G0KIILwb7tgVeyDbkcYa5v998GQrp0QxBGj1n0JBMkQ/s1600/Barrie-lake-apartments.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7zKqcwIJTNZFNCz2VuRKgMsZOmq8GdjIxcWcR6L4r0gvRdV5-ZO_Drddj3v3QfKHaJ34-vgWP_CUc-JGKiN9Mb1m3Q5A9AL09G0KIILwb7tgVeyDbkcYa5v998GQrp0QxBGj1n0JBMkQ/s320/Barrie-lake-apartments.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?q=barrie+lake&um=1&hl=en&sa=N&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-SearchBox&rlz=1I7ADBF_en&tbm=isch&tbnid=YYI85WvlGRkumM:&imgrefurl=http://findmeapartment.com/barrie-apartments/&docid=qmb1z6hZZTaTxM&w=450&h=307&ei=Lv8tTsXDK4jHgAfx-rT4Cg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=503&vpy=93&dur=656&hovh=185&hovw=272&tx=173&ty=86&page=1&tbnh=133&tbnw=228&start=0&ndsp=12&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0&biw=1024&bih=571">Where I will be</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
I feel myself getting tired and worn out, it's my own fault though. I always feel so guilty when I leave my children. When Scott is home and I go and get groceries I zip around the store to make sure I am home before bedtime. If I go shopping in town I always take Destyni or Jonathan with me so that I can spend some special one on one time together. But I need this little mini vacation, even though I feel so guilty.<br />
<br />
I think this time away is good for both myself and the kids but it's still hard to take one day all to myself. I shouldn't feel guilty, should I?Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14945252900990987680noreply@blogger.com1