tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7221876931511675252024-03-13T05:09:57.220-05:00The Maddox FamilyAbby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.comBlogger359125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-12698885281541361492011-03-16T13:21:00.002-05:002011-03-16T13:44:58.848-05:00WarningCould that title be any more dramatic? I just wanted to tell y'all that a friend told me this morning the new site does not automatically feed into google reader. Apparently, you have to add http://thestorywood.com separately. I don't use reader, so I'm unsure how to direct you any farther...I do know there is a little icon that looks like sounds coming out of a megaphone in the top left corner of the new blog screen that has something to do with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">feedburner</span> (apparently it's linked to google reader).<div><br /></div><div>As long as I'm issuing warnings, let me give you something that really does require a warning...This <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Youtube</span> video. I am usually the last to hear about these things, but if you haven't seen Antoine Dodson's reaction to his sister's near-rape experience, you should do yourself the favor of watching it {Not that rape is not extremely serious, and I wouldn't be thankful for a brother so willing to...defend me. It's just the way he goes about it...oh my}:</div><div><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/EzNhaLUT520" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>And then, really reward yourself with a good laugh by watching this remix:</div><div><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/h9kbRjZ55rU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><br /></div><div>So hide yo' kids, hide yo' wife, and hide yo' husbands, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">causetheyrapin'ereybody</span> out here. And then update your google reader :)</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-53539464630441053422011-03-10T18:01:00.006-06:002011-03-10T21:41:17.709-06:00Big Announcement and A Giveaway<div style="text-align: left;">Well, I have some big news... ... ...I have a new website!!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 145px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cbroW6td6h8/TXlolyVFGjI/AAAAAAAACKM/28jYy0HosV4/s400/Storywood3.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582608211477076530" /><div>Everything from this blog has a new home there: <a href="http://thestorywood.com/">http://thestorywood.com/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>We could only leave poor Mary Aplin out of the url for so long :) I explain the title on the About page, <a href="http://thestorywood.com/about/">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't wait for you to see! And you better run on over and check it out, because I'm doing a giveaway to celebrate the big news.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've loved this little space, but I hope you'll all follow me over to the new one. I told Kendall today I wasn't sad about it...but now I kinda am.</div><div><br /></div><div>Good-bye jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-24333102664467774822011-02-27T18:37:00.005-06:002011-02-27T22:07:32.992-06:00Trip to DothanThe girls were absolute angels for their first airplane trip. I felt like they were old pros.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483585027/" title="DSC_0026 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5178/5483585027_effa8dc240_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0026" /></a><br /><br /><div>And besides the fact that I got "felt up" by airport security (Have any of y'all had that happen?! I've heard the jokes but I was not prepared for the, um, intensity and thoroughness. I could not stop laughing the whole time. I was totally inappropriate.) for the sippy cup in my carry-on, the whole experience was uneventful...even fun.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484178874/" title="DSC_0028 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5177/5484178874_bd5caaf2e4_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0028" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>This little baby was marvelous. Thank you for your prayers. I feel sort of ridiculous now about how anxious I was.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484179178/" title="DSC_0034 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5298/5484179178_d2cbf7fe67_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0034" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>It's hard to describe how wonderful it felt to be. home. I stopped in for a visit with my friends in our old neighborhood. I love when familiarity rolls over you like it never skipped a breath.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484453056/" title="IMG_9827_2 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5099/5484453056_8c8c8eae34_z.jpg" width="640" height="427" alt="IMG_9827_2" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>On our way out of town, <a href="http://abryanphoto.com/">Bryan</a> asked us to drop by his studio for him to try out some new lights he'd gotten for taking natural-looking photographs (It was way more technical than that, but that's the gist of what I came away with). We looked a bit bedraggled after a hard day of playing, but I never miss an opportunity to be a part of a A Bryan Photo. He is so awesome. You can see a few of his shots of the girls <a href="http://abryanphoto.blogspot.com/2011/02/maddox-girls-in-studio.html">here</a>. Thank you Bryan! It was a blast and an honor, as always. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then, we headed down to Dothan. All my sisters came home for the weekend, along with their husbands/boyfriend. This was the first time in a really, really long time, that we've all been under one roof... It felt bizarrely wonderful and normal. Although normal is not what comes to mind here:<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484156168/" title="DSC_0100 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5140/5484156168_62ce6900a4_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0100" /></a><br />Watson was leading everybody in a football workout in the front yard. </div><div><br /></div><div>I smiled when I saw this rolling by the house. Not something I've seen a whole lot of in Seattle :)<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483562905/" title="DSC_0101 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5092/5483562905_26dd3f064c_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0101" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Kendall tried to drop a subtle hint or two to the only remaining "boyfriend" in the group.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484164418/" title="DSC_0105 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5174/5484164418_3680475d10_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0105" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I'm not sure he took it quite the way she wanted him to ;)<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483570631/" title="DSC_0103 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5294/5483570631_3ab8eb37a6_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0103" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Sometimes my camera gets hi-jinked. I'm not sure what Taylor was trying to capture here, but I know what it captured for me, "Oh my! Look, there are boys in the backyard with Dad!" It still feels surreal to see the men we all hoped would come <i>one day</i>, be real in <i>this</i> day.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483571343/" title="DSC_0124 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5014/5483571343_ae551cb495_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0124" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I spent much of the time doing this:<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483571627/" title="DSC_0136 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5020/5483571627_172380bb3e_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0136" /></a><br />On the phone with Jeremiah, the only one missing to make the joy complete, trying to describe all the houses I'd been seeing.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Saturday, Dr. Maddox invited our whole big Clark family crew to come out to the farm for a horse drawn wagon ride through the woods.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483571901/" title="DSC_0137 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5215/5483571901_e5b80b4e8f_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0137" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And they weren't just any horses. Meet Heidi and Maggie:<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483572171/" title="DSC_0138 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5211/5483572171_89a7cc1a35_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0138" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483572171/" title="DSC_0138 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"></a>Two of the cutest Clydesdale horses you'll ever meet.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484166082/" title="DSC_0141 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5019/5484166082_ba64ea1852_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0141" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>They're both rescue horses.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483576067/" title="DSC_0204 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5057/5483576067_de6e6d6e4d_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0204" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And my girls couldn't resist a little time on their backs, despite the availability of a perfectly good wagon.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484167184/" title="DSC_0166 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5096/5484167184_1af052678f_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0166" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>'Ol girls had quite a heavy load to carry. This isn't even everybody. A total of TEN adults and two chicken wings. Keke baby, we're not in New York.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483575493/" title="DSC_0201 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5291/5483575493_5751067bdb_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0201" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>These guys were staying far away from us. Who could blame them? I wouldn't have wanted to be strapped to our raucous party either.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483572877/" title="DSC_0145 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5294/5483572877_f0b0641a28_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0145" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Dapples and Popon "hemmed and hawwed" us together for a bit.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484166842/" title="DSC_0148 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5175/5484166842_02aa8efcde_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0148" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483574027/" title="DSC_0170 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5256/5483574027_e60c1d0654_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0170" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>There was something magnificent about seeing these girls work their way through rough cut wooded trails. They seem like they should be clipping across pavement through a parade. Instead, it felt like we were using them in the way they were <i>made</i> to be used.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483574445/" title="DSC_0180 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5135/5483574445_15a0f39935_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0180" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Until we wore them out, utterly and completely.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484168756/" title="DSC_0198 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5139/5484168756_7c7a8235f2_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0198" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And hopped out and walked for a while to give them a much needed break.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483574747/" title="DSC_0197 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5171/5483574747_9c2f7ca6a8_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0197" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Sashey met us after the ride, so we could meet Coco...<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484170528/" title="DSC_0206 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5092/5484170528_ce243091d3_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0206" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>...her new friend who she's trying to train to barrel race.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484170848/" title="DSC_0209 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5214/5484170848_2753f938ef_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0209" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>On their first ride, Coco apparently stopped to try and drink water off the top of the barrel. She's come a long way!<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484171218/" title="DSC_0211 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5012/5484171218_1b56f6855d_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0211" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>We also celebrated my Dad's 53rd birthday!!!<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483578015/" title="DSC_0212 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5137/5483578015_b8ffa0644f_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0212" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>My Dad with his brother, Uncle Alan. Does anybody else see George W?<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483578927/" title="DSC_0227 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5052/5483578927_46b65cf5ca_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0227" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>We had a huge crowd of extended family, and my Aunt Sheila prepared a Mexican fiesta to satisfy my Mexican-loving heart. Unfortunately, I blanked out on taking pictures. Thankfully, Caroline snapped a few for us.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5483578641/" title="DSC_0220 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5256/5483578641_03fd294c5b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0220" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Grandma and Grandpa made their famous homemade icecream. <br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484172900/" title="DSC_0233 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5173/5484172900_14227a1013_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0233" /></a><br />I looked at a lot of really wonderful potential homes while we were in Dothan. I'm still excited about what God's going to do...but He hasn't done it yet. I thought He was gonna, but apparently he didn't get my memo with the schedule ;)</div><div><br /></div><div>This was my lap on the plane ride home. We're all feeling pretty drained, but thankful for sweet family, friends, and home.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5484169984/" title="DSC_0264 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5099/5484169984_8e59f8635a_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0264" /></a><br /></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-63173995022776225892011-02-14T17:12:00.005-06:002011-02-27T22:07:46.930-06:00I Can't Seem To ResistIf this is your first year on this blog, you may not know that Valentine's Day is my thing. Truly, in a bit of a psycho-pathic way, I love the heck out of Valentine's Day. I explain how it is that I hate hearts and candy but love V-day, <a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2009/02/im-not-done-yet.html">here</a>. <div><br /></div><div><a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2010/02/v-day-2010.html">Last year</a>, I loved a lot of people who had loved us throughout the years, in a bread and butter kind of way. The year before, you can see a little bit more of my manic-ness, through all the preparation <a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2009/01/its-coming.html">here</a> and execution <a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2009/02/v-day.html">here</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>I still have on this V-day sweater today, as I did <a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2008/02/may-i-introducethe-v-day-ghost-and-her.html">three years ago.</a> It's been part of my V-day uniform for the past five years.</div><div><br /></div><div>And if you want me to go back farther--old school, we can sometime, over a cup of tea. I bet I could make you laugh pretty hard. Especially if I told stories with Jeremiah sitting beside me, reliving the embarrassment. It's not that I like to embarrass him (which is what it sort of looks like from the outside), it's an issue I have with big love statements...and wanting to make them. I have never had one of those scenes in the airport. You know the slow-motion-run into a kiss so big you don't care who's looking you just drop your bags and make out right there. But I feel like every Valentine's day, I let myself get wound up into wanting to create one of those type moments. I can't help myself. The first one, I attempted in an actual airport. It didn't go so well. I actually posted it-comment form-on someone else's blog recently. If you want to relive my embarrassment, you can, <a href="http://jonathan-rogers.com/?p=1185#comments">here</a> (I'm the 9th comment down).</div><div><br /></div><div>So this year, I determined to NOT cave to all the hype. We are flying out in the morning and I could use some Prozac to calm my frazzled nerves. The girls have never flown before, and I'm doing it by myself. Some of our flights have only two seats on each side of the plane...who would you leave by themselves? I'll let you know how THAT goes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even with the anxiety, I just could <i>not</i> let the day go without a little V-day ghost action. Especially after Pace said, "Mom, why am I going to school? Valentine's day is about doing things for people you love <i>with</i> your <i>family</i>." That's her Momma's girl. I couldn't disappoint that heritage I've been instilling all these years :) So, I made a simple chocolate brownie cake:</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5446627760/" title="DSC_2014 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5100/5446627760_bcf6585b97_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_2014" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Picked up a CD I thought my Valentine would like and wrote a note (that I hoped would make him blush ;)) in a big red card. Then, we headed to his office--where he'd forbidden us to come. Pace got nervous once we got inside (and I did too). Have you walked through a busy trauma center carrying a heart-shaped cake, and dressed in various shades of pink and red lately? It can be a little unnerving. Pace asked if she could stand outside the office while I took it in. I knelt down to my ghost-in-training and said, "Baby, Valentine's Day is all about making a fool of yourself for the one you love. Be brave!" We did it, and he was sweet and thankful. You'll have to forgive me though...I couldn't add the whopping camera to the embarrassment. I did take a shot in the parking deck:</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5446026901/" title="DSC_2016 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5133/5446026901_2c642faf60_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2016" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>We got home to find that Daddy had sent us some surprises too:</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5446629172/" title="DSC_2029 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5172/5446629172_cb5131569b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2029" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>That man knows me a little too well.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5446629374/" title="DSC_2031 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5217/5446629374_c12266ba48_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2031" /></a><br />I may or may not be currently eating some of each type...How was I supposed to choose?! Evil gift!</div><div><br /></div><div>Mrs. Konie and Papa had sent a whole big box of goodies that the girls tore into!!</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5446628360/" title="DSC_2018 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4134/5446628360_71495b547d_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2018" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5446628704/" title="DSC_2023 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4143/5446628704_c5715c3605_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2023" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Hopefully, tonight, I'll be dancing off at least one of the aforementioned cupcakes :) Jeremiah and I have a date, and it's of a very different type. I'd tell you more, but it's a surprise for somebody else who might check this. Hopefully, I'll get some pictures to share later.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy V-day!!!</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-88812641722737381082011-02-10T16:15:00.004-06:002011-02-10T16:55:55.753-06:00Soaking It UpWe are soaking. it. up. over here.<div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5434787346/" title="DSC_2004 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/5434787346_050da1a6f0_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2004" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>What? You may wonder. Or why is my child wallering on the concrete with her feet stretched up in the air? Just trying to take in every last drop of this that we can:</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5434170857/" title="DSC_2012 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5292/5434170857_8e98cc7093_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_2012" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>We have had three gorgeous days in a row. And not Jeremiah-kind-of-beautiful days, but REAL blue skies and sunshine.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can hardly get myself out of a window, even when I'm inside. </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5434174091/" title="DSC_2006 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5173/5434174091_67e32940d0_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2006" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I realized how hungry I was for sunlight and blue skies on Monday morning when I was describing an Alabama fall day in my book.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;font-size:medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;font-size:medium;"><i>Milton was in the raging height of her fall season, with skies the color of blue flame and as painstakingly bright. Alabama springs are smug in their warm sweetness and demure flowers, but fall brought a beauty that was as sharp as her crisp leaves and nipping winds.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;font-size:medium;">I must of sat there for a solid five minutes trying to think of just the right word to describe the color of the blue skies painted in my memory. I wrote and erased several different phrases, trying to taste the blue of our Southern skies. I had begun to wonder if the blue of the sky really existed or if it was all in my imagination. The next day, I was reminded that they not only exist, they even exist in Seattle.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5434788048/" title="DSC_2011 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5134/5434788048_623da28960_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2011" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I wanted to take a break from playing building blocks on the porch with the girls to thank y'all for your prayers. We haven't left town for Dothan yet, but God has already answered your prayers for wisdom for us...in an amazing and vivid way. I'm not ready to tell the story yet, partly because it's not over, but I believe I will be back eventually with a story that will speak of His provision.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5434174341/" title="DSC_2008 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5053/5434174341_5a91c08c05_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2008" /></a><br /><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">God is good, and so is sunshine! We're basking in it all.</span></span></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-57171400286334548042011-02-05T12:25:00.004-06:002011-02-05T13:34:52.963-06:00A Book and a Song<div>My reading has fallen almost to non-existence since we've been in Seattle. My quiet moments (few as they always seem) have been devoted to writing away at my little book or embroidering. The past three days, however, I went on a thrilling reading adventure. It much revitalized a heart in need of being swirled in the delicious whirlwind which only a good book can bring. This is the book: <i>When Knighthood Was in Flower</i> by Edwin Caskoden (pseudonym for Charles Major)</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5418801915/" title="DSC_2001 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5057/5418801915_f06eed5987_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2001" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>My friend Lanier put me onto it <a href="http://laniersbooks.com/2010/10/25/proper-introductions-when-knighthood-was-in-flower/">here</a>, and I've learned to trust whatever books she recommends. If you want to read more about it, you should follow Lanier's link. I call this type of writing high Victorian--full of (hard-to-believe but wonderfully refreshing) virtue and (over-the top but oh how it will make your heart swell) love. If you like Augusta Evans, I feel very safe recommending this one to you. If you tend towards the cynic...you might not like it so well.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is my favorite quote from the book:</div><div><br /></div><i>I do not mean that Mary was in love, but that she had met, and for the first time felt the touch, yes even the subtle, unconscious, dominating force so sweet to a woman, of the man she could love, and had known the rarest throb that pulses in that choicest of all God's perfect handiwork--a woman's heart--the throb that goes before--the John the Baptist, as it were, of coming love.</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I love it partially because I know precisely what it means, having experienced it myself. When I first met Jeremiah I knew, I just knew, he was the one God had been protecting me for. I had never told a boy I loved him before Jeremiah, because I knew I was still waiting for something that had not been given to me yet. However, on a summer night in May, sitting on the tailgate of a white Dodge truck, with stars reflecting off the little pond we were pondering I heard the words, "I love you, and you don't have to say anything back, but I do." And finally, a heart who had been waiting for, what seemed like forever, could finally burst forth and answer back, "I love you, too."</div><div><br /></div><div>He may have said the words first, but his heart was not the John the Baptist of the rest of our dating relationship. There was actually one point when I worked up the nerve to tell him, "I know you're the one, I've always known, and I'm just waiting for the time." I was answered by silence. "Do you not feel the same way?" And his answer, "I can't say that for sure." Oh there were some dark days on our road! But don't all good love stories suffer twists and turns and snags?</div><div><br /></div><div>Before the days of iPods and iTunes--even before Napster!--Jeremiah used to call and leave songs on my voice mail. I would rush out to my car each day after school, to see what message he had left. The first song he left on my phone was John Denver's "I'd Rather be A Cowboy." When he started recording, the words were saying this:</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>We were just beginning it was such an easy way. Layin' back up in the mountains makin' songs for sunny days.</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a perfect description of how this springtime beginning to our relationship felt, and if you could have seen me in my car as I listened to those words, you would have thought my face was going to break off if my smile grew any larger. However, if you know the song (you can listen <a href="http://www.tsrocks.com/j/john_denver_texts/id_rather_be_a_cowboy.html">here</a> if you like) you know that it quickly makes a turn for the worse:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>She got tired of pickin' daisies, and cookin' my meals for me. She can live the life she wants to, yeah, it's alright with me. I think I'd rather be a cowboy. I think I'd rather ride the reigns. I think I'd rather be cowboy, than to lay me down and love the lady's chains.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Now, as a man who loves music for music's sake, I now know he was just taken up by the song and wanted to share it with me. As a woman who listens to music for poetry's sake--searching for hidden meaning everywhere--I thought I was being broken up with over voicemail.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anywho, we worked that one out, and that song has become one of our absolute favorites, partly because it expresses a deep desire that we've been fostering since those very first days together. The idea of wanting the freedom of fresh air and open spaces--</div><div><br /></div><div><i>I'd rather live on the side of a mountain, than wander through canyons of concrete and steel. I'd rather laugh with the rain and sunshine, then lay down my sun down in some starry field...</i></div><div><br /></div><div>And there have been moments, during all of this long medical training, when I've reminded him of those very words. When I've said, "I can't do this any more. I just want <i>you</i>. Can't we just go live in the woods somewhere. I'll learn how to garden, I swear!"</div><div><br /></div><div>But now, we're almost through. Almost finished with the training, and we stand here still feeling a lot like those two kids who wanted nothing more than to disappear to a mountainside together,...but we also feel like two adults who have learned that we value and need community. We have signed a contract to move back to Dothan--I don't think I've told y'all that yet. We are so, so very excited to move back home, but are feeling really torn about where God wants us to put down our roots when we get there. I'm flying home with the girls next week to look at houses. Pray for me friends! It's such an exciting time in our lives, but pray for us if you will. That God will make it clear what His plan is because, ultimately--land or no land, community or countryside, we want desperately to be in His will.</div><div><br /></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-60276994114146338562011-01-25T09:00:00.000-06:002011-01-25T11:16:45.443-06:00Light HeartAfter the last couple of blogs, I thought we might could all do with a happy one :)! Not that they haven't been happy...just maybe some <i>light-hearted</i> happiness. What could be more light-hearted than flying a kite...and eating chocolate?<div><br /></div><div>This Sunday was a typical Seattle day:</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382301397/" title="DSC_1953 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5087/5382301397_54db0d0565_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1953" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I have laughed at Jeremiah, because he's started calling these days "beautiful." I hear him on the phone all the time saying, "Yeah, it's beautiful here today!" I look out the window, thinking maybe I missed something. When I question his truthfulness he says, "Baby, it's all relative." I guess he's right. Rain is not actually <i>falling</i> and for us, that's a beautiful thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>So on this beautiful Sunday morning, while I was getting the girls dressed for church, Jeremiah packed us a picnic lunch and threw the kite that the girls got for Christmas into the back of his car. After the church service we went to <a href="http://www.seattle.gov/parks/park_detail.asp?ID=293">Gasworks Park</a> to have a picnic and fly a kite.</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382906972/" title="DSC_1988 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5126/5382906972_7a45328ede_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1988" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382302661/" title="DSC_1963 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5289/5382302661_a03235551c_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1963" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382302965/" title="DSC_1971 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5004/5382302965_be3f8ae8f1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1971" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I'm really glad Jeremiah didn't tell us the plan, otherwise I would have taken play clothes for the girls and I wouldn't have gotten these shots of the adorable dresses that Moogie and Sashey gave them for Christmas. I love the bright colors of their dresses and the grass against the charcoal sky...That's one good thing about this weather.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382904154/" title="DSC_1956 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5243/5382904154_f29cb7af0f_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1956" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382302051/" title="DSC_1957 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5247/5382302051_3066f9e0ae_z.jpg" width="427" height="640" alt="DSC_1957" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382304259/" title="DSC_1985 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5247/5382304259_6b05dd03c5_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1985" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382302357/" title="DSC_1961 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5165/5382302357_cd68f81d7b_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1961" /></a><br />(I think the dresses came from <a href="http://persnicketyclothing01.goodbarry.com/">here</a>, but my MIL got them at a little shop in Dothan, AL, and I didn't find them on the website, so I'm just not 100% sure.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Some new, and already dear, friends of ours joined us. They have a little girl named Hannah.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382303267/" title="DSC_1974 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5086/5382303267_a4a55dba53_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1974" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Can you tell they're from the South too? Most people in Seattle don't dress their kids in cutesy dresses. You can pick us out pretty quick around here.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382303609/" title="DSC_1975 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5090/5382303609_842d31d7c3_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1975" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382303941/" title="DSC_1980 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5289/5382303941_26753f53a5_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1980" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>After the kite flying, we were all nearly frozen (I didn't know to bring play clothes OR jackets), so we went to a coffee shop to warm up. And then, we went to a chocolate factory just down the road. We'd heard about <a href="http://www.theochocolate.com/">Theo</a>, but never gotten to experience it for ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>You can smell warm chocolate as you walk down the sidewalk. It's almost impossible <i>not</i> to go in.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382908720/" title="DSC_2000 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5090/5382908720_e7eedc30eb_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_2000" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382306037/" title="DSC_1994 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5045/5382306037_f526263a34_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1994" /></a><br /><br />And then, piles and piles and piles of free chocolate for the sampling...it was like a dream.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382907428/" title="DSC_1990 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5207/5382907428_4111221826_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1990" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382305751/" title="DSC_1993 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5006/5382305751_bce7175166_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1993" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5382907730/" title="DSC_1991 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5167/5382907730_19d40f1d8a_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1991" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Thanks for all your sweet comments on the last blog. I love y'all. Thanks for sharing in our lives and adding a beautiful richness. Happy week!</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-71176805248882661492011-01-21T19:11:00.005-06:002011-01-21T20:14:29.719-06:00An Undeserved Answer to a Hard Question"Why did you tell us, and others, that you were going to heal Mom, and then not do it?" That question has been the root of some bitterness in my life for the past three years. You see, we (as in my family) <a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2007/11/moving-mountains.html">believed God told us</a>, members of our community, and even strangers that this was His plan for my Mom. He was going to heal her of the Ovarian cancer she had been battling for 13 years, and it was going to be miraculous, and it was going to be an <i>earthly</i> healing. We clung to that and believed it, until <a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2007/12/from-glory-to-glory.html">she took her last breath</a>...and then we waited with one eye open to be sure He wasn't going to raise her from the dead.<div><br /></div><div>I would have thought my belief in God would have been shattered over such an occurrence, but it wasn't. He had been too present during the fight, He'd held me too tightly for me to question His existence...or even His goodness. What was shattered was my faith. I still believed He had the power to heal, but I certainly wasn't planning to claim that healing for anybody else (or myself) ever again. I was happy for other people to claim it, I would even encourage them to do so, but I was done believing God for anything big in my life. It left me too vulnerable.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317755961/" title="DSC_1848 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5168/5317755961_ba090c8b7c_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1848" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Then, I moved to Seattle and became desperate for the fellowship of other women and God. I missed Him and the good grind of knowing Him more deeply. So, I invited a few different women that I'd met here to do a study in our home, and I called my sister Kendall. Kendall's boyfriend's Mom (are you still following me, that's <a href="http://jeremiahabbyandpace.blogspot.com/2010/12/bama-belles-and-another-brush-with-fame.html">Watson</a>) was one of my Mom's dearest friends in all the world--Mrs. Abby. She also collects Beth Moore Bible studies that she lends out to others. I asked Kendall if Mrs. Abby would be willing to lend me one. I didn't specify. Any 'ol Beth Moore study was fine with me. What did she send?...Believing God--experience a fresh explosion of faith. And Mrs. Abby added the note that it was the last study she and Mom ever did together.</div><div><br /></div><div>Crap. That was my thought. It would be rude to send this back, but CRAP. I don't want to talk about <i>faith;</i> it's too sensitive. I don't want to dredge up old feelings about Mom; I'm not <i>ready</i> for that. However, I do know Him well enough to notice that He often asks of me things that I don't particularly like. The good lessons are never padded with satin and wrapped with a ribbon. So I opened by barbed-wire covered package and I stepped out--on the little bit of faith I'd managed to salvage.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318405876/" title="DSC_1898 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5242/5318405876_7d789417e2_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1898" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>On Day TWO of the study, we reached the scripture I was dreading the most. Hebrews 11:11 was probably the most quoted Scripture in our household for the last few months of Mom's life:</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>By faith Abraham, even though he was past age -- and Sarah herself was barren -- was enabled to become a father because he considered him faithful who made the promise.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>God had given Mom this verse and we claimed it with her over and over. God was going to heal her, even against how bleak it all looked--because she considered Him faithful who made the promise. The verse still pierces my heart.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, on day two of this study, facing my dread, I read on and God broke truth over my heart like a sparkling wave of light. If you read on, verses 13-16 say this:</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>All these people were still living by faith when they <b>DIED</b>. <b>They did not receive the things promised</b>; they only saw then and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. <b>If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country--a heavenly one. </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">[Emphasis mine]</span></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Tears were streaming down my face as I realized what He was telling me, and as I sat there the sun, the literal sun, broke through the clouds on this rainy Seattle Saturday--on a day when the cloud-cover was so thick I would have thought it impossible--and the warm sun suddenly spilled all over my face. It was a hug from God. Pure and bright and palpable.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317757481/" title="DSC_1857 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5163/5317757481_3d8b7871a4_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1857" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I wrote down what He spoke to me, and I wrote it just like He was saying it. I felt like a secretary trying to scratch it all down so that I didn't miss a word. He said:</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>She wasn't wrong. You weren't wrong. You did what I required, what pleases me. You had faith to believe what I promised, but I gave her a choice. The free-will that is also my gift. And she chose me...she loves you but not more than ME. What would all that journey have been worth if she didn't? I foreknew the choice she would make and the promise is completed now. She is healed. She is healed and if she had chosen the promises' fulfillment to have been made on earth, I would have gladly given her that as well. But once I'd brought her to the place where I wanted her, the place where her heart desired me more than anything else--then the earthly healing no longer seemed so important. Who wants the shadow when offered the substance?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Now I need you to understand this. To bind it on your heart. I need more than the quarter of a mustard seed you walked away from this experience with. You've been content to tuck that in your pocket. I need you to take it out now. I'm ready to grow it.</i></div><div><br /></div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318351790/" title="DSC_1856 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5087/5318351790_9fb1a859aa_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1856" /></a>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-22098763022618785362011-01-13T16:53:00.005-06:002011-01-24T11:24:02.468-06:00My Love and Hate of Handmade GiftsI love handmade gifts. I cherish the time the giver takes to conceive the idea and then craft it with love. I love to be the giver of a handmade gift--committing a part of myself to someone else and anticipating the love with which it will be received.<div><br /></div><div>I also hate handmade gifts :). I've already shared my grinch-y-ness with y'all over the Christmas season. I thought Jeremiah was going burn all the nightgowns up before I could finish embroidering them and demand his wife back. I still have two to finish, and we're eeking up on the middle of January (don't tell Jeremiah--he thinks I've abandoned the projects).</div><div><br /></div><div>I've admitted something else this Christmas season--I love store-bought gifts too. Especially when they come from clothing stores ;). If you've been around long you know that shopping doesn't fit into our residency/fellowship budget. This year, I acknowledged the anticipation I hold for Christmas to bring a MUCH needed spark to my wardrobe. Having a handful of new items to mix in with the old faithfuls makes a WORLD of difference. For Pace and Mary Aplin, who outgrow their clothes between seasons, it's more a state of necessity than desire for a few new items. When a once long-sleeve shirt goes past three-quarter length and begins inching close to the elbow, it's time for a new shirt.</div><div><br /></div><div>While I'm extremely excited about handmade and non-handmade gifts from this year, I've taken pictures of the handmade ones to share with you:</div><div><br />My Mom's friend, <a href="http://kendallboggsfineart.blogspot.com/">Kendall Boggs</a>, is an artist and I won this in a giveaway on her blog--sort of. Somebody else was actually drawn to win, but she gave me one too. I love it, and I'm counting it as a homemade Christmas present. You should check out some of her other artwork--<a href="http://kendallboggs.com/portfolio/">here</a>.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5352617115/" title="DSC_1948 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5285/5352617115_b273ba9c58_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1948" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Alex, Jeremiah's baby sister, made this collage of pictures for us. Jeremiah's Grandmother Maddox made GI-normous picture collages of their family throughout the years. When Jeremiah and I were dating, I used to stand in front of them and love seeing the changes grow across the wall--from three little boys and a young preacher with his wife, to teenage boys with their girlfriends and, later, wives. Grandchildren playing baseball and riding horses--you could see the whole family grow up before your eyes. It was a big day for me when I finally made a debut in one of those collages! One small picture of Jeremiah and me at the first concert we ever went to together. And now, Allie, I feel like I have been truly inaugurated! Our very own family collage. Grandmother would be so proud :)<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5353228216/" title="DSC_1946 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5005/5353228216_9dfd1ffc72_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1946" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Taylor took that favorite picture of Mom that I shared in the last blog and did an "acetate transfer" (don't tell Taylor, but I have <i>no idea</i> what that means). I think the vintage and whimsical look that created is fascinating,<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5353227862/" title="DSC_1941 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5089/5353227862_0d47ed6684_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1941" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>especially when paired with a "love you" written in Mom's own hand-writing...<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5353228020/" title="DSC_1943 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5045/5353228020_cf2fced81a_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1943" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>From one tear-jerker to the next! It was sort of a weepy Christmas around here :)</div><div><br /></div><div>Caroline was going through Mom's sewing kit, and she found a poem written on this needlepoint canvas.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5353227406/" title="DSC_1939 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5168/5353227406_a29ea131e2_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1939" /></a><br />It says:</div><div>Abby Catherine, bundle of joy,</div><div>Tiny and helpless, beautiful to see.</div><div>How did you come to belong to me?</div><div>Little hands that hold on tight,</div><div>Sweet small mouth to kiss goodnight.</div><div>Growing, growing every day,</div><div>If only you could stay this way.</div><div>In need of me for everything,</div><div>Hold you close and softly sing.</div><div>Jesus loves you this I know,</div><div>Designed you, formed you, and watched you grow.</div><div>Dimpled grins are all in fun,</div><div>When up your back the angles run.</div><div>Chinkypen eyes sent to me from above, </div><div>Abby, you'll always have my love.</div><div>May, 14 1982</div><div><br /></div><div>Still crying every time I read it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nice to know she really loved that honeymoon accident...</div><div><br /></div><div>I vaguely remember her reading me this poem that she wrote for me as a baby. I remember asking her why she thought it kind to call my small eyes "chinkypen." (I hope nobody is offended by what seems like a racial slur to me as an adult :) Apparently, she thought it was a compliment fit for her newborn!) I also have a very vague recollection of her telling me she loved to run her fingers up the angles of my back, and watch the way I wriggled and grinned under her touch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Caroline<i> learned to needlepoint</i>, so that she could finish this project for me, that Mom started so many years ago.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5353227676/" title="DSC_1940 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5168/5353227676_0b7dc390b1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1940" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And finally, those embroidered nightgowns. Pretty sure I promised Caroline I was photographing the nightgown and not her face. Pretty sure I assured her I wouldn't post any of her face...I lied :)<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318269251/" title="DSC_1919 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5247/5318269251_706d75ff01_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1919" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>The quote says: "Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister." I felt like that quote captured perfectly the last three years for the four of us.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318268339/" title="DSC_1916 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5129/5318268339_9bfc85691b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1916" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>The back. That deep fold is the zipper running down the middle of the back of the dress.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318267675/" title="DSC_1913 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5081/5318267675_fe8bc8e2c5_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1913" /></a><br />Caroline and her sweet mother-in-law, Mrs. Melinda, sewed all these nightgowns for me. I adore them and am so thankful for smart people who can turn ideas into substance with a sewing machine. I am a <i>pitiful</i> seamstress, but I do love to embroider.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, I didn't take pictures of all the nightgowns (four down, two to go), and they're all a little different. However, here is a close-up of Taylor's.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318267241/" title="DSC_1911 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5250/5318267241_cd9623f245_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1911" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>The non-handmade gifts will be appearing on the blog as well...as we <i>wear</i> them out :)</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-79904243283133221262011-01-10T12:30:00.006-06:002011-01-28T15:37:52.778-06:00Game Day!<div style="text-align: left;">I woke up this morning wishing I had a friend I could shout "War Eagle!" to (Thanks Darby, for not thinking I'd lost my mind when I couldn't resist the urge). I dressed the girls for gameday, and mourned all the years I've spent rolling my eyes at how the entire state of Alabama shuts down when there's a big game.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5343733010/" title="DSC_1934 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5085/5343733010_70ff522179_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1934" /></a><br /></div><div>Tonight, we have community group at our house and I didn't know how to break it to my house full of non-football fans that...I wanted to watch a bunch of grown men knocking each other down instead of talking about a sermon tonight. Back home, it would have been assumed. There would have been a note in the church bulletin canceling all community groups for Monday night and encouraging everybody to just get together for fellowship instead...Nobody seemed to know that here.</div><div><br /></div><div>So now, I hope my family (who considers me the puniest football fan who ever lived) is getting a good laugh over my brave attempt to turn my cherished community group into a tailgate party. </div><div><br /></div><div>The group, however, is officially on-board (though I'm not sure they understand why) and have even agreed to bring tailgate food (though they had to ask me what, exactly, that was :)). </div><div><br /></div><div>Look for Watson Downs #51!! Kendall's sweet boyfriend who offered us his seats in the football family section of the game...and now I'm wondering how/why in the world we didn't take out a loan and GO!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>War Eagle!!!!</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 392px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fwcHW-s21sU/TStSY7x3GAI/AAAAAAAACJw/9JEywrKf1T0/s400/232323232%257Ffp532%253C8%253Enu%253D52-4%253E%253B%253B7%253E239%253EWSNRCG%253D35-958576832-nu0mrj.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560628753236170754" /></div><div>(This is my favorite picture of my Mom--and it's her on the field cheering for Auburn)</div><div></div></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-80118392122529915702011-01-04T09:10:00.004-06:002011-01-28T15:38:16.326-06:00The Similarities and Differences of the Clark GirlsWe may not have gotten to go home for Christmas, but we did get to spend close to a week with my three sisters and two brother-in-laws here in Seattle.<div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317705313/" title="DSC_1798 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5045/5317705313_08b467476a_z.jpg" width="640" height="427" alt="DSC_1798" /></a><br /></div><div>What a precious gift!</div><div><br /></div><div>Our house is not the place to come for a <i>relaxing</i> vacation. We love the city much too much to allow anybody to sit still for long around here. So, we wore each other slam out, but I'm pretty sure we made some memories we will never forget. </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317760409/" title="DSC_1884 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5090/5317760409_5fbc2c96ff_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1884" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318404122/" title="DSC_1886 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5288/5318404122_887af786fc_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1886" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I've been thinking about how I want to word this post...we didn't do many things new--that I've never blogged about before--so I don't really want to just throw the pictures up and tell you what we're doing. I've decided to tell you instead some things that I learned about my sisters on this trip. It's funny what can be made new when you haven't gotten to experience the day-to-day with someone for a long time. Yes we change some, but more than that I think time away affords you room to see small things that have been left unappreciated all along.</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317710115/" title="DSC_1846 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5317710115_c6a59b0785_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1846" /></a><div><br /></div><div>How about we go in birth order? I am the oldest. A honeymoon baby and an utter accident :) There are four and a half years between Taylor and I, and then the next three happened all in a row. I think that partly because of this age gap, partly because of my personality, and partly because it's just the way it normally goes with the oldest child in a big family--I've always been the mother hen.</div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318303522/" title="DSC_1834 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5166/5318303522_e7ac1fa88a_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1834" /></a><br />The settler of arguments and the meeter (what a great word that is) of needs. I admitted something about my past self to my sisters this weekend, and I'm not sure they thought it nearly as big a revelation as I found it to be. We were re-living memories when the old "You never wanted us to be around you or your friends," joke came up. It is true, and I feel bad about it now, but they are right. I spent my childhood trying to be away from them, and I feel like I've spent my adulthood giving anything to be close to them. This is not knew knowledge, however. <div><br /></div><div>What became clear as we perused some funny memories was that I <i>resented</i> them. I was always in charge, always telling them them "no," and my summers seemed like one very, very long babysitting job that I never got paid to do. It wasn't that I was just some angst-filled teenager that wanted my peace and quiet, I was angry at the responsibility they were to me. Whew, nice to get that out and move forward! <div><br /></div><div>Taylor, number 2:</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318301794/" title="DSC_1818 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5162/5318301794_0e00f0f201_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1818" /></a></div><div>The defender of the family. I've mentioned before that I can have a scrappy nature. However, if I really had a problem with anybody, I'd call Taylor. We have a story that sort of sums this up. One night, Mom and all four of us girls were staying at my house in Birmingham. It was not long after a string of robberies had occurred in our neighborhood and everybody was feeling a bit on edge as we went to sleep. In the night, we were all awakened by a loud sound outside (I still don't know what it was), and Taylor's immediate response was to jump out of bed and cry, "I'll fight to my death!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I still laugh out loud every time I think about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is how riled her spirit became at the thought of harm coming to any one of us. She is always the one I call if I get my feelings hurt. By the end of our conversation, I end up excusing away the injustice in order to calm <i>her</i> down. It's a great way to get over things. It is NOT great, however, to be the one IN a fight with Taylor. All three of us have been there as well :) </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318297726/" title="DSC_1784 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5049/5318297726_347e3e3932_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1784" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318297726/" title="DSC_1784 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"></a>Caroline, number 3:</div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318351132/" title="DSC_1850 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5044/5318351132_dec4d7c426_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1850" /></a><div>The eternal optimist. To Caroline, there is no problem that is not fixed with a simple answer. There is no bad day that will not surely be followed by a better one. If life seems like a burden to carry, I call Caroline. She always has a little sunshine to shower on it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Throughout childhood she was known as "The Aggravater." Most poignant example was when she found Kendall crying in her room one day after getting in trouble. Caroline slid softly up to her side in, what looked like, an effort to console her little sister. Instead what we heard was, "You know what else, Kendall? I have your baby..." To which Kendall wailed all the more loudly. Sometimes, we still see this tendency creep up. Like this week when she sang the most random and annoying songs out loud, just long enough to get them stuck in our head, and then stopped. Over and over.</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318298454/" title="DSC_1792 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5209/5318298454_48c891169b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1792" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Kendall, number 4 (I feel the need to say that this glamour shot photo is a joke):</div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317708517/" title="DSC_1827 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5168/5317708517_cfb9074b7e_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1827" /></a><div>The surprising chameleon. I've been chewing hard on this one. I think if you asked any of the three of us, we'd probably say we have the most in common with and argued the least growing up with--Kendall. I feel like she's taken us all in over the past 21 years--she observed the good and the bad that we were all making a big deal over, and she quietly picked up the things around her that she liked and did it herself, without all the fuss the rest of us made. </div><div><br /></div><div>For example, graduating from Houston Academy (my college prep high school)...nearly killed me. The drama show I must have been over my chemistry tests and Calculus exams! Then, a few years later, Kendall just <i>graduated,</i> and I realized I'd never heard her complain. She's still doing it. I feel like she sneaks up beside each one of us and can truly celebrate whatever is happening in our lives--partially because she just <i>does</i> whatever we're stressing over doing.</div><div><br /></div><div>And she's pretty fun too :)</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317706023/" title="DSC_1802 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5002/5317706023_4af5d6e6bd_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1802" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Time with the three people who know my core more innately than anyone else, is always a joy. The surprising new blessing in all of our lives, however, is the addition of brothers.</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317703627/" title="DSC_1786 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5049/5317703627_afda6e53cc_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1786" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5323842409/" title="DSC_1868 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5085/5323842409_7f89ef0d5a_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1868" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317760061/" title="DSC_1876 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5169/5317760061_b5e7aa660b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1876" /></a><div>I would say that if I thought about it at all in the past, it was to dread there being men in our lives that would come in and disrupt our sweet sisterly communion. I could never have imagined the gift it would be to have these new additions. I feel extraordinarily blessed by God to not only love but <i>enjoy</i> my brother-in-laws. I love to see the parts of my sisters they draw out,</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317706781/" title="DSC_1809 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5281/5317706781_f10ed3afbe_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1809" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>and the similarities they recognize in the four of us that often we cannot see.</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317704331/" title="DSC_1794 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5003/5317704331_615ae5e4cf_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1794" /></a><br /><br /><div>Unfortunately, they have also formed a support group for "Men who have to deal with the Clark girls," but they at least help us laugh at out short-comings as we recognize them. And they are also committed to loving us deeply as they help us reign in these sin natures.</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318406654/" title="DSC_1900 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5210/5318406654_61c55b3935_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1900" /></a><div>And don't think we don't dish it back to them as well :) </div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you Taylor, John David, Caroline, Riley, and Kendall for taking the time and expense to come and be with us. We love you so much!! and I can't think of any other way I'd rather have started 2011...</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5317809227/" title="DSC_1889 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5286/5317809227_550ff4b10d_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1889" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5318404832/" title="DSC_1891 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5001/5318404832_ed342cb66b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1891" /></a>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-81560110511309703312010-12-27T14:37:00.006-06:002011-01-14T18:57:04.793-06:00Merry Christmas from Pace and Mary Aplin<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyHAABvaO7NcMT89_LW9NvJaPl-D0kc6goSX5AuB2bYE0d-yyqhf7RN0sloCvkNBLTiXIWYC2CuI_xqZWeE5w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxbf2vNr8tEwDm6YOOZYYW1eKecRzZl-4QSUJNUQ7aQZi1A1znTPjCo1nUTk4W69rqWZckBT_JoawjloVn2Mw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorry to all you blog readers, who I know don't care about seeing picture after picture of our children opening presents :). These, however, are for our family. Thank you, thank you for the time and effort it took to send little pieces of you to us on Christmas morning. You seasoned Seattle with love, and we are so thankful.</div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297950980/" title="DSC_1704 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5124/5297950980_a0be76d9ce_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1704" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297353447/" title="DSC_1706 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5002/5297353447_d8fe2f4ea5_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1706" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297951260/" title="DSC_1705 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5130/5297951260_71ee4702ab_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1705" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297354085/" title="DSC_1713 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5126/5297354085_93475c667b_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1713" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297951868/" title="DSC_1711 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5004/5297951868_bf229461c0_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1711" /></a><br /><br /><div>Wow, this a lovely one of me! I did go to AUBURN and not Samford. This just happens to be the only sweatshirt in our house. Did I steal it from you Allie?<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297952522/" title="DSC_1714 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5247/5297952522_6922c2fa8f_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1714" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297354621/" title="DSC_1717 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5129/5297354621_de785c74a8_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1717" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297521789/" title="DSC_1725 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5007/5297521789_71759e0410_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1725" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>"Daddy, if you want me to tell the Christmas story I can. I <i>did</i> memorize it."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297354979/" title="DSC_1728 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5086/5297354979_7b710d94eb_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1728" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>"Could we please stop telling the Christmas story over and over and just open a few presents?"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297781364/" title="DSC_1729 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5121/5297781364_6855de487f_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1729" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297185451/" title="DSC_1731 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5161/5297185451_5624baf8c0_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1731" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297788364/" title="DSC_1732 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5242/5297788364_da8c627fc8.jpg" width="335" height="500" alt="DSC_1732" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297195235/" title="DSC_1733 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5002/5297195235_358e1c191a.jpg" width="500" height="335" alt="DSC_1733" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Aren't we sassy?<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297793086/" title="DSC_1736 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5090/5297793086_bbae2c3709_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1736" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I love this lipgloss so much, I could eat it...oh wait, she is eating it.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297793776/" title="DSC_1737 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5009/5297793776_959f854531_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1737" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297201479/" title="DSC_1740 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5002/5297201479_ecf56c77de.jpg" width="500" height="335" alt="DSC_1740" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>"Oh the ballet costume I've been asking for for so very long! This is seriously graceful business."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297799702/" title="DSC_1755 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5048/5297799702_5caf5277d1_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1755" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297798700/" title="DSC_1751 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5048/5297798700_37717f001b_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1751" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297374597/" title="DSC_1760 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5043/5297374597_f089e73244_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1760" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Or...maybe not always so graceful :)<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297972580/" title="DSC_1759 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5167/5297972580_d2a4e20a87_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1759" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>We were treated to dinner Christmas night in our dear friends' home.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297862738/" title="DSC_1763 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5169/5297862738_8fe77e5823_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1763" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297973494/" title="DSC_1772 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5007/5297973494_7eeb5df8cf_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1772" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And I haven't eaten at any restaurant in Seattle that had food this good.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297375785/" title="DSC_1776 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5241/5297375785_bec8c6a5d4_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1776" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5297374855/" title="DSC_1764 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5285/5297374855_f047e1d248_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1764" /></a></div><div>Merry, Merry.</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-4219105545867989632010-12-21T15:32:00.006-06:002011-01-28T15:38:48.960-06:00Have I Really Been Gone THAT Long?I do this every year. I get overwhelmed by Christmas--to the point of breakdown,--and I write lots of blogs in my head but cannot find the time to sit down at a computer. I feel like I start earlier every year and STILL never have enough time. A lot of the problem is that I've tried to go handmade for all the girls in my family the last couple of years. I can't wait to show you pictures of the some of the finished products, but would you believe that I have not completed these projects that I started a YEAR AND A HALF ago?! They were supposed to be given last Christmas, have now been deferred to this Christmas, and Jeremiah looked at me a couple days ago and said, "Step away from that needle {I am embroidering, not doing drugs in case anybody is worried :)} and go buy however many presents you haven't finished. You can give them the finished projects whenever they're done, but I can't live with you being the Grinch any longer."<div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281504084/" title="DSC_1649 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5244/5281504084_514fce0a21_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1649" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281504326/" title="DSC_1653 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5165/5281504326_9ddb9856f1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1653" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>It's sad. I really, really love embroidering. I love thinking about and praying for the gift's recipient as I stitch away. I love the sea of color choices and deciding on just the right combination each time. I love watching a project go from nothing to something <i>finished</i> (since there are so few things in my life as a Mom that are ever finished). I love the order provided by each little stitch paired with the creativity of the whole picture. I love the books on CD I listen to as I work...I JUST HATE HOW SLOW I AM AND HOW FEW HOURS ARE IN A DAY!</div><div><br /></div><div>And now, as though I were not struggling enough, I fell this weekend and broke my butt. No really, you read correctly. It feels like my tail bone is shattered into a million tiny pieces--even though Jeremiah won't let me go to the ER and get an X-ray to prove just how seriously injured I am, because he says there's nothing anybody can do about it even if it is shattered. "Do you want me to make you a <i>butt</i> cast?" He's offered several times, with much too much of a smile.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5280902407/" title="DSC_1661 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5122/5280902407_598bd5ec52_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1661" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281504758/" title="DSC_1665 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5009/5281504758_56a44b6212_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1665" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5280902875/" title="DSC_1674 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5008/5280902875_b33d2b30f5_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1674" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>It happened this weekend in Leavenworth (which is where all these pictures were taken). We went for the town lighting ceremony, a little sledding, and some hot chocolate.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281505526/" title="DSC_1684 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5210/5281505526_c1f469a87a_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1684" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5280903723/" title="DSC_1686 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5165/5280903723_a8f3b24a32_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1686" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281506190/" title="DSC_1698 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5204/5281506190_d5a591dcb3_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1698" /></a><br /><br />I was staying safe, taking pictures on the sidelines, when baby girl Dapples got cold and wanted to be held by her Mommy. My strong-willed child so rarely wants to be cuddled, that I jumped at the opportunity--even with slick cowboy boots, standing on ice, with a camera around my neck. As I took a cautious step down a very tiny but icey hill, both feet went straight into the air and my arms gripped Dapples more tightly instead of breaking my fall. My coccyx took the brunt of it all, and I am truly wondering if I'll ever walk, sit, or lie down comfortably again. It happened Sunday evening, and on Monday morning the pain was so bad, I passed out twice just trying to get out of bed. I am not kidding--and I've never passed out in my life. Take care of your butt. It seems pretty useless until you can't use it :)</div><div><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281505990/" title="DSC_1693 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5170/5281505990_78b664ef65_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1693" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5280905227/" title="DSC_1700 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5166/5280905227_599b198b16_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1700" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Fortunately, Jeremiah's best friend Tommy has been here visiting us. Bless his heart, he came for a manly adventure in Washington and yesterday he went to the grocery store, cleaned my house, and entertained my children for much of the day. I love you Tommy Tolleson!</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5280907847/" title="DSC_1694 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5290/5280907847_3121d09bd7_z.jpg" width="640" height="427" alt="DSC_1694" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I hope I'll be back soon, but considering how bad it has hurt to sit and write this post, I'm not making any promises. I'll leave you with our Christmas card. The front picture is from the Christmas tree cutting adventure and the back picture is the girls' awe at waking to find the city covered in snow.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281558634/" title="Rhyme 02-2 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5089/5281558634_d0593f3c19_z.jpg" width="440" height="640" alt="Rhyme 02-2" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5281554674/" title="Back Address by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5046/5281554674_b6e7f9579e_z.jpg" width="440" height="640" alt="Back Address" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Designed by Whitney--my best friend since second grade. If you'd like to order from her next year, give me your email and I'll pass it on to her. Thanks Wee!! We love them!</div><div><br /></div><div>MERRY, MERRY CHRISTMAS BLOG FRIENDS!!! </div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-36992850618011359202010-12-09T12:18:00.003-06:002011-01-28T15:39:16.663-06:00Romans 7:19 At Work{Keke, my little sister, talked to Santa about sending the girls some elves--to work mischief in our house throughout the rest of the Christmas season. They arrived via the chimney this morning, and these pictures are of that and some shots of this morning's breakfast. Food on faces, squinty eyes and all. At what age are they going to be mad at me for posting these kind of pictures of them?}<div><br /></div><div><i>For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do NOT want to do--this I keep on doing. </i>Romans 7:19, emphasis mine</div><div><br /></div><div>This child. This child has been giving me fits.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5246544739/" title="DSC_1668 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5248/5246544739_f1241b9e92_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1668" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>It's as though things I thought we mastered at 12 months age, now, at 3 YEARS seem to be giving her trouble again. She does things...like playing in the toilet water, rubbing my face lotion (my one big extravagance in my make-up bag) in her <i>hair</i>, writing all over her legs with markers, knocking an entire row of shampoo bottles over in the grocery store, or jumping from the TOP of the couch-back and hitting her forehead on the coffee table--you can see the bruise remnants below.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5247146638/" title="DSC_1666 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5046/5247146638_5182b5964c_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1666" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>When you add this behavior to the fact that she is pathologically clumsy, and falls somewhere around 1,425 times per day, I am not sure how she is going to survive much longer.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5247142928/" title="DSC_1657 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5007/5247142928_e9c9721533_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1657" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>One of yesterday's falls happened at a most inopportune time. Before I exercise, I <i>try</i> to get my day's tasks started and the house decently straight (as in my bed made and the dishes in the sink), and everybody dressed...which means I rarely make it out of the door before lunch-time. It had been a particularly frustrating morning with the Dapples. The morning began with her standing up beside her chair at breakfast and just peeing all over the floor. "Oh, OK! Mary Aplin. Let me get that for you! Don't worry about the fact that I asked you 30 seconds ago if you needed to go potty?! If the floor's more convenient, then go right ahead."</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5247143286/" title="DSC_1658 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5161/5247143286_a7767cb039_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1658" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>As I'm Cloroxing the mess and getting her pajamas in the washing machine, I hear mother-Pace reassuring her, "Don't worry Mary Aplin, you're not going to get a spanking."</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5246544953/" title="DSC_1670 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5130/5246544953_e958cc387c_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1670" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>"Pace, you are not the Mom and are not allowed to decide when spankings will or will not be administered."</div><div><br /></div><div>Mary Aplin also managed to perform a handful of the above tasks before I had them out of the door in warm coats, mittens on hands, blanket ready, and Locks rigged to a belt because I couldn't find his leash--All this so that I could take a run and work off some of the morning's frustrations?</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5246541359/" title="DSC_1661 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5281/5246541359_067ee976d5_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1661" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>There is an incredibly steep hill that I have to climb right out of our driveway. The girls wanted to walk up it (Praise the Lord!), so I pushed an empty double stroller to the top of the hill before they climbed in. As soon as they sat down, I noticed something was wrong. I couldn't move the stroller forward at all. I looked down to find one of the tires was "wallering around on the rim" kind of flat. Ugghhh. "Get out girls, I have to go back to the house and try to put some air in this tire."</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5247143926/" title="DSC_1662 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5044/5247143926_ecbc9c607b_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1662" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>As we headed back down the mountain towards our house, I hear a scream of pain behind me and turn to see Dapples, face plant number 435 of the day, on harsh concrete. In a panic I attempt to throw the stroller break on and toss Locks' belt/leash to Pace. I turn and sprint towards my screaming victim and then hear, "MOM!" out of Pace's mouth. I swivel mid-stride and see the double stroller picking up speed as it hurtles towards Pace and Locks, then gets turned because of the flat tire (thank goodness, sort of) and tumbles into the road. The shock of taking the curb flips the stroller, scattering my phone and car keys into the road as well. All of this, in front of a mini-van climbing up the road.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5247146122/" title="DSC_1663 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5205/5247146122_fab8f89bc0_z.jpg" width="640" height="513" alt="DSC_1663" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I gave up the run and we went back to the house and ate grilled cheese sandwiches instead.</div><div><br /></div><div>While the falling incident was obviously not Dapple's "fault," there are so many other things that ARE. However, the baffling thing about Mary Aplin is that you can NOT stay mad at her. Two minutes after she gets in trouble, she'll come and tap on the side of my leg. I look down to the face blotchy with crying and wet with tears and she says, "Torry Mommy" (we've got a little lisp), just before she clutches my leg in a tight hug and cries harder. Over and over I hear Romans 7:19 play in my head as I go down to my knees and take her into a proper hug. My heart turns into a puddle as I feel her real penitence and recall all the times God has offered me Grace for "the evil I do not want to do--this I keep on doing."</div><div><br /></div><div>Surely, she will never play in toilet water again...at least not for fifteen minutes :)</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-44005655242100624892010-12-06T16:49:00.005-06:002011-01-28T15:39:44.905-06:00Bama Belles and Another Brush with Fame<div style="text-align: left;">Did y'all watch? Jeremiah and I certainly did. I think it's the first time we've sat down and watched any television show (except for the occasional Saturday Night Live) since the second season of Grey's Anatomy (when dead lovers started coming back to life, we decided it was time to hang it up :)).</div><div><br /></div><div>I have gotten several calls, emails, and texts today asking me what I thought. For anybody out there who cares...I was pleasantly surprised. I think it showed women, from different walks of life, who live in the South. We aren't all the same, and I am thankful for the differences. My biggest fear was that only one walk of life would be represented--ignorant red-neck. While</div><div>there was an element of that, I feel like TLC made an effort to show that everybody is not that way. That's all I ask. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Did some of these situations seems contrived?--Absolutely. But what do most of us do when it's 100 degrees and 100% humidity on a summer day? You keep your butt in the air conditioning as much as possible. Would that make for entertaining television? I think that the girls were doing activities that were true to at least one member of the group, and the rest were going along to see what happened. As far as reality show scripting goes, I'd say that's pretty mild.</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/4990087994/" title="DSC_0769 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4151/4990087994_37bc69d9bb_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_0769" /></a><br /></div><div>Obviously, I'm no judge of what makes good television, but I was entertained last night. I laughed out loud when Melissa was a frantic mess before her company arrived, only to turn around and greet her visitors minutes later with fresh make-up, a big smile, and the most loving welcome known to man. I felt like I was re-watching a scene from my childhood--baffled at how my Mom could be screaming at us one minute and loving on a visitor</div><div>the next. I wanted to hug Jana in all her vulnerability, and I wanted to take her Mother-in-law out back and have a <i>word</i> with her. I thought Josh looked very handsome, and I'm wondering how in the world they're going to spin the whole drama with him.</div><div><br /></div><div>There were moments that made me cringe, but all in all, I thought it was...good. About the lives and struggles, vulnerabilities and strengths, and funny hobbies of a group of (mostly) Southern women.</div><div><br /></div><div>On a whole different subject, I need to do a little bragging. Watson Downs, who I babysat throughout my teenage years and who my little sister has been dating since eighth grade, made the final tackle in Auburn's SEC Championship win Saturday night!!!! I was so proud I could have burst!!! If anybody wants to watch, it's in the last 20 seconds of <a href="http://www.cbssports.com/video/player/play/collegefootball/lNl_LyNwbZdFiog761B9a7xL8X226Vbb">this</a> two minute video. He's number 51.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fwcHW-s21sU/TP1uPvygv5I/AAAAAAAACJk/79-nn8ieVU0/s400/37947_1513873479120_1002900115_31226763_6696593_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547711532795740050" /><div> War Downs Eagle, baby!!!!</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-38519918371100291652010-12-03T12:20:00.003-06:002011-01-28T15:40:50.344-06:00A Television Show and Some Questions AnsweredI've debated whether or not to share this...but I've determined to go ahead. My hometown and my brother-in-law will be making a television debut this Sunday night (9 pm central time) on TLC's new reality series, <a href="http://tlc.discovery.com/tv/bama-belles/">Bama Belles.</a><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5229816038/" title="042 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5283/5229816038_3e68f27a86_z.jpg" width="640" height="435" alt="042" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Why have I debated sharing?! you must wonder. I love Josh (and Jana is great--one of the girls on the show who I knew in Dothan), but I am terrified of what kind of spin TLC is going to try and put on a place that I love. When one of the two <a href="http://tlc.discovery.com/videos/bama-belles-off-to-the-lawn-mower-races.html">promotional videos</a> is about lawn mower racing and men without teeth...you have to be a little leery. </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/4514020521/" title="011 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4014/4514020521_0720b907a4_z.jpg" width="640" height="428" alt="011" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>The other <a href="http://tlc.discovery.com/videos/bama-belles-josh-the-cowboy.html">promo video</a> shows my very handsome brother-in-law, who is indeed a "real live cowboy!" But something about the way they call him that in the clip, makes me cringe. Josh was recently voted PCA (did anybody else know that stood for Professional <i>Cowboy</i> Association?) rookie of the year for steer wrestling--or Bulldoggin' as they call it. It's a serious sport and he has an amazing talent for it--<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jz4-OP0OzmM">VIDEO</a> (Obviously, all those are not him. You can pick him out by his white cowboy hat or big hair :)). As long as they show him for what he is--a talented, tough, intelligent and multi-faceted guy...<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5229868676/" title="joshjeremiah by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5288/5229868676_4b88b06b31_z.jpg" width="640" height="428" alt="joshjeremiah" /></a><br /><br />As long as I'm able to laugh at our Dothan red-neck side... No matter what it should be entertaining, and they shot several scenes at Jeremiah's family farm. My homesick heart can't <i>wait</i> to see that at least.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5229274927/" title="girlsfarm by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5086/5229274927_1e70a0a9a1_z.jpg" width="640" height="427" alt="girlsfarm" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Second, my camera. I am so flattered by the emails I've gotten lately, asking for my photography/camera advice. I love to take pictures, and I feel like the creative gift I've always envied (painting, which I can not do AT ALL) is partially (very partially) granted to me when I capture just the right shot. However, while I love to take pictures, I know VERY VERY little about the craft. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I first got my DSLR a little over a year ago, <a href="http://www.flythroughourwindow.com/">Darby</a> gave me some quick lessons on ISO and made the suggestion that I get pictures in natural light as much as possible and rarely turn on my flash. I only use a flash if its pitch dark, and I think that is wonderful advice. My friend <a href="http://abryanphoto.blogspot.com/">Bryan</a>, who is a top-knotch professional photographer and lived across the street from me in Birmingham, tried to give me a few pointers, but to be honest, they all went right over my head. For some reason, camera lingo baffles me.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5229868562/" title="bryan by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5201/5229868562_3047709274.jpg" width="334" height="500" alt="bryan" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>My camera is a Nikon D3000. My Dad has the nicer D90, but I honestly like mine better. I find it more user friendly (they make it work for the dummies they know will buy them), and it is slightly smaller (so it fits better in my hands and feels less awkward to shoot). My lens is a Tamron 28-75mm, F/2.8 that Jeremiah's Mom gave me for my birthday. It is great for low-light pictures. </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5229274959/" title="lens by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5090/5229274959_b83876d6e7_z.jpg" width="550" height="400" alt="lens" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I do edit all the pictures I put on the blog. I use Aperture now, but for a long time I just used iPhoto on my Mac and before that a rando program that came with my PC. I think that editing makes a HUGE difference, but all I usually do is add (or occasionally take away) exposure, contrast, and saturation and you can do that with basically all editing programs (I think).</div><div><br /></div><div>Lastly, I want you all to notice the Cranberry salad in the foreground of the picture of all of us at Thanksgiving dinner. I meant to point this out in the last post and Darby recently reminded me.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221450536/" title="T-dinner all by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/5221450536_4b5d52c79d_z.jpg" width="640" height="425" alt="T-dinner all" /></a><br /><br />The<a href="http://www.flythroughourwindow.com/2009/11/tart-tangy/"> recipe</a> is hers, and it is <i>delicious </i>but I was not at a congealed salad kind of Thanksgiving. I had never been to a Thanksgiving where something congealed and filled with festive cranberries was not appropriate, but the sight of my Tupperware gleaming on the crystal filled table, still makes me want to crawl <i>underneath</i> the table. Our hostess, in an attempt to be kind, put my salad in a place of honor on the table (all the other food was on a side table in earthenware beautifuls). During the pictures and the prayer, all I wanted to do was snatch it back off the table and hide it. Oh well, it looked a bit ridiculous, but it's yummy taste made up for it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I meant to spend five minutes on this post. What happened?! </div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-68040031911682824722010-11-30T08:49:00.004-06:002011-01-28T15:41:25.099-06:00Some Things You Only Get to Do OnceThis was the first Thanksgiving I've ever spent away from my family. I was apprehensive as we approached this holiday, especially since it coincided with my Mom's birthday. How would this <i>be</i>?<div><br /></div><div>Dr. Chapman, one of the attendings that Jeremiah works with, invited us to join he and his wife's family for Thanksgiving dinner. I was thankful to have a plan--somewhere to be for the big day, but I was apprehensive about spending a holiday with people we had never met. </div><div><br /></div><div>We found, as I am discovering over and over in our experience out here (and our road trip out), that when you allow life to just happen it can be surprisingly beautiful. We spent Thanksgiving here:</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220705637/" title="DSC_1607 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4141/5220705637_7272c80cf2_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1607" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221304704/" title="DSC_1609 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4142/5221304704_9c004c29ee_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1609" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221305000/" title="CmasCard2 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5049/5221305000_4bee4fb5fe_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="CmasCard2" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>A farm in North Bend Washington, blanketed in snow. The Damazo/Chapman family welcomed us in a way that is still blowing my mind. They were fascinating--full of life experiences of which we were allowed glimpses--bronze sculpting, <a href="http://www.safaridentist.com/index.htm">building a state-of-the-art free dental clinic in Kenya</a>, fox hunting in England, mosaic art, running a horse farm, cooking gourmet meals,...my mind was in a blur the whole evening trying to take it all in. I imagined we would be dropping in as interlopers in another family's whirlwind, and instead, I found myself being served (by some very sweet children) a candle-lit meal with things like truffle-cream sauce over my turkey. Where were all the casseroles?! :) Were my children going to break the crystal? And how in the world did we get admitted to this grand evening? Dr. Chapman served us a variety of his favorite wines while his sweet daughters took my little chicken wings upstairs to play after the meal.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221450536/" title="T-dinner all by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/5221450536_4b5d52c79d_z.jpg" width="640" height="425" alt="T-dinner all" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>It was intimate and elegant and fascinating, and while I missed our family and my Mom like crazy, I felt blessed to be able to experience a new kind of Thanksgiving.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ready for a gear switch? On Saturday after Thanksgiving we had another kind of all new experience--cutting down our own Christmas tree. Here in Washington, for a mere ten dollars, you can purchase a permit to troop out into the wilderness and chop down your very own tree. Is anybody else picturing Clark Griswold? </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220728093/" title="DSC_1627 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5282/5220728093_393e061c6a_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1627" /></a><br /></div><div>As we pulled off the exit ramp that Jeremiah had chosen for our tree extravaganza, I looked to the right and left and felt terror grip my heart. Sheer panic. I love my husband, and I trust him to take care of us, but when we are in a car and there is snow all over the roads, I do NOT trust him to keep us from getting stuck in it. I see this glint in his eye from all those Saturdays spent "mudding" in high school, and I know there is some part of him that just wants to slide all over the place. I began rationing out the picnic lunch I'd packed in my mind, wondering how long the four of us could survive on it after we were stuck in the wilderness in the snow.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220729285/" title="DSC_1633 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4139/5220729285_5f96b83784_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1633" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220729639/" title="DSC_1637 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4128/5220729639_0ec6a17e5b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1637" /></a><br /></div><div>Needless to say, we had a few scary moments (we had to help dig another family's car out the snow, and did a little spinning out), but we managed to make it out without having to ration our picnic--although we didn't enjoy it quite as I had anticipated...</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220728447/" title="DSC_1629 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/5220728447_7460274a38_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1629" /></a><br /></div><div>Fifty degrees in Seattle, but thirty minutes outside the city was beyond my scope of planning.</div><div><br /></div><div>We hiked a magnificent wooded trail, occasionally being sprinkled with snow, and in awe of the quiet peacefulness of a snow-covered wood. I know I will never forget that walk. Miraculously, I never felt cold but I saw streams tumbling over ice capped boulders</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220728841/" title="DSC_1631 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5046/5220728841_7a842128b3_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1631" /></a><br /></div><div>and a forest of evergreen trees with boughs drooping from the weight of their white mantles.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220730783/" title="DSC_1641 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4118/5220730783_34fe860385_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1641" /></a><br /></div><div>As we walked and waited for the glorious moment when <i>Our</i> tree would reveal its face, something changed in our spirits. We discovered we'd made a rookie mistake in buying the 12-foot and under permit. Who needs a tree taller than that, right? However, when you're talking about undergrowth in a forest, anything under 12 feet is, ummm, scanty at best. If we had paid $10 more, we could have felled a 20-foot tree and used the plump top half as our Christmas tree, but there were strict rules (and steep fines) for cutting outside the boundaries of your permit. We went from looking for the perfect tree...to looking for a tree that would support <i>lights</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>We sent Jeremiah down into a sun-filled gully, in hopes that some of that undergrowth might have grown some branches on more than one side<i>.</i> </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221328382/" title="DSC_1639 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4148/5221328382_995e4b7ca3_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1639" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220730381/" title="DSC_1640 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/5220730381_391203e915_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1640" /></a><br /></div><div>I wish you could have heard how hard we've laughed over this dilemma. I am normally OCD crazy woman about the most perfect, most full Christmas tree on the lot...and here I was just praying for a tree with more than two branches.</div><div><br /></div><div>I stayed back on the trail with the girls while he disappeared into waist-deep snow. And y'all, twenty minutes after his disappearance he emerged with this smile and this tree, saying he felt like he'd found the tree for Rockefeller Center when he saw this one shining in the distance....</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220731115/" title="DSC_1643 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4115/5220731115_fa606ae27f_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1643" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221330000/" title="DSC_1643 - Version 2 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/5221330000_3937b528f4_z.jpg" width="640" height="640" alt="DSC_1643 - Version 2" /></a><br /></div><div>I congratulated him on his magnanimous find and smiled to myself at what we now considered beautiful. By this time, Mary Aplin had managed to pack snow down INTO her boots and was crying in fear of why her Daddy had been gone so long in the woods. After unpacking the snow, I removed her wet, freezing socks and put my gloves on her feet instead. With empty fingers crammed into her boots and a chest cold that seemed to be developing before our eyes, there was no way little girl was going to make the half-mile trek back out of the woods. So, we went back to our old methods :)</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221330448/" title="DSC_1647 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5085/5221330448_d14e218bd3_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1647" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I don't know how he did that the whole way out of the woods, but he only let me drag the tree for a very short reprieve before taking it back.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5220732191/" title="DSC_1648 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4143/5220732191_4065b92329_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1648" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I think there was some kind of man-in-the-woods-need-to-bring-home-tree-for-my-women thing going on. </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221331166/" title="DSC_1650 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4130/5221331166_e70da6dd05_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1650" /></a><br /></div><div>We didn't bring any of our Christmas decorations, so after a $30 trip to Fred Meyer (Seattle's version of Wal-Mart) we were drinking hot chocolate around our Christmas tree.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5221560630/" title="DSC_1654 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5089/5221560630_650481772f_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1654" /></a><br /></div><div>I feel staunchly protective of this tree's ugliness... Maybe because I feel like she's doing her best to shine for us, or maybe because she was born out of such a magical day. Either way, she may be ugly, but she's all ours. </div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-57482056578695064522010-11-25T11:40:00.009-06:002011-01-28T15:42:18.088-06:00Aware But Not Anxious<i>So very sorry! Jeremiah wrote this several days ago, and I've been procrastinating adding the pictures. </i><br /><br /><br />One of the seemingly harsh realities of growing up has hit me over the last few years. Nobody remembered to warn me about it, so I felt blindsided. I can remember being in school and having that really big test or project that you were dreading. Finally as the day approaches you tell yourself to just keep pushing because soon it will be over and you can relax and have nothing to worry about. I loved that feeling the afternoon after a test in college, when you knew there were days ahead without expectations or responsibility. How about the holidays where you had days and nights of whatever you wanted to do and nobody expecting you to perform or produce anything? I guess I subconsciously assumed this is the way it would always be, but I have since realized that life proves to be more of a continuous challenge, still marked by some big tasks that require endorphins to get you through. However, that post-test sense of ease doesn't come as easily once you are all grown up.<br /><br /><a title="DSC_1568 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5213827054/"><img alt="DSC_1568" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4128/5213827054_1bd1ce3e35_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" /></a><br /><br /><br />It is similar to the practice of medicine. As a kid you think a person gets hurt or sick and the doctor fixes them up and they get well and forget about it. So when a kid decides to become a surgeon, he thinks, "I can fix people up, patient after patient." At least I somehow thought that was how it works - you operate on someone and they get better and it's done. Then I started my training and began to observe what is meant by the term "practice of medicine". A patient comes in with a problem that needs surgery and they get it. Hopefully, they get well and move on but there are those cases of unfortunate complications - infections, persistent pain, surgical errors etc. This is hard to swallow - I thought you could do your best for a patient and then relax in a job well done, but sometimes the "test" doesn't end that day. You may follow that patient for years trying to help them but never have that nice "mission accomplished" feeling we grew up with.<br /><br /><a title="DSC_1573 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5213233327/"><img alt="DSC_1573" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4113/5213233327_3bf895700f_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" /></a><br /><br /><br />Medicine is one place I see this but only a small part of it. I think raising kids may be the better example. I have seen that women don't usually get to get up in the morning, perform a task well, and then immediately see the results. They don't get to climb the mountain of tasks and then sit back and bask in the break from responsibility. Instead, they work daily, making investments of time and effort that will hopefully be successful in their children. The work doesn't really ever stop - always a kid who is sick, hungry, misbehaving, needing questions answered, and nightly baths and stories. So as parents, it seems impossible to get that reprieve we used to know. Maybe we could leave the kids with the grandparents a couple times a year but nobody wants to spend their lives desperately waiting to get away from that feeling of responsibility - we would be unhappy or bitter 90% of the time.<br /><br /><a title="DSC_1586 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5213233541/"><img alt="DSC_1586" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4085/5213233541_6f98c0bb73_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" /></a><br /><br /><br />I think there is a way out of this. We can live a very safe life and keep our responsibility to a bare minimun. Keep ourself protected from expectations and relationships and keep that wonderful feeling void of responsibility we knew growing up. To me, this is not appealling but I have seen some people living that way. Since I don't want that kind of life, I have had to ask myself where to go from here. The problem is that the more responsibility you allow yourself, the more potential anxiety. You could handle it growing up because whatever task you had to complete was always followed with that period of reprieve. With every new responsibility comes a potential risk. For parents - will the kids turn out the way you hope, or for leadership - will you let people down that are counting on you, or for any challenge - how will this turn out? So what do you do with that potential anxiety because the challenges keep coming and the breaks don't?<br /><br /><a title="DSC_1591 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5213233735/"><img alt="DSC_1591" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5206/5213233735_15ed32dc87_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Lately, we have been studying Luke with a group of friends here in Seattle. Much of Luke talks about anxiety. There are a few applications here. Jesus repeatedly emphasizes that he does not want us to be anxious. So what do we do with all this responsibility? If we know we are supposed to cast our cares on Him, how can we practice this? I think what we have to do is be <em>Aware but not Anxious.</em> No we shouldn't ignore the risks and responsibilities that we face by the lives we have chosen. However, I think the danger is on focusing on those things instead of what we are trying to do. So what if we could learn to be aware of those risks but not experience any anxiety because we don't focus on them? I think we have a choice to be <em>Worriers or Warriors</em>. May sound cliche, I know but I can't get this out of my mind and though Webster may not agree, I think they are perfect antonyms. In Luke, Jesus asks a question about which of us, before going to build a tower, doesn't first stop to consider the cost and if it can be completed. Obviously, there is a place for measuring the cost of each responsibility but that is where you become a worrier or a warrior. I think a warrior stops and kisses his family before going to battle. They cry together at the thought of possibly not seeing each other again and then he turns his horse and rides full speed and doesn't look back. The worrier considers the cost, rides a few feet and stops to reconsider and then rides a little further and then stops again to reconsider the costs and risks and eventually is anxious and paralyzed by anxiety and fear of the responsibility. It would be better to either ride back home and relax or to ride on into battle; but to stay in the middle world of the worrier would be miserable for anyone.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a title="DSC_1592 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5213235263/"><img alt="DSC_1592" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5208/5213235263_2ef9152087_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" /></a><br />So the point is that we can't reasonably get away from responsibility and we really probably don't want to. The pertinent thing is how we deal with it. We have to learn how to enjoy life and enjoy our responsibilities, being aware of them but not anxious about their cost or outcome. Then I hope that we won't spend our lives living for that carefree post-test feeling. Instead, maybe we can learn to enjoy our responsibilities because of how we approach them as aware warriors instead of anxious worriers....Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-11927397487483747322010-11-22T12:14:00.003-06:002011-01-28T15:42:52.663-06:00Let It Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!Just look at the winter wonderland we awoke to find this morning!<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5199069750/" title="DSC_1562 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4126/5199069750_2a423010a4_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1562" /></a><br /><br />Can you see the Space Needle peeking through the storm?<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5198475503/" title="DSC_1563 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4108/5198475503_feb76d816e_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1563" /></a><br /><br /><div>The girls preschool was not cancelled, so I got to brave our STEEP hills covered with snow. I was talking to the girls about leaving their seatbelts securely fastened, because Mommy had never driven in snow before...As I cranked the car, guess what came blasting through my speakers, "Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow!" It took my nerves away :), and made the drive to school feel more like a sleigh ride.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5198475853/" title="DSC_1567 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/5198475853_100361c6e1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1567" /></a></div><div>Thanks, Aunt Taylor for our <a href="http://www.thekidswindow.co.uk/html/results2.asp">Sou'Westers</a>. Since they came from England, Mommy thinks they are the coolest things ever. And she just realized they are on backwards... ;) They were perfect for our first snowy day (and Dapples refused to take hers off once she got to school). Be back soon with a more substantial post (or maybe Jeremiah, I'm trying to get him to come back this week).</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-15957783255735405052010-11-16T18:24:00.004-06:002011-01-28T15:43:21.981-06:00I'm Sure Stranger Things Have Happened......But I can't remember when. <div><br /></div><div>Today we're going to talk about Pace. My first-born, my right-hand lady, my truth-seeker, my tender-heart. At her current stage, she can be hard to spend long periods of time with. It's not that we don't get along, and it's not that I don't firmly believe we have a beautiful lifetime friendship spreading out before us. It's that right now she is <i>burdened</i> by questions...and I get to field 95% of them. They aren't just questions that leave me wishing I'd saved my eighth grade science book (although there are plenty of those); they're questions about intricate heart matters--that I often cannot answer (Like, "When is God going to give me a perfect body and take me up in the sky?" Guess they're studying Revelation in Sunday school??). She hates the, "I don't know," response and usually comes back at me with, "Ugghhh, Mom, we are just not understanding each other right now." Well no, FIVE-YEAR-OLD, I guess we're not. I guess you're just talking right over my head. It's humbling and maddening at the same time.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5183436084/" title="DSC_1551 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/5183436084_8336099073_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1551" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5182836919/" title="DSC_1552 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4087/5182836919_800a0a5931_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1552" /></a><br /></div><div>Because of this daily diatribe, I have vowed to answer any question I <i>can</i> truthfully and to the best of my ability (As long as I'm not having a "Mommy cannot take ANY MORE questions right now. No, don't even ask if you can have more milk. That's a question." I hit that wall at least once a day; let's keep it real.). So recently, Pace has started asking me what different meats we eat are made of. Like the ham sandwich I pack in her lunch every day--"Mom, what's ham made out of?" "Pig." Yes! That was an easy one. "Mom, is an egg really a baby chicken?" I'm gonna tell you that answer got a bit more complicated--trying to be truthful (it is an egg and not a baby, right?) without launching into the birds and the bees at five.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5182837165/" title="DSC_1555 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1027/5182837165_f0b3d9dd14_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1555" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Anywho, this had been going on for a couple of days when I went to pick her up from school and her teacher pulled me to the side and said, "I thought you should know that Pace is refusing to eat her sandwiches any more because they are made of <i>pig</i>." "What??!!!" My first thought was, "Dadgum Seattlites and their diets! What kid is turning my child into a vegetarian?" After questioning her, however, I discovered that the only dadgum Seattlite turning Pace into a vegetarian is...me. </div><div><br /></div><div>She very innocently and tearfully explained to me that she did not know anyone else who didn't eat meat, but she never wanted to eat it again. She said that she loves all animals and can't bear the thought of eating one ever again. When told to eat her dinner that her mother made her, she had a gag reflex trying take down her baked chicken and apologized to me for not being able to eat it. When I explained that God gave us animals so that we could eat them--that eating meat is what makes her strong, she asked if God wanted people to eat Locks too.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5183437110/" title="DSC_1558 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1025/5183437110_7c41b03cd4_z.jpg" width="427" height="640" alt="DSC_1558" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Out of nowhere, my deer hunting, meat-loving, "It's not dinner if there's not meat on my plate" family had created a true convicted vegetarian--who has never even heard that word spoken. I'm sure stranger things have happened...but I can't remember when.</div><div><br /></div><div>What Jeremiah and I have come to, I think, is that she is not old enough to make a decision like that for herself. However, the fact that she is so sweet-spirited and apologetic about the whole mess makes us want to work with her when we can. I've started making hummus roll-ups for her lunches instead of ham sandwiches, and if she wants the black bean and corn quesadilla at the Mexican restaurant instead of chicken, it's ok. When we have dinner at home as a family, she has to eat <i>some</i> of <i>everything</i> I cook--just like always.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5182837379/" title="DSC_1556 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/5182837379_3f0c6ece71_z.jpg" width="427" height="640" alt="DSC_1556" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>How about I leave you with one last strange happening with Pace? Jeremiah and I came home from a date last weekend and our babysitter said, "I don't know if this will be an issue, but I just thought you should know... I was putting the girls to bed and Pace got really upset when I would not say prayers with her. I tried to explain that different people have different bedtime rituals, and I brush my teeth--just like her--but I don't say prayers. She then said, 'You mean you don't know JESUS?!'"</div><div><br /><br /></div><div>Try fielding that one from a career nanny with good references that you hired....Aggghhh! </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5183435808/" title="DSC_1539 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1427/5183435808_a8af68fd5a_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1539" /></a><br /></div><div>[These pictures are of the girls riding the new bicycles they got for their birthdays. They saved up chore and birthday money and bought them with their own little stash (Thank you family for the money gifts!). It was a sweet day and Pace still goes in the garage on the days she can't ride "just to look at it for a little while."]</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-72312728017619780252010-11-12T08:07:00.003-06:002011-01-28T15:43:34.405-06:00Dad and Konie's VisitI feel like most people who read this blog know that my Mom passed away almost three years ago. She had ovarian cancer. I am finding that I go through periods of time where I miss her more than others. I'll bounce through months just fine--being reminded of her occasionally, missing her at big events, but grounded with the greater realization that she is happier and healthier now than all of us down here on earth. However, I also go through periods where she seems to be everywhere--a mis-glance in a mirror and I think I see her, she frequents my dreams, and any big event that occurs seems unbearable without her to share it. I am just coming out of one of these latter periods.<div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5167684931/" title="DSC_1405 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4154/5167684931_b3bfcdd3f8_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1405" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>I don't know what triggered it. Maybe it was all the stress of moving out here and making several life-altering decisions in a row? Maybe it was because we read <i>Same Kind of Different as Me</i> on our drive out here, and it stirred so many memories of the times when Mom was sick? Or maybe I'm just always going to go through these times, and this was one of them. It's always small things that hit the hardest, like Mrs. Linda buying me a new sweater and my immediate thought being, "I can't wait to show this to Mom, she's going to love it!" And then the crashing remembrance that I can't show it to her. Or getting the girls settled in a new school and missing our phone calls where she would listen and agree to ad-nauseum to every teeny little fear or hurt feeling. Or planning the girls birthday party and longing to share the details with her.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5168287898/" title="DSC_1446 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1242/5168287898_e933eddae3_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1446" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5168288214/" title="DSC_1447 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4151/5168288214_512fed7ae6_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1447" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5168288970/" title="DSC_1463 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4027/5168288970_d38a6a064e_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1463" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>So, in that state, I was feeling a little nervous about my Dad and Konie's visit. Konie is my Dad's new wife. She lost her husband (who was an orthopedic surgeon just like Jeremiah, side note) to cancer a few years ago and is probably the most <i>genuinely sweet</i> person I have ever met.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5168270846/" title="DSC_1484 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4059/5168270846_307bde4403_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1484" /></a><br /><br />She has a child-like heart and love of life,</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5141490621/" title="DSC_1431 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4019/5141490621_31fdb58751_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1431" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5168286970/" title="DSC_1434 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4013/5168286970_ea69150ede_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1434" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5167686119/" title="DSC_1436 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/5167686119_323be718f2_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1436" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And she loves my girls so endearingly (sending balloon messages to God).</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5169035585/" title="DSC_1357 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4011/5169035585_5aaa3a8edc_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1357" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5169634940/" title="DSC_1370 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1309/5169634940_445b1b58da_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1370" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5167671129/" title="DSC_1503 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1340/5167671129_92ce461d63_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1503" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Most of all, she and my Dad are happy together, and I (as a daughter) have the peace of knowing he is not alone.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5167684529/" title="DSC_1400 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1364/5167684529_b2f57e1b10_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1400" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5167685251/" title="DSC_1408 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1252/5167685251_0d31916332_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1408" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>While all those statements are true, and I feel them to my core, sometimes it is still. hard. It just is. I wish I could blame some fault in Konie, but I can't. She, in all truth, does everything right. She has jumped into our lives and been a supporter and a helper, without stepping over any boundaries. She is easy and fun to be around, and I know I could call her and she would be there for me, no matter what. So what in the world is still hard???!</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5167686409/" title="DSC_1445 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1413/5167686409_ef834c1984_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1445" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5168271178/" title="DSC_1488 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4066/5168271178_50c8672906_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1488" /></a><br /></div><div>I think I figured it out asI said goodbye to her. I think the lingering problem is my loyalty (insert stubborn, pig-headedness, but I'm going to use loyal because it sounds a lot nicer :)). There are people from HIGH SCHOOL, that still make my insides recoil if I run into them. You know why? Because they cheated on, or hurt the feelings of, or said something nasty about...one of my dear friends. It was like I pegged them a mortal enemy from that moment on. A lot of times, I can't even remember what they DID, but I just know it was something <i>bad</i>. Now, we're talking high school bad, so GET OVER IT PSYCHO-PATH (which is what my husband very rightly says to me if I ever make the mistake of telling him). I have had moments, when people hurt my family members, that I have questioned my propensity for murder. Don't you hope your kid is the bully in my kid's class at school?! :)</div><div><br /></div><div>I think you get the point; I am pretty loyal. As I hugged Konie good-bye I felt like my Mom whispered in my ear, "It's <i>Ok</i> to love her, Abby. It's O.K." And that was it. I needed to know it was Ok--that I wasn't being dis-loyal to my Mom by embracing my Dad's new wife. What felt like an inherent need to protect and serve my Mom was misplaced. In reality, Konie is protecting and serving Mom by taking care of the man who was most precious in her life. And it is Ok to love her, even if it were only for that. </div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5167685547/" title="DSC_1415 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4124/5167685547_c99d2a1031_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1415" /></a><br /></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-89074953369855366152010-11-03T18:11:00.003-05:002011-01-28T15:45:04.762-06:00Guest Blogging Husband<div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; background- font-family:Times;font-size:medium;color:transparent;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.155571723356843" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">It has become clear to me of late that blogging for men is much like a man wearing a pink shirt – not a red shirt that looks a little pink from a distance-- but an authentic pink shirt. One that actually impresses other males that see the wearer. A couple of my friends have walked bravely into blogdom, and they never even looked back. I enjoy reading this blog best of all, but I have been known to follow some of my friends’ wives’ blogs as well. I try not to talk on that too much. By the way, I grew weary of Abby’s blog inactivity and so this is Jeremiah writing.</span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5142095704/" title="DSC_1421 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1408/5142095704_2e53b9d616_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1421" /></a><br /><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"></span><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">We have, as you know, been in a new world for the last few months. We both knew we needed to come. I had my reasons and Abby had hers and many of these were the same. I love the South. I have loved it my whole life and that has scared me a little. I can remember leaving for college and trying not to count the years when I could return to the farm that had impressed my life so much. Many want to leave the “small town” they came from and return only for the obligatory check-in with the family. For me, my greatest memories at an impressionable age happened in the woods at our farm – many on horseback and many in hayfields. Why would loving my home scare me? </span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5142095192/" title="DSC_1416 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4027/5142095192_7ff784e0a0_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1416" /></a><br /><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"></span><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">I think all of us have a desire to know what we are capable of outside of what is familiar and comfortable. Sure I love the farm and thrive on it, but there was a whole part of the world that I didn’t understand – The big city... It has always intimidated me. One of my favorite lines from a John Denver song that I often quote to Abby as we drive through the country is: “…mountain rivers and country livers set my mind at ease”. <br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5142095470/" title="DSC_1418 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4131/5142095470_edb1792a16_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1418" /></a><br /><br />There’s something settling about that kind of life. When I think about living in a large city, I wonder, “Where is the outlet for those people?”. They’re not getting on horses and escaping to the woods, and I assure you they aren’t throwing hay in the barn to let off steam. So the question became, “Can I make it in that kind of environment?”. I don’t mean just survive, but really be happy somewhere other than the familiar. Could I learn to enjoy the same outlets that people in a big city enjoy? I think Abby and I both had to know that - or at least she obliged me and agreed. (Abby would put a smiley face right here but I’m not ready to do that yet.)</span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5142096752/" title="DSC_1457 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4070/5142096752_cb39cfcf9c_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1457" /></a><br /><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"></span><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">Seattle has brought with it many challenges for us. The four of us started from scratch in a new town without friends or fellowship, and living in a remarkably shady 1-bedroom apartment. An absolutely perfect setting to engage our questions! This kind of situation takes you back to the basics of your faith and leads you to seek out fellowship and adventure rather than waiting for it to come to you. You have no other choice. That is uncomfortable, and that is what I was looking for. </span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5142096466/" title="DSC_1442 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4128/5142096466_819b79b2c1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1442" /></a><br /><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"></span><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">Before we came out here, I struggled with whether or not I should be doing something in the foreign mission field for this year instead of doing extra training. I think one of the main reasons I struggled with that was because I knew the foreign field would bring out any and all the best in me and my family, as opposed to relaxing in the familiar. It was a hard decision because I really wanted to do spine training but felt that maybe I should do missions--to serve other people who were different than me in a very different place. It wasn’t until we arrived in Seattle and I realized how different it is here and realized that perhaps I had been provided with both the opportunity to train in spine </span><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: italic; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">and</span><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"> be in a “foreign” place that brought all the discomfort (and more) I was seeking. That sounds crazy, I know. </span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5141488947/" title="DSC_1403 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4002/5141488947_106794105f_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1403" /></a><br /><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"></span><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">It is wonderfully challenging here and sometimes Abby and I remind each other, “Hey we live in </span><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: italic; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">Seattle</span><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">” and then can’t stop laughing. We have seen some of the most magnificent landscape I have ever laid eyes on and have seen mountains and rivers that seem too good to be true. We get in the jeep almost every weekend and head somewhere new to explore and still feel we haven’t put a dent in the wilderness here. I really didn’t think I would ever say this but we have a beautiful view of the city, and I love it. The high rises are down to the left and the bay to the right as we look south and that refreshes you just to look on it. On a clear day, we see Mt Rainier; on a cloudy day, we know it is still there. </span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5142141740/" title="pacedap by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1148/5142141740_6c680a6f80_z.jpg" width="640" height="361" alt="pacedap" /></a><br /><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"></span><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">The highlight has been the relationships we have made. I haven’t found a lot of people here that I have a lot “in common” with, and I love it. Most of my friends here don’t do the same things with their free time as I do, but I’ve learned we are plenty alike. We were made by the same Creator and we recognize the need for true friendships and that is enough to generate real fellowship. I am learning people are quite alike and really have similar needs and desires regardless of where they live in the world and that is a valuable lesson.</span><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5142096978/" title="DSC_1466 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1152/5142096978_0e0531c1d1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1466" /></a><br /><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"></span><br /><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">I haven’t learned how to do Blogging cliff notes so this is too long but here is my current thought. We were all made to be challenged and stretched to beyond what we think we might be able to do. I am glad we came to Seattle to experience that. However, most anyone could go to a foreign land, rise to the occasion it takes to survive and possibly even thrive. What I am learning is the remarkable discipline it requires to engage a challenging life in a place that </span><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: italic; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;">is</span><span style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background- font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:11pt;color:transparent;"> comfortable and familiar. That requires far more intention and self-discipline and I admire those greatly who have learned how to do this. The fact is, when you are in a foreign land, you are quite aware of your surroundings as your mind perceives all this new material. You also have a tendency to reach out to people because your normal distractions are absent and you aren’t walking around like a zombie to do all your busy tasks. You are forced to engage the challenges that just living brings you and all of a sudden…. lasting memories are made.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5141489203/" title="DSC_1406 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/5141489203_52cc25bb45_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1406" /></a><br /><br />It is like a person trying, unsuccessfully, to diet for years. They fail because they are too busy and never really commit to the diet. They somehow get shipwrecked on an uninhabited island and are forced to survive on the sparse healthy foods available in that desolate place. Of course they lose weight – it required no discipline – just survival. But they certainly rose to the occasion to survive and they benefited nonetheless. We are like that person on the island who rises to the occasion of survival and we are far better for it. I love where we are and would choose it again in a second, but eventually even this may become comfortable and familiar. I want us to learn the discipline to live that kind of fulfilling life no matter where we are – to wake up to the challenges to be met and the relationships to be had. I know few people like that, but I admire them greatly.</span></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-72860727982035912412010-11-02T13:30:00.004-05:002011-01-28T15:45:45.878-06:00Dream Home TourThere are two basic home styles that make my heart beat fast. One is the English cottage: stone, steep gables, heavy rugs, candle-light, firewood, meandering passageways. The other is the farmhouse, and here my style preference diverges. I like the traditional white painted wood exterior, wrap around porch, tin roof, wide-plank pine floors...but Jeremiah doesn't. Soooo, the other farmhouse style we both grow giddy over is the converted barn: wide-open architecture, rustic charm, a hay loft where kids can play and sleep, plenty of wall-space for my bookcases with that rolling ladder :). That's not a style I would imagine finding in the middle of Seattle's Capitol Hill district, but find it we have! Welcome to <a href="http://melrosemarketseattle.com/">Melrose Market</a>...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139958307/" title="DSC_1397 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1344/5139958307_ed3169debc_z.jpg" width="640" height="427" alt="DSC_1397" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139957207/" title="DSC_1394 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1375/5139957207_6641321b65_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1394" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139955437/" title="DSC_1388 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4017/5139955437_9c6c0b4502_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1388" /></a><br /><br /><div>It's a grocery store of sorts, with two different restaurants inside as well. Every time we have company come to visit, we tell them we want to take them to a delicious sandwich shop called "<a href="http://www.eathomegrown.com/">Homegrown.</a>"<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5140561446/" title="DSC_1395 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4068/5140561446_70fd10e42e_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1395" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>The sandwiches (and breakfast, for that matter) are delicious. However, the food is merely a happy accessory. I come to drink in this beautiful space.</div><div><br /></div><div>On warm days, these windows all slide to one side, virtually eliminating one wall. Welcoming you to step right in...</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5140559338/" title="DSC_1389 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1079/5140559338_cb90c00879_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1389" /></a><br /></div><div>And peruse the cheese shop,<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5140559684/" title="DSC_1390 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1063/5140559684_b2dd43bda1_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1390" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139956839/" title="DSC_1392 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1121/5139956839_67dc54abf8_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1392" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And meet the butcher boys (who had just asked me if I was going to make them famous :)),<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5140560078/" title="DSC_1391 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4126/5140560078_dc9191ee41_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1391" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Swoon over the fresh vegetables and flowers,<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139955073/" title="DSC_1387 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4043/5139955073_e834f2c515_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1387" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Even the sweet little bread cart makes me smile. However, the hidden gem, is at the very back of the market. I go there first usually, before I even order my sandwich...<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5140557794/" title="DSC_1384 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/5140557794_441aedb1ae_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1384" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>It's my dream kitchen in restaurant form.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5140558216/" title="DSC_1386 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4148/5140558216_59e50c57e8_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1386" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>The name of the restaurant is <a href="http://sitkaandspruce.com/">Sitka and Spruce</a>. I've never actually eaten there, but they cook while you eat and watch. And use spices from this delightful spice rack<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139953549/" title="DSC_1382 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1127/5139953549_b67c6f1fa8_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1382" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Does the marble and bead board make you squeal too?<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139954001/" title="DSC_1383 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1137/5139954001_a82a2f8de1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1383" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Is the open fire in the back MORE than a dream come true??? What about the industrial range? Small change request, very small, but I wish those pots were copper. We are dreaming, right?<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5140556198/" title="DSC_1377 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4068/5140556198_dddd340018_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1377" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Even leaded glass windows and burlap curtains.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139953203/" title="DSC_1379 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1390/5139953203_db13655a55_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1379" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Aghhhh. Now the song "If I Had a Million Dollars" is playing in my head. How about you?</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll leave you with a teaser picture from our weekend, AND the exciting news that JEREMIAH will be in this space soon. I don't know why, but he told me he wanted to write a blog. I don't know what he plans to write about (he was very mysterious and hiding the computer from me when I tried to peek), but it's sure to be interesting!<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5139958685/" title="DSC_1438 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/5139958685_0743d6bb72_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1438" /></a><br /></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-79433354824694591142010-10-25T12:19:00.006-05:002011-01-28T15:46:01.757-06:00All For One......And One for All!!!<div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112294409/" title="DSC_1240 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1155/5112294409_eece2cd780_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1240" /></a><br /></div><div>This past week has been a doozy. My Dad flew in on Tuesday. Konie followed him on Wednesday.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112916886/" title="DSC_1323 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/5112916886_92e622fd8b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1323" /></a><br />Then my Aunt Jan, Uncle Michael, (cousin) Kimberly, and (her husband) Kevin followed on Thursday. AND Saturday, I was throwing a double birthday party with a Three Musketeers theme. Would you like a peek at my To-Do List for the week:</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112918074/" title="DSC_1333 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1374/5112918074_ea12412641_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1333" /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112918074/" title="DSC_1333 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"></a>I wrote it out because on Sunday I was having panic attacks about when and how I was going to get it all done. A list helps me like that. Even though I stayed approximately a day behind all week, I at least took comfort in knowing everything had an allotted time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Konie's arrival on Thursday was an absolute gift from God himself. She cleaned and entertained and never said "No" to any request the girls made. I think she went into a comma each night from how ragged Pace and Mary Aplin ran her. On Saturday morning before the big party, we both stepped out of our bedrooms bright and early to start to work...And we matched :)</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112891548/" title="DSC_1223 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1151/5112891548_54600ffeb7_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1223" /></a><br /></div><div>I've always been a sucker for a party theme, and Pace and Mary Aplin's request for a <a href="http://www.barbie.com/activities/fantasy/princess/musketeers/">Barbie and The Three Musketeers</a> birthday, was a party planning dream for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>(I hope you can read the poem, because I am <i>super</i> proud of it :))</div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112291995/" title="DSC_1220 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1189/5112291995_98593a19d3_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1220" /></a><div>The invitations were from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/babycakesart">this seller</a> on etsy. She was great, GREAT to work with and I love her stuff. The only complaint I have is that the actual invitations were smaller than I expected. She had the dimensions written in plain view, but I envisioned them as being larger. I bet she could make them bigger for you if you ask, though.</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112888494/" title="DSC_1212 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1105/5112888494_ef776875ed_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1212" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112289323/" title="DSC_1211 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/5112289323_7497195d3e_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1211" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112887760/" title="DSC_1209 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/5112887760_a68a133d2c_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1209" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112896062/" title="DSC_1256 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4133/5112896062_e8a4bdf78d_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1256" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112290455/" title="DSC_1215 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1413/5112290455_101dcb9d32_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1215" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112291457/" title="DSC_1218 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4129/5112291457_39e5b2d3bc_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1218" /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112291457/" title="DSC_1218 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5114645227/" title="DSC_1214 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1053/5114645227_15b96112d5_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1214" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112900022/" title="DSC_1293 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1431/5112900022_367d478fd2_z.jpg" width="427" height="640" alt="DSC_1293" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112293089/" title="DSC_1226 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4087/5112293089_e7ab5df7ee_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1226" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112294997/" title="DSC_1243 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4131/5112294997_c5edb0b6b1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1243" /></a><br /></div></div><div>No I did not make their capes. They also came from etsy, but <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/babypop">this seller</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, so after all that set up and all that planning, we began the wait to see if anybody would show up. I had this horrible fear that nobody was going to come and the girls would be scarred for life. Why would they come? They don't <i>know</i> us. And most of the people out here don't strike me as the types to throw a <i>themed</i> kids' birthday party. They probably think I'm nuts. I just <i>had</i> to write a rhyme on the invitation didn't I? </div><div><br /></div><div>Jeremiah got into the spirit and helped the girls work off some nervous energy as we waited...</div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112296041/" title="DSC_1251 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4147/5112296041_d0cb25d95e_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1251" /></a><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112296041/" title="DSC_1251 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"></a>And, since we were all dressed, we got a little family picture.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112295479/" title="DSC_1248 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1209/5112295479_a7a37640e6_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1248" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And slowly but surely (thank you Lord), they did come...</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112298199/" title="DSC_1274 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1109/5112298199_cb9eca0e28_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1274" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And they decorated Musketeer masks,</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5115280728/" title="DSC_1271 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1369/5115280728_0bd622e176_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1271" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And played "Disarm the Musketeer" (Our version of pin the tail on the donkey, which Konie manned like a champion)</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112297685/" title="DSC_1261 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1057/5112297685_8bf440f333_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1261" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And ate birthday cake</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112298799/" title="DSC_1276 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4145/5112298799_4e04763abd_z.jpg" width="640" height="427" alt="DSC_1276" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And danced along with Barbie at the Musketeer Ball</div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112301829/" title="DSC_1294 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1054/5112301829_77e435bc09_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1294" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>And got scared of that weird Southern woman who is <i>way</i> over-animated</div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112316635/" title="DSC_1309 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1376/5112316635_122f49c178_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1309" /></a><br /><br /><div>And everyone was so kind and we had such a good time, that I wondered what in the world I'd been so worried about all week.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112300671/" title="DSC_1289 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1384/5112300671_1fee0047a1_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1289" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112914968/" title="DSC_1303 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/5112914968_7849d4cd3a_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1303" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112317121/" title="DSC_1318 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1094/5112317121_a17deda2b4_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1318" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5112317601/" title="DSC_1320 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1365/5112317601_70c66072bd_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1320" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>By the end of the day, we were all feeling a little sugar-loaded, dazed, and confused...<div><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1378/5112318895_679d45133e_z.jpg" width="427" height="640" alt="DSC_1332" /></div><div>But oh-so-very thankful and happy.<br /></div></div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722187693151167525.post-9377122786701617932010-10-19T08:45:00.004-05:002011-01-28T15:46:35.035-06:00Come Away With Me<div>I haven't figured out how to only post once a week and not give you extremely long posts with a smattering of unlinked topics and pictures :). I may have to rethink this once-a-week thing, but for now---</div><div><br /></div><div>One of Jeremiah's attendings mentioned that he had a log cabin built on 1200 acres (!!!!!) in eastern Washington, where he had just finished building (as in, with his own hands) a two-story cedar barn. Don't you wish you'd been there to see Jeremiah try to <i>not</i> squeal with excitement? He told me he played it really cool and didn't invite himself, but we managed to end up there two days later. :) You can't start talking about vast amounts of land and cabins and expect us not to show up.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeremiah asked me early in the trip, if I was ready to call it "The Most Beautiful Drive" we'd ever taken, and I told him to hold his horses. We've taken a lot of beautiful drives lately. However, after driving by this aqua colored river for about 15 miles, rushing over boulders, through evergreens and scattered deciduous trees--I told him to pull over for some pictures, because he was right.</div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5073728289/" title="DSC_1096 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/5073728289_51d551fccf_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1096" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5073798823/" title="DSC_1103 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/5073798823_33f9348a7e_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1103" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5074396978/" title="DSC_1109 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/5074396978_fc38a3f297_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1109" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5073799947/" title="DSC_1111 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4087/5073799947_3b668d01b8_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1111" /></a><br />Even in cloud cover, without being able to see the tallest mountains, it was still the most beautiful drive I've ever experienced.<div><br /></div><div>Now don't think we weren't feeling a little anxious about the potential awkwardness of staying overnight with Jeremiah's boss, who he just met. What if the girls were unruly? What if we didn't have anything to talk about? What if Dr. Wagner didn't think we would <i>actually</i> take him up on his offer and now he was dreading us coming? How much food do you show up with so as not to be a mooch but also not look like you're making yourself <i>too</i> at home? I was a little short of breath when we arrived.... ...</div><div><br /></div><div>All for nought. Dr. Wagner immediately engaged the girls and crawled up into the loft to show them their special beds in the air. He's one of those people who has done a little bit of everything--riding a motorcycle across the Middle East, a fellowship in China, a <i>honeymoon</i> on his '67 BMW motorcycle... And then he's a dreamer and an idealist--always thinking of ways to improve spines and third world countries and energy consumption...<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5074397594/" title="DSC_1113 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/5074397594_82b52123c9_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1113" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>What I'm saying is, it was sort of my ideal evening :)<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5074397836/" title="DSC_1115 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/5074397836_685337bb73_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1115" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>We drove a different way home, to see what lay on the other side of the mountains. And we found lots of apple orchards.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5074399460/" title="DSC_1127 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4112/5074399460_b696416d4b_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1127" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5073801841/" title="DSC_1125 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/5073801841_e7991c2579_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1125" /></a><br />We stopped for some hot apple cider and pumpkin doughnuts, and the girls found their friend Mater<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5074399006/" title="DSC_1124 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/5074399006_7acbe84013_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1124" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Random insert--Mary Aplin turned three on the 13th!!!<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096774776/" title="DSC_1140 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/5096774776_dd6224cfec_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1140" /></a><br />And she hated every minute of it. I made pink and green cupcakes for her class (at her request). When we walked into school and all her friends cried, "Happy Birthday Mary Aplin!!!" she lifted her dress above her head and hid between my legs. The rest of the day she refused to talk to all the well-wishers on the phone and just grunted at everyone who wished her a happy day. She is a funny little bean, but we still can't get enough her. She adds a lot of spice to our life :)</div><div><br /></div><div>This weekend we went with some friends to a pumpkin farm a little south of Olympia.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096817214/" title="DSC_1190 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/5096817214_a370ec5f40_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1190" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>The pumpkins were a bit picked over, but the apple fritters, OHHHHH the apple fritters!! We stood in an hour-long line to get them, wondering what all the fuss could possibly be about. Boy, did we find out! This is as close as I could get for a picture without someone eating my camera.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096219417/" title="DSC_1188 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4144/5096219417_918a4cba1f_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1188" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>There was also a petting zoo.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096815286/" title="DSC_1149 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4125/5096815286_3213f16bb3_z.jpg" width="640" height="427" alt="DSC_1149" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096815618/" title="DSC_1161 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4087/5096815618_8af4ffd236_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1161" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Pace's gentle nature and tender heart was right at home.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096218905/" title="DSC_1169 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4130/5096218905_064376c577_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1169" /></a><br /></div><div>Tenderness does not come quite as naturally to the Dapples...<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096815888/" title="DSC_1165 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4052/5096815888_95810bf37b_z.jpg" width="427" height="640" alt="DSC_1165" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>"Why is this horse attached to a stick? This is not nearly as fun as Popon's farm. I can make those horses run wild. Get me down. I need more action."<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096816736/" title="DSC_1179 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4153/5096816736_798805664c_z.jpg" width="640" height="429" alt="DSC_1179" /></a><br />I'm always glad to act as her interpreter.</div><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/45166818@N03/5096220007/" title="DSC_1197 by abbymadd@gmail.com, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/5096220007_3b56853e6f_z.jpg" width="429" height="640" alt="DSC_1197" /></a><br /></div><div>Happy week! Sorry for the randomness. My Dad is coming in town today, and we have quite the little double birthday party planned this weekend. See you next week!</div>Abby Maddoxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06951393268311759695noreply@blogger.com14