tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62735801539268428242024-03-18T05:48:51.894-04:00Swoon Style and HomeShannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15435994921157570140noreply@blogger.comBlogger840125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-76478802565035801202019-03-26T08:00:00.000-04:002019-03-26T08:00:08.844-04:00Choose Love.<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello!<br />
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I have a good half dozen blog posts that are in varying degrees of completion in my "draft posts" on the blog. I have been looking for inspiration to finish them up, but in this case, inspiration found me. Just a week or so ago, a reader of the blog reached out to me via Pinterest message (where I'm pinning lots of white and cream filled rooms, naturally) and asked if I was still blogging. Her last line was, "just wanted you to know I miss it!" That seemingly small gesture meant a lot to me. And prompted me to dust off the laptop, log back into the blog, and reach for all of the words again.<br />
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Spare time is precious and rare these days. I know it is that way for everyone. We are all busy. We all have more than our fair share of stuff on our plates. But in the back of my mind, I knew that writing is something that I love to do, and much like running (which I am still doing), it is cathartic for me and more of a "who I am" than a "what I like to do."<br />
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The post today is one I've been working on for three years. I started it in February 2016 and I have added to it, tweaked it, stepped away, come back, edited, revised, reviewed, repeat. But there was something that kept holding me back from posting it. I am glad the 2016 (and 2017 ... and 2018 ...) me was hesitant to hit the publish button. In this case, I needed a lot of time, perspective, and apparently some neighborly advice from Mr. Rogers to round this one out. This past weekend, I decided to watch "Won't You Be My Neighbor" - the documentary about Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. As a child of the 1970s and 1980s, and I quite literally grew up with Mr. Rogers. I vividly remember waiting until after school to watch his show. I loved it all. I loved the gentleness of it compared with the fun of Sesame Street, which came on just before it. I loved the songs and the people. I loved the lessons. I loved the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. I loved his house and his sweaters and his yard. To a four-year old child in 1979 when television was really different than it is today, being with Mr. Rogers felt like I was <i>really with</i> Mr. Rogers, and he was talking directly to me; he felt like a member of my family. So, when I watched the documentary this weekend, I cried pretty much the entire time, and I sobbed at the end. If you have not watched it, I highly recommend it. Just prepare yourself for an emotional experience.<br />
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I had not thought about Mr. Rogers in decades. But here I was, sitting on my couch at 43, watching him and remembering and feeling like my heart was simultaneously heavy and light. What struck me as the adult-me, that I think the child-me understood but could not articulate, was how literally every single thing Mr. Rogers did and said was an expression of love. In fact, he kicks off the documentary by saying as much:<br />
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Love is at the root of everything - </h3>
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all learning all relationships - </h3>
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love or the lack of it. </h3>
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It was a punch in the gut and the heart because <i>ba boom - </i>there it is. It really is that simple. And his saying those words immediately brought me back to that serendipitous moment three years ago on my way to a swim in my YMCA's parking lot that originally inspired this post. I happened to walk past a car that had this bumper sticker on the back:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbjoMFiRg7xOznnEYCSDbP9EsnDnkejjU429WuPlXIRLHRNnJOu1jP8R5mPFkB6I0SKuTGfiiPG6yq8xEmSABGIHX3-6vAGSQSkTqDfNtYs3koSRA1hj5hQ-pnQaTmPGn4PIkNt9Mtgxr/s1600/IMG_9759609908A7-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbjoMFiRg7xOznnEYCSDbP9EsnDnkejjU429WuPlXIRLHRNnJOu1jP8R5mPFkB6I0SKuTGfiiPG6yq8xEmSABGIHX3-6vAGSQSkTqDfNtYs3koSRA1hj5hQ-pnQaTmPGn4PIkNt9Mtgxr/s640/IMG_9759609908A7-1.jpeg" width="358" /></a></div>
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The message stopped me right there in my tracks ... or in my cream velour track pants as it were. I stood there and stared at that bumper sticker on the back of the Prius, for what was more than a socially acceptable period of time, and cried. And then snapped a picture. This was the morning after what was, and still is, one of the ugliest encounters of my life, where I witnessed the most repugnant display of human vitriol that I had ever seen in my life. I was still reeling from that, so to see that message of love literally thrown right in front of my face was enough to be the douse of cold water in my face to rouse me from the ugliness of the night before. </div>
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It is such a simple message: choose love. Choose love. Choose. Love. Period. I think the period at the end of that sentence is more than punctuation - it is an essential part of the very message itself. It is not up for debate; it is not a question; it is not a light and fluffy exclamation; it is not open-ended; it is simple and declarative: choose love. Choosing love when things are <i>la la la </i>good is easy - when life is full of rainbows and hearts and unicorns and smiley faces. Choosing love when things are challenging, or when you're hurting or angry, is hard. Sometimes, love yields to anger. Anger is a much easier emotion. The pull to anger is so strong and so easy and so compelling. And that morning, when I saw the bumper sticker, I was so angry. The idea of choosing love, over that anger, seemed impossible and stupid. But operating from a place of anger was not something that felt right or natural to me. It still doesn't. Which is why Mr. Rogers' quote resonated with me. Love, or the lack of it, is at the heart of everything. It is that black or white.<br />
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I have a book* with the most helpful guidance on anger that I've ever seen:<br />
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<i>Anger is seductive and self-perpetuating - and an utter dead end for you.</i></div>
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<i>You can be furious from now until kingdom come, and it won't make one bit of difference.</i></div>
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<i>All the vocabulary, time, and energy you put into anger is being diverted from other, </i><br />
<i>more important areas of your life. </i></div>
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It is so right. Anger is, ultimately, a useless and self-destructive emotion. It's unavoidable, of course. We are human. We are going to get angry. We are going to get ugly, whether we give life to those ugly thoughts or internalize them, whether we act on those ugly feelings or not. We are going to say and do horrible things that we regret. We are going to make mistakes. We are going to struggle with forgiving those who make us angry, and we are going to struggle with forgiving ourselves.<br />
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This got me thinking about love and forgiveness. Forgiveness is just so tricky. On the one hand, we want to follow the adage and "forgive and forget." But do we really ever forget? And is it truly forgiveness if we <i>don't</i> forget? But how is forgetting possible? We can't go into the recesses of our heart and disconnect a painful memory. It would be so super nice if we could do that -- if we could say "I forgive you!" and forget what happened and never think of it again. No, life and love and forgiveness aren't that simple and don't work that way. After all, at the end of the day, when we realize we've screwed up and acknowledge it and say we are sorry, why is it so hard to give and receive forgiveness? Forgiveness requires a perfectly balanced interplay of love, compassion, and trust. Forgiveness is another way of choosing love - of putting aside the past and all of the empirical evidence before you and the pain, however acute, you are feeling and either saying to the one who hurt you: "it's ok. I forgive you. I love you", or having the conversation in the recesses of your own heart and on your own terms and quietly letting go of the anger that you felt for the person who hurt you. <br />
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As for me, and that encounter three years ago, I confess that I am still wrestling with some anger. I am still grappling with those conflicting feelings of knowing that anger is useless and ultimately destructive. Still. But when those angry feelings surface, I think of the wise words from the little white Prius: Choose Love. Period.<br />
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But more importantly when I start to go down that dark rabbit hole of anger, I try to focus on the love that I have in my life. This life is short, and there is an infinite amount of love in this world. At the end of the day, that's all that matters: feeling loved, feeling lovable, and letting others know they are loved and lovable. Which, of course, is something that Mr. Rogers said:<br />
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<i>Deep within us -- no matter who we are -- there lives a feeling of wanting to be lovable, </i></div>
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<i>of wanting to be the kind of person that others like to be with. </i></div>
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<i>A</i><i>nd the greatest thing we can do is </i><i>to let people know </i></div>
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<i>that they are loved and capable of loving.</i></div>
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I may not be able to stop the evil anger monster from rearing her ugly head or to readily and truly forgive someone who hurt me, but I can do this. I can show the people in my life who I love that I have chosen love (period) and that despite what you've done today or yesterday or 5 or 20 years ago, it is ok: I love you, and you are loved.<br />
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Choose love. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" /><br />
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* The book is <i>Stepcoupling: Creating and Sustaining a Strong Marriage in Today's Blended Family</i>, by Susan Wisdom & Jennifer Green. It is a fantastic resource for anyone in a blended family, step-parent, subsequent marriage. I re-read sections of it often. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com71tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-69528797653779964622017-12-06T07:00:00.000-05:002017-12-06T07:00:01.038-05:00The X Factor<div style="text-align: justify;">
X as in the Roman numeral 10. As in the number of years that my dear friend Maggie has been gone. As in that dark mark on the calendar on December 6 that will never go away. </div>
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I was recently chatting with a friend who lost her cousin around this time of year last year. We were saying that of course there is never an ideal time for someone to die unexpectedly (or even expectedly), but the holidays are a particularly brutal time for that to happen. To have that unbearably sad anniversary coincide with the joyful season of Advent and Christmas is just hard. It is why I found myself back in 2007, just a week after Maggie's passing, standing in the paper plate aisle of my local grocery store sobbing uncontrollably upon hearing the song <i>Ave Maria</i> playing. The world around me was celebrating and happy and joyous ... and I was in the throes of grief with no way out. But I got it together, I composed myself, took a deep breath, and finished my grocery shopping. Step by step, day by day, forward forward forward. Time doesn't stop for those who are grieving. And that is how we got to this point - 10 years from the date of her death. It's both the blink of an eye and a lifetime ago all at once. </div>
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Which is how I arrived at the title of this post. When I was thinking about it being the 10 year anniversary of her death, the Latin major in me immediately thought about that letter X for the number 10 ... which prompted me to think of the phrase "the X Factor." I looked it up and it seems so fitting: </div>
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<i>a factor with unknown or unforeseeable consequences</i></div>
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Her death was the X Factor in my life ... those unknown and unforeseeable consequences: a certain smell, a certain song, a food, a flashbulb memory. Things that are clearly connected to Maggie and her life and her memory, and then things that are seemingly unrelated, but for whatever reason, bring her to the forefront of my mind. Her X factor is a cycle of simultaneous comfort and sadness: comfort in that she is always there; sadness in that she is not <i>really</i> there.<br />
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I think about Maggie every single day. There is always something to remind me of her. And while her death is now something that I remember and think about, rather than palpably feel like I did in the beginning, every anniversary is still quite hard. We have all moved forward; we will never move "on". She would have wanted us to move forward and live and love our lives and laugh and seek joy and happiness. And I think that all of us who were left behind have done that. But there is a piece of me that is, and forever will be, stuck back in 2007, back in that Maryland hospital room where she breathed her last breath surrounded by her loved ones. I think of that often ... not in a morbid way, but as a not so gentle reminder that tomorrow is never promised. That we all went to bed on November 30 and said our goodnights and naively assumed December 1 would be a regular day and then the world turned upside down and then time and life paused -- for just a moment -- 5 days later on December 6 when she died. </div>
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This picture, from my friend Missy's wedding, is so very Maggie. She always managed to find her way behind a DJ booth and it was no surprise that she did so at weddings. I love that about this photo and love that she's so beautiful and smiling ... that she was grabbing that microphone and probably a second away from laughing that laugh that I miss so much. I wanted to leave you all, and myself, with this image of her. It makes me smile and my heart hurt just a bit less today. December 6 will always hurt. I will always be sad. I will always remember. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN5Arw0kXeF1RZh2sGIe_dKW6H_QU4U0oy9xsD7zbUL0oGHH2t75aRKhLk7PFohJV15oIgOVhYc-EOlP0TYvhxd-dZ7FJGoACMruZuDG6vOmJ7UYadzcRlGu_y5UL8liWcxQzXRoJ9FkD6/s1600/1917081_1289977526838_6530018_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="508" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN5Arw0kXeF1RZh2sGIe_dKW6H_QU4U0oy9xsD7zbUL0oGHH2t75aRKhLk7PFohJV15oIgOVhYc-EOlP0TYvhxd-dZ7FJGoACMruZuDG6vOmJ7UYadzcRlGu_y5UL8liWcxQzXRoJ9FkD6/s400/1917081_1289977526838_6530018_n.jpg" width="336" /></a></div>
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Maggie will always be young and beautiful. She will always be missed. I take great comfort in this traditional Irish blessing when I think of Maggie:<br />
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<i>May the road rise to meet you</i></div>
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<i>May the wind ever be at your back</i></div>
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<i>May the sun shine warm on your face</i></div>
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<i>and the rains fall soft upon your field</i></div>
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<i>And until we meet again</i></div>
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<i>may God hold you in the palm of His hand. </i></div>
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I was blessed to know Maggie and more blessed to have been her friend. I miss her. </div>
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<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com138tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-18256770133036066032017-11-17T07:00:00.000-05:002017-11-17T07:00:06.646-05:00The run will come out tomorrow <div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm running my first marathon in over two and a half years this weekend: the Philadelphia Marathon. The last marathon I did was the <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/05/race-recap-2015-novo-nordisk-new-jersey.html">NJ State Marathon in April 2015</a> and that race was, to be frank, an absolute, unmitigated disaster. Honestly, that could be the end of this post - I'm running a marathon, it's been years since I did this distance, and for the first time in well over three years, I am actually excited, and somewhat anxious, to run 26.2 miles.<br />
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My training has been fun and not a chore. Because this is not my first running rodeo, I know what to do. I've been diligent about my long runs and logging a handful of runs during the week. I have not been diligent about doing speedwork, but I know that I'll be fine come Sunday even without that. My long runs have been consistently strong, with one or two demoralizing clunkers (which, for anyone who has trained for a marathon knows, is par for the course when training for this distance). My head has been in the game. But more importantly, my heart has been in it. Really truly, 100% invested and in it. I have basically been like the below photo (from the 2017 Rock and Roll Half Marathon in Philadelphia, taken the moment I saw the five kids and my sweetheart cheering for me) for my entire training:<br />
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And therein lies the huge difference between this marathon and my last marathon back in 2015: the heart. In the training leading up to the NJ State Marathon, and on the race itself, my heart was simply not into it. I tried to convince myself to the contrary ... that <i>of course</i> my heart was in this race, <i>of course</i> I cared, <i>of course </i>I wanted to run and to BQ and to PR and to race and to ... no. It is like when my law school roommate and I decided to eat healthy and ate lots of tofu hot dogs for meals. We tried to convince ourselves that the tofu hot dogs were just as good as real ones and<i> OMG they are so so good right yes they are good yes they are super good</i> ... until the two of us went out and got real hot dogs when we realized how, ok, no tofu hot dogs were nowhere near as delicious as real hot dogs, real hot dogs were amazing. And tofu is stupid. My training for this race has been the real hot dog: I've loved every run, been thankful for every run, and even though I am not gunning for a BQ or a PR, I can't wait to lace up my shoes, play my horrendously amazing playlist and run 26.2 miles on a journey through the city I love. <br />
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On one of my final long training runs, I was settling in about 3 miles in. It was a picture perfect Fall day, and I was running so happy. I had just spent a lovely morning with my husband and was feeling super happy, super strong, and super blessed. I know in the age of the "hashtag blessed" phenomenon, that may be eyeroll inducing to some, but it's true and I really am blessed. As I let myself sink into my happiness, the song "Tomorrow" (yes, from <i>Annie</i>) came on my playlist. I had a flashbulb moment to mile 15 of the NJ State marathon where that song also came on. I remember thinking during that race how I really did need tomorrow to get here - I was suffering on the run, I was suffering in general and was just so profoundly unhappy. I had nothing left but hope that tomorrow would be better. And now, two and a half years later, here I was at my tomorrow with a life so good it was almost too good to be true. I had made it to the point that 2015 mile 15 me had hoped for. It was a beautiful full circle moment for me. <br />
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Here's to a great, fun run this weekend! I can't wait. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com194tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-66991393428084516762017-11-10T07:00:00.000-05:002017-11-10T07:00:20.372-05:00Sunrise Sunset Staircase<div style="text-align: justify;">
Back in late December 2016, I had to do a final clean-out of my townhome -- my little post-divorce landing pad that ended up being home for nearly five years. I'd been dreading it. There was just so much to do at our new home, and I really did not feel like taking a few hours of that precious time away to clean out my old place -- all of my furniture and things were gone, and the house was just an empty shell needing its final clean before I handed over the keys. It was something I had to do, so I sucked it up and went to my old empty home with an armful of cleaners, my vacuum cleaner and Pandora's Lionel Richie station at the ready. <br />
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I had, as is customary for me, an itemized plan of attack: first spackle the nail holes, then work my way up from the basement to the main floor and finally finish up on the third floor with the bedrooms and baths. Once all the nail holes were filled in, and about 15 minutes into my cleaning frenzy, I became acutely aware of just why it became necessary, rather than a luxury, to hire my house-cleaner. The basement was a pretty easy space to clean -- it held the kids' playroom and a small tv/game playing area, and of course my bike trainer. <i>So</i>.<i>many</i>.<i>hours</i>. on that bike trainer back in 2014. Basement - check. Up a floor I went. I cleaned the kitchen, and the fridge and oven and cabinets. I cleaned the living room. The fireplace. Tried in vain one last time to get out that purple nail polish stain in the one spot on the carpet where my then-5 year old had a pedicure mishap. Main floor - check. Up the steps to my last floor - first my bedroom and then my bathroom, which used to have horrible wallpaper that I painstakingly took down and painted instead. Then the kids' bathroom - check. Then the kids' rooms - check. And finally, after about 4 hours on a cold December morning, I was done. The list was checked off. The to-dos were done. <br />
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I grabbed all of the cleaning supplies and threw them (literally - I literally threw them) in the car, along with the vacuum. I took out the last few bags of trash. I did one final walk through to make sure I had cleaned every nook and cranny, turned off all of the lights, and taken all of my things. Check. Only, instead of bounding down the stairs and heading out the door without looking back, I found myself looking around with tears in my eyes at my now empty home. And home it was: what was intended to be a temporary landing pad had become my home for over four years. <br />
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It was a good place. It was a necessary step in my new life. I sat down on the main staircase and remembered doing the exact same thing in the exact same spot right after I signed my lease. I remember I was there on a weekday afternoon in April 2012 waiting for the cable people to come and for whatever reason, at that moment, sitting there on the grey carpeted steps of a completely empty home made my whole situation real: this is your home, this is happening, this is yours - yours, <i>singular</i>, yours. It was overwhelming and terrifying and exciting and very, very real. That was one of those flashbulb moments that we all have in our lives - those little random snippets of time that stick with us forever. I don't remember the day or what I was wearing or what else was happening otherwise in my life, but I remember sitting on those steps and realizing that life as I knew it had completely changed. Over those four + years, we made the townhouse a home - lost teeth, hugs, laughs, tears, milestones, Band-aids, boo-boos, messes, puzzles, good news, bad news, you name it. <br />
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And there I sat years later in the very same spot, but in a completely different place. It was a true sunrise/sunset moment in my life. </div>
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I was ready and excited for my new home with my soon to be husband and our new family. But there was something so bittersweet about saying goodbye to the home that saw me from those first moments of bewilderment and fear to the woman I had become and to the life that I had obtained. I wouldn't necessarily miss the house, but I felt a twinge of sadness to say goodbye to the home. Which brings it all full circle ... <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2012/07/home-is-where-your-heart-is.html">back to the first blog post I published upon my separation</a>. Over those four years, I realized that a home was not a house and a house was not a home - that "home" was the people you love, rather than a structure in which you live. And now, almost a year later, my home is with my darling husband and children in the wonderful family that we have created in the beautiful house in which we live. But there will be forever a piece of me that is grateful for that little home that was there for me when I started my life over, at my most vulnerable, and became a place of safety, security and love. </div>
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<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-24176986930774940152017-06-01T07:00:00.000-04:002017-06-01T07:00:32.731-04:00stuck in the middle with you<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unbelievably, my son is heading off to middle school next year. He is but days away from going from elementary school to middle school -- from child to tween overnight. From little kid to kid. It happened in the blink of an eye - baby to toddler to preschool to kindergarten to fifth grade. And now we are here - right in the middle.<br />
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I am certainly not the first parent to hit this watershed moment. I'm not the first to clutch her child's wrists and say "ahhhh I am so excited for you!" with genuine love and real excitement, but with a sharp twinge of trepidation. Sending my child to middle school is big time. It's a palpable letting go, and on the mom scale, or at least my own personal mom scale, it's painful. It's more painful than dropping off my infant at daycare; it's more painful than dropping my kindergartener at his first day; it's more painful than the first overnight apart; it's more painful than any of those moments because in all of those, I knew he needed me and I would be there. Now, he still needs me, and I am still there, but this is a time for me to let go and for him to take a giant step forward on his own. There's no going or looking back. Onward we go. Together, but with him taking the lead.<br />
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Middle school is a "wings" moment. I once read that the most lasting bequests a parent can give her child is roots and wings. I think of parenting, and so many of these important moments, in those terms. To be sure, the move to middle school is a big wings moment. It's time for him to spread his wings, and it is time for me to let him do it and for me to not only let go quite a bit, but also to trust that the roots I've helped him set down thus far are strong ones. </div>
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I have seen the transformation this year, and it has been like watching erosion -- subtle, slow changes that hit me not at all in the moment in which they happened, but dramatically as I look back. I have watched my then-10 year old 5th grader on his first day walk in to his elementary school with childlike excitement slowly grow into a nearly middle school kid with dreams of bigger and more ... bigger school, bigger kids, more challenges, more excitement, more freedom. He is ready. I am the one who is anxious. </div>
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I went to his middle school orientation the other night. It all sounded amazing ... all the challenges and the curriculum and the activities and opportunities -- so many incredible things that are all there for the taking. Every single administrator, teacher, counselor, and volunteer stressed what a fantastic experience the school would be. And every single one touched on one common theme: it is time to let go a little. It's scary, yes. But it is time. </div>
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And as I sat there and listened and took it all in, I realized how apropos that it is called "middle" school. He is heading into that middle period of adolescence -- the middle, the muck, where you do the hard work and figure out who you are (and who you're not) and what you're made of (and what you're not) and what true mettle is. It is a temporary, and yet an extraordinarily difficult and necessary, step in what makes someone who he or she is. It reminds me of the training period for a big race: it isn't always fun, it isn't always pretty, it's long and sustained and hard and challenging and there are moments of progress but for the most part it is a lot of hard work and grind and put your head down and forge your way to a future that you aren't really sure of, all the while with lingering doubt in your head of whether you can do it, surely you can do it ... yes you can do it and you will do it, but man is this hard. <i>lather-rinse-repeat. round and round we go. </i></div>
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I, of course, have the benefit, and perhaps the curse, of hindsight. I vividly remember middle school, and while I work hard to separate my own experiences from those that my children have so that I do not project my own fears and past onto them, I still remember. I remember that exhilaration of my first real brush with freedom. I remember actually feeling like a big kid. I remember meeting the older kids when I was in 6th grade and on the third day of school, 7th grader Kathy Vazquez told me that I was pretty ... which was the first time in my life anyone not a family member had said that to me. I remember devastation and heartache and challenges. I remember that push/pull of simultaneously wanting to be big but wanting to be little, of wanting to be a teenager but secretly wanting to play and to be a child ... of being completely stuck in this seemingly permanent middle. </div>
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I hope in middle school my son takes advantage of every opportunity to grow. I hope that the inevitable heartache and struggles that he will experience will also teach him empathy and fortitude. I hope that he tries things he never dreamed possible. I hope that when he makes mistakes that he says he is sorry and tries again. I hope that he tries his very best. I hope that when he fails, he picks up the pieces and tries again. I hope that he holds true to the child who he is now - that he preserves the essence of him, of the same little sweet soul that stole my heart when he was born. I hope he knows that his family - and especially his mommy - will always have his back. <br />
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My kids told me that it is a tradition in their elementary school on the last day for the outgoing 5th graders to walk around the perimeter of the halls and for all of the teachers and current students to do a boisterous send-off with clapping and excitement and cheers and high-fives. I love that (and honestly I burst into tears when my kids told me about it the first time). As for me, my send-off will be far less boisterous, but equally heartfelt. I'm stuck here in the middle with him. I'll continue to be the mom that I am and love him and teach him right from wrong. I'm not really ready right this second for middle school and all that comes with it, but ready or not here it comes.<br />
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Stuck in the middle with you,<br />
Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you,<br />
Stuck in the middle with you, here I am stuck in the middle with you. ~</div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-23788756358586562022017-04-03T07:00:00.000-04:002017-04-03T07:00:08.258-04:00Take me home ... country roads<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have a pretty good memory for even the smallest details. So my memories of my childhood and growing up are pretty vivid. I remember at a very young age rifling through my parents' cassette tape collection and playing so many musical treasures on their then-state of the art tape deck, throwing on a sparkly tutu (or way too tight leotard) and ballet shoes and creating dances with my sister. There were so many songs ... ABBA, Diana Ross, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Olivia Newton John, Kenny Rogers (I am really not doing any favors to my parents right now, but this music was/is amazing). But the song that most quickly brings me back to my childhood and to a real, palpable feeling, is John Denver's "Country Roads." I remember playing it, laying on the couch with my legs propped up on the couch back and staring at an old oil painting we had hanging over the couch. This one:</div>
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I have no idea where or when my parents got that painting, but if there's one thing that reminds me of home, it's that. I remember staring up at it, while listening to "Country Roads" and just daydreaming about the words and letting myself sink into that painting and the dirt roads and the house in the back and into the song itself and the country he was singing about (nevermind that I thought he said "mountain llama" instead of "mountain momma"). </div>
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But this one always got me, and to this day sticks with me: </div>
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<i>Country roads, take me home</i></div>
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<i>To the place I belong</i></div>
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I took those words to heart and very literally in 2012-2013 when I was newly on my own and felt like I had no real home. So I went back home - to the place I was born and the place I belonged -- where my parents still lived and my grandmothers and most of my family. There was no greater comfort than home. My folks would watch my kids and I'd go for runs, endless runs for endless miles, on those country roads. </div>
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Fields and flowers. Pickup trucks and creeks. Puffy clouds and old barely-standing barns. Trees and windy roads and creaky bridges. Every run I would head out on my way and feel so much more centered when I came back. I can't imagine that any other place in the world would have given me that clarity and grounding than the place where I was from ... those country roads at home. </div>
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By running at home -- the place where I belonged -- I felt more me and more able to handle whatever this new life of mine had in store. It was terrifying. But I was grounded and centered. And even as I felt ever more confident and more settled in my new life, I would still return home as much as I could and run those familiar roads and see my family and those familiar places ... home was home was home and always would be and always will be. </div>
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I have a new home now with a wonderful husband and my wonderful children and my wonderful step-children. My heart (and my home) is full. Life is good. I found the love of my life and happiness greater than I dreamed possible. As it turns out, those country roads did lead me right home ... to the place I belong. </div>
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You took me home, country roads. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Shannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15435994921157570140noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-42730877891665057332017-03-21T07:00:00.000-04:002017-03-21T07:00:26.398-04:00The Gift of the Present<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: justify;">A couple of summers ago, I was in a teeny tiny little town in Wisconsin for work and happened to walk past a sweet store on the main drag. The shop had little gifty things and as I passed the window I saw a hand-painted sign that said "</span><i style="text-align: justify;">enjoy this moment, for this moment is your life.</i><span style="text-align: justify;">" I went along my merry way in search of (delicious and amazing) cheese-curds and beer, but that got me thinking a lot about the past, present and future and the careful, but necessary, navigation of the balance of all three in my life. The past is gone; the future is uncertain. All we have is the present moment in which we live, and each of those moments becomes the thread that ties together the tapestry of what is, ultimately, our lives.</span><br />
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The lesson from the little wooden sign was precisely perfect. Yet, as much as I would love to focus solely on the present, it's really hard to put that into practice. I have always been a very future-oriented person. I set goals - big, juicy goals - and I usually attain them. It may take time and hard work and there are usually a bunch of setbacks and failures along the way, but I eventually get there. And then I set another goal. The goal setting is good, and it's important, and it is part of who I am. But a constantly forward-looking life misses so many beautiful moments in the present. I've come to realize that if I set my sights on the day that has yet to come, I am losing the days that are here right now -- a life looking only at the future is not a life well lived. </div>
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Likewise, I find myself thinking about the past a bit. I try - hard - not to dwell on it, but I can't help but be guided by choices I've made, and things that happened in my life, as I live my life in the present. The past has made me who and what I am today, and with all my flaws and messes (and believe you me, there are many), I like who I am. To be sure, there have been some pretty significant peaks and some equally significant valleys, but I am in a place where I really know myself. But shedding the rough stuff of the past is far easier said than done. It's like a rear view mirror -- you look back and want to leave the past back where it belongs, but objects in mirror are closer than they appear. </div>
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And now the present, and that delicate balance of being guided by the lessons and mistakes of the past while looking to the future with hopeful optimism, but having just a single big toe dipped in each. The present is where it all happens: it's the place to feel the feels. It's the only place to feel joy or to feel sadness. It's where we laugh and cry. It's where we can hug and kiss the ones we love. It's where we touch and hear and taste and see. It's where our heart swells and breaks. The present is where life happens and if you blink -- poof -- it is gone. <br />
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So, rather than being too forward focused or stuck in the past, I am making an effort to live more in the here and now. Rather than wring my hands and fret and ask "what is going to happen?", I am changing the punctuation from a question to a statement -- yes: what <i>is</i> going to happen. What is going to happen, and it's up to me to make it happen. No matter what the what is that happens, I'll be ready for it. I am pulling those big toes out of the past and future and jumping - full boar - into the present with the accompanying chance to really experience life, with eyes fully open to the <strike>possibility</strike> probability of failure and of setbacks, but with the knowledge that with soaking up the moments -- good and bad, easy and challenging, wonderful and horrible -- of the present brings the possibility of life's ultimate reward.<br />
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It's the perfect present.<br />
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<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Shannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15435994921157570140noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-1059349657770572002017-03-15T07:00:00.000-04:002017-03-15T07:00:14.317-04:00Stowe In Love<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="text-align: justify;">That's right! We got married! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3VKR6uF-wUlOTEnQceLi_uExNY63Fh6RY55xsYTvQz9NqXbLJJErJfnVMcBTalBfcQByibGRjUofB1hwosTC_1DQ0aHHugqptIWSyVhD1XH1uP-Oj8bTgcoxSRZ3nwfE6FO5MJmMgoYX/s1600/wedding8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3VKR6uF-wUlOTEnQceLi_uExNY63Fh6RY55xsYTvQz9NqXbLJJErJfnVMcBTalBfcQByibGRjUofB1hwosTC_1DQ0aHHugqptIWSyVhD1XH1uP-Oj8bTgcoxSRZ3nwfE6FO5MJmMgoYX/s1600/wedding8.jpg" /></a></div>
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I mentioned in my <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2016/12/rockpaperscissors-shoot.html">last post</a> back at the end of last year that Matt and I got engaged and that we were planning to get married soon. And marry we did in early January! We knew that we wanted a completely private ceremony for just the two of us so that we could focus exclusively on the real meaning behind our wedding: each other and our love for, and our promises to, one other. We loved this plan, and are planning a wedding with the kids that is focused on them and on us all becoming a new family in a few months, with a huge housewarming/we got married! party for our friends and family soon thereafter. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKc0epYC3HSixhhkW52sjaYeTXcrhR9xKXb0wMOSaRJQj0uC_n34aVzGzCxw9Y0sdiBdrMf-lTesRNV_FhunOaFW0iRUVIEps3UXisv5D-ikevzcvqtKoqMIjj96-P5rCaqclnS3X-otU/s1600/wedding1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKc0epYC3HSixhhkW52sjaYeTXcrhR9xKXb0wMOSaRJQj0uC_n34aVzGzCxw9Y0sdiBdrMf-lTesRNV_FhunOaFW0iRUVIEps3UXisv5D-ikevzcvqtKoqMIjj96-P5rCaqclnS3X-otU/s1600/wedding1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwjFeZ4hbxXfEzLMEWgV66RGZVscCqy1OC_CbuHsBvbRp7N2uZ1tYdWQlOx3uEjjidJ4fUne5t_4fGNiBJjND-PfRGy0U14rIMSIxWn38Eh3-YAKgICC1QRtyoEUsPCqCD21LNfpFFlBV/s1600/wedding2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwjFeZ4hbxXfEzLMEWgV66RGZVscCqy1OC_CbuHsBvbRp7N2uZ1tYdWQlOx3uEjjidJ4fUne5t_4fGNiBJjND-PfRGy0U14rIMSIxWn38Eh3-YAKgICC1QRtyoEUsPCqCD21LNfpFFlBV/s1600/wedding2.jpg" /></a></div>
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We chose a small inn, the <a href="http://www.stonehillinn.com/">Stone Hill Inn</a>, in Stowe, Vermont. It was perfect: intimate, beautiful and, as an added bonus, it catered to people like us who wanted private weddings/elopements -- they had an entire package designed just for that purpose, with a few nights' stay, the officiant, some flowers and even dinner afterwards. We worked with a really kind Justice of the Peace and basically created our own ceremony and wrote our own vows so that the wedding ceremony was perfectly suited for us. Our ceremony was sweet, meaningful, and completely us; I can still remember every single moment of it. One thing we splurged on, which was worth every single penny, was to hire a photographer, <a href="http://www.llphoto.com/">Kathleen Landwehrle</a>, to capture the ceremony and some beautiful photos after. We lucked out with truly spectacular weather: snow on the ground but a warmish 45 degree air temperature and sunshine! We also lucked out that our photographer Kathleen was a super cool person with a great sense of humor who drove us around Stowe (and her car satellite radio was set on The Bridge, which is my favorite station ever!). Here are few more of my favorite shots.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtQ0iw0Jtp1tC29UI-f_j5Skv9d8xUiZrEXVXEkISoVGi7QevlS7fayFYWfK3Lglun_kQDuD2CgxMLmjjsuUF_7hjmlCwtTjJH4YoMuVbcclzgQQc6lpbkDBt5tzpNX_lPaqI8OyLfHDq/s1600/wedding5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtQ0iw0Jtp1tC29UI-f_j5Skv9d8xUiZrEXVXEkISoVGi7QevlS7fayFYWfK3Lglun_kQDuD2CgxMLmjjsuUF_7hjmlCwtTjJH4YoMuVbcclzgQQc6lpbkDBt5tzpNX_lPaqI8OyLfHDq/s1600/wedding5.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWfDA501TQtSIKyAGQsV-B321LCtdWbVJDAlN7Xj4eZcPARYZKWtKhgT2nSgLHnSJBUe8Ca7hSD0iyz0WiqI267CE5_rHa7pf_UrMwOYjK6JQKtL1TrKFVIyKYqU8UbDjWak8d7CXJFf9/s1600/wedding6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWfDA501TQtSIKyAGQsV-B321LCtdWbVJDAlN7Xj4eZcPARYZKWtKhgT2nSgLHnSJBUe8Ca7hSD0iyz0WiqI267CE5_rHa7pf_UrMwOYjK6JQKtL1TrKFVIyKYqU8UbDjWak8d7CXJFf9/s1600/wedding6.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_3C2-lhLf48qV-popLFQDt2ru3_GuSGlDIyqG5YLEg_X24lMzphDj4egDEMQBHzCKlTdXWTE7dhOaeYPRoLrzS7327mlrF771Nm9MiBWlHVYk02kX-Q5X6sLY3kBXFIqd-62k7iLt37zv/s1600/wedding7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_3C2-lhLf48qV-popLFQDt2ru3_GuSGlDIyqG5YLEg_X24lMzphDj4egDEMQBHzCKlTdXWTE7dhOaeYPRoLrzS7327mlrF771Nm9MiBWlHVYk02kX-Q5X6sLY3kBXFIqd-62k7iLt37zv/s1600/wedding7.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyr7bRedlLlXpm58iIpA1sckD9mL70Vh8xWr4D4HLYAeG94lFeSOAbYaYwUJeMHDZOgyIYk3My9Yr0LBWO_8s4I_IACMtLpMKMnx56sUmjtBhD2NMZT2DSycfx0ycHgy89x7QcrFf1ST4/s1600/wedding9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyr7bRedlLlXpm58iIpA1sckD9mL70Vh8xWr4D4HLYAeG94lFeSOAbYaYwUJeMHDZOgyIYk3My9Yr0LBWO_8s4I_IACMtLpMKMnx56sUmjtBhD2NMZT2DSycfx0ycHgy89x7QcrFf1ST4/s1600/wedding9.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSj1BUl1FZ-6bl7SxaT-Naj68BSVvkFYScqdSjWhSXp6x92d9Bp9uqcecmXxU1lKp099w5RFVxwH_0vdJZCwaukLFJQZ4Eh_sEnL4dxpnd7I7u0R_zoe428hx9e5ORsrZNRSfB6GlRzoSJ/s1600/wedding10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSj1BUl1FZ-6bl7SxaT-Naj68BSVvkFYScqdSjWhSXp6x92d9Bp9uqcecmXxU1lKp099w5RFVxwH_0vdJZCwaukLFJQZ4Eh_sEnL4dxpnd7I7u0R_zoe428hx9e5ORsrZNRSfB6GlRzoSJ/s1600/wedding10.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Sigh</i> ... it was the most perfect day, celebrated in the most perfect way, with the love of my life -- {married} life is good.</div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-35966855869573134402016-12-30T07:00:00.000-05:002016-12-30T07:00:18.636-05:00Rock/Paper/Scissors ... shoot!Or blog, as the case may be. <br />
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The last few months of 2016 were a blur of new and good things for me - many major life changes all rolled up together, all at once, all in a firestorm tornado of glitter rainbows craziness.</div>
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<b><u>Rock</u></b> - We got engaged in September! We are getting married soon. Very soon!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtkXkm7MHIt3CXVFCr-jlEQWcXLKQgAx11g_VdeWwxthPPgQmbEltZLPiRGjxtCg2RFofTGIkWPvW9ghYUcJTqUJ16Gx54I6uxD2f41ELMmGcKIzFGqrf382HpjCPJxGa3pJqFGFCnzrE/s1600/IMG_6837+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirtkXkm7MHIt3CXVFCr-jlEQWcXLKQgAx11g_VdeWwxthPPgQmbEltZLPiRGjxtCg2RFofTGIkWPvW9ghYUcJTqUJ16Gx54I6uxD2f41ELMmGcKIzFGqrf382HpjCPJxGa3pJqFGFCnzrE/s400/IMG_6837+2.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Paper</u></b> - We bought a house! Lots and lots and lots of paperwork with that whole process. Get used to seeing this badboy on the blog. There is so much to do, including and especially new siding and decking in the Spring. We love our new home - not just the structure (which is super cool), but in what it represents for a shared new space for us and our children to forge our new family.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0qDs45HrnQ5VPrep8g5Bnt82UYgFkRM7oIszXbTMjY_4z4qGFnskhkiuNt922HOJFkDL8k-GFtVG2wiTilmvYyY2qfftuMnwMmIS8UCzzAtau5qVyF5VJsvFHcVx9rx7gIIszpx5Bw6Ef/s1600/newhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0qDs45HrnQ5VPrep8g5Bnt82UYgFkRM7oIszXbTMjY_4z4qGFnskhkiuNt922HOJFkDL8k-GFtVG2wiTilmvYyY2qfftuMnwMmIS8UCzzAtau5qVyF5VJsvFHcVx9rx7gIIszpx5Bw6Ef/s400/newhouse.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Scissors</u></b> - I cut ties with the old and got a new job [and a new commute]! It's a completely different position at a new place doing completely new things. And while unfortunately, I am beholden to a train schedule again, I love my new job so much that it actually makes the commute worth it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSe_QcUOfONuVzuQpNfbyJP8HyuXaNA75-Tv2Wngv-SjggZ1qjdWkhSwpM4XhR6cRTuP29uMFh4KWXqBK2cselQFamz6UbEuozRUZKpnMI63LTdCEFSmk55qh3T6bYDD2OWiZoAL-3Cm3I/s1600/septa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSe_QcUOfONuVzuQpNfbyJP8HyuXaNA75-Tv2Wngv-SjggZ1qjdWkhSwpM4XhR6cRTuP29uMFh4KWXqBK2cselQFamz6UbEuozRUZKpnMI63LTdCEFSmk55qh3T6bYDD2OWiZoAL-3Cm3I/s400/septa.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Shoot</u></b>! or, <b><u>Blog</u></b>! With all of these changes (especially the new house), I have lots to share. I am hoping to blog a bit more in 2017 (which is to say, I am hoping to blog in 2017) and share the good things with you. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-9714418554082265512016-08-24T07:00:00.000-04:002016-08-24T07:00:08.219-04:00Re-moralizing<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello! It's been more than a minute. While I am clinging to the last bits of Summer with my super strong grip, it's really almost over. How does this happen every single year? This Summer has been fantastic - filled with adventures, fun, trips, laughter, memories, fun and love. I truly haven't had a moment to crack open the computer. I <strike>think</strike> know that's the way it's supposed to be. </div>
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One of the things I wanted to do this Summer was to enjoy running (and swimming and biking [kinda]) for their own sakes and not really "train", but to do them because I love them and not because I am working toward a certain race or time goal. As a result, I've run a lot, I've swum a bit, and I've biked virtually not at all. And yet, there was still something tethering me to the whole "training" thing -- this guy:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcqnpdrK6v5uQkTcnBz3BvlqvxOslkCqP7tR1GID1gd5IjAN43YM4WHb7AKQx1U-XjQ6XShqME1FXobTuFTCpLxdDf8n9H8MrZial187buAgtKx5q7MsLDySzBvYYGIYULkx_3-uEJZ4/s1600/photo+1+%25289%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcqnpdrK6v5uQkTcnBz3BvlqvxOslkCqP7tR1GID1gd5IjAN43YM4WHb7AKQx1U-XjQ6XShqME1FXobTuFTCpLxdDf8n9H8MrZial187buAgtKx5q7MsLDySzBvYYGIYULkx_3-uEJZ4/s640/photo+1+%25289%2529.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*note* this is a very old picture</td></tr>
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A month or so ago, I was swimming with Matt at an outdoor lap pool that we belong to. I felt great. My swim felt strong. And fast. And it felt so good to be in the water. I felt like Katie Ledecky. Or Michael Phelps. I did about 1000 yards, touched the side of the pool, hit the "stop" button on my watch and then ... boom. </div>
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In an instant, I went from this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Nccmj7fNjPQfHKsWLmCssogzK1pWMvhXOEuVCMS2w_eRwONr25J0KbabY_ZMH12DizLQTMiSsyG9lCOndP7LQ_iH9ErSUz2msbY8fP787DNdA1fa00FBrMW28YTMX2-otV97fq13qX0D/s1600/slpswim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Nccmj7fNjPQfHKsWLmCssogzK1pWMvhXOEuVCMS2w_eRwONr25J0KbabY_ZMH12DizLQTMiSsyG9lCOndP7LQ_iH9ErSUz2msbY8fP787DNdA1fa00FBrMW28YTMX2-otV97fq13qX0D/s400/slpswim.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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to this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcOFnBdLkKjbBLToYOYgQFZLG_efkbaZOnTox38yY3xo7YqFwI5N7fpyM4fDf8FkTd_PR7-0E1WVP2dDLNhTc4cGe7lpJL0XCDISE1GunF6DUUfPaxLX9UoFAMpy4FEwFQcIns5WelUYi/s1600/slpswim3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcOFnBdLkKjbBLToYOYgQFZLG_efkbaZOnTox38yY3xo7YqFwI5N7fpyM4fDf8FkTd_PR7-0E1WVP2dDLNhTc4cGe7lpJL0XCDISE1GunF6DUUfPaxLX9UoFAMpy4FEwFQcIns5WelUYi/s400/slpswim3.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>
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Sad kitten. I looked at my stats and said out loud "ugh. it is so demoralizing to see my pace." My face fell and the swim that I was just two seconds earlier thrilled with didn't seem so great anymore. Fast became slow; great became bad; happy became sad. Matt always tells me that he thinks I am a great athlete, so when he heard me say the word "demoralizing" and get down on myself, he had a little come to Jesus talk with me instantly -- and I came to realize, in talking with him, that I was comparing myself to an unrealistic version of myself. I was looking at my times now, and even though I knew, and know, that I am not in Ironman or BQ shape anymore, I was holding myself to that standard. Which is ridiculous. I didn't become the Ironman athlete that I was overnight: it took intensely hard work and dedication and time. But, yet, I still couldn't help but see the numbers and compare. My runs were slower too. Every run, I'd fire up my watch and when I finished, I'd be glad I did it, but never truly happy with the run. Matt had a suggestion that seemed almost impossible at first: <i>ditch the watch. Stop using it. Run without it. Swim without it. Bike (hahaha if I get on the bike) without it. </i>I wondered how I would track my runs ... but did it matter? How would I know how fast (or slow) I was going ... but did it matter? What about the data ... but did it matter? The answer, of course, is no -- it doesn't matter right now. So I decided to take the watch off and do all of my workouts without it. In a bout of serendipitous timing, my friend Heather was wanting to use a triathlon watch, so I happily loaned her mine. It made me happy to let my sweet friend use my watch: the same thing that was bringing me down made her so very happy. </div>
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I've decided to "re-moralize" myself and run completely untethered to any time or pace keeping device. To truly just run and swim and bike and not worry about how fast or slow. I am going to run the Philly Rock & Roll Half Marathon in September and will run without my watch. I'm kind of training for it (which is to say I am making sure to do a longish run each week ... and having run for so many years, I know all the different distances of routes around here, so I can be sure I am running long enough). At first, it was weird. It kind of still is. My hand instantly searches for my watch to hit that "start" button at the beginning of each run. But I've quickly developed a true love of being unplugged. Some of my runs are still struggles (summer-humidity-heat), but most of them I come away feeling happy and fulfilled. That's what it's all about for me right now.</div>
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Just yesterday I decided to run in one of my favorite places: Peace Valley Park in Chalfont. I've run there a handful of times, and I love it. It's around this beautiful lake. I was telling Matt all about it and I realized I don't have to just tell him -- I could share it with him. I didn't have to fret about my watch and my pace. I could just stop, take a picture, text it and start running again. Here are some of my favorite spots from this run.</div>
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This is where I start and end (it is a 6 mile loop). It's so lovely. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMMxrcMDfrRcVa9GEEtCGbOd_DcLj4G9FikaHGGr6OoDHFzyEd_pzdBAWQxtF6pUcW-dgTkAIdofsw-I4-e36mHoaUZ-eJvJg6wUqog2Yim9rkZSMTqAValFYDAK2_LRfxsU6Fe3JxpxYi/s1600/IMG_6667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMMxrcMDfrRcVa9GEEtCGbOd_DcLj4G9FikaHGGr6OoDHFzyEd_pzdBAWQxtF6pUcW-dgTkAIdofsw-I4-e36mHoaUZ-eJvJg6wUqog2Yim9rkZSMTqAValFYDAK2_LRfxsU6Fe3JxpxYi/s640/IMG_6667.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is about 2 miles in. I love this little spot because you've been in a kind of wooded spot for awhile and then you turn a corner and see the lake again. And I know I'm almost at the bridge, which is the half way point. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxaeQt1wVkEvxOyXkT2q-YRXaHKu0a59kulyvbYMnnwdW9rzeCSgCeCrK2oCNO1WVvGgddsyBbUSMHxmN7zvy7BidVmZojAY09QatcTlhdaPDPiVNgzAGCRrq-acC0-NFrFrqhhW4rvvf7/s1600/IMG_6668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxaeQt1wVkEvxOyXkT2q-YRXaHKu0a59kulyvbYMnnwdW9rzeCSgCeCrK2oCNO1WVvGgddsyBbUSMHxmN7zvy7BidVmZojAY09QatcTlhdaPDPiVNgzAGCRrq-acC0-NFrFrqhhW4rvvf7/s640/IMG_6668.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The bridge! This is just shy of the half way point, but I love it because it's a fun little landmark. You know you're about halfway done the loop. In the second photo you can see the dam <i>allllllll</i> the way in the distance. That's the end of the loop.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod0hvxP5_3ebYvsl-k5mzpn236uAvrS2bMwx5nw5n3_e4Dj0-C0Ew-lA8epJmw5XPKJWlwsAjAI9T7y8EyKU6Hyi4BiCDk4f2xvwYtK1LZXX_jwlBPl0D-TCmqDR7GAzIbO3iEYbN_AOV/s1600/IMG_6669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod0hvxP5_3ebYvsl-k5mzpn236uAvrS2bMwx5nw5n3_e4Dj0-C0Ew-lA8epJmw5XPKJWlwsAjAI9T7y8EyKU6Hyi4BiCDk4f2xvwYtK1LZXX_jwlBPl0D-TCmqDR7GAzIbO3iEYbN_AOV/s640/IMG_6669.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wGpLYsS82T-nTvXteJnHvD5IWY1C5UlG3ScrdJ_eW756Zb2EzYlrWlfvlzt5sEkfPJZxGfA8Y7D5u-NMUXCuMJ5bjvNyqXTP9GtfQLHnsKgABy4EP5kzeNDhJuEc6nnQIkcGVH6aE_ej/s1600/IMG_6670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wGpLYsS82T-nTvXteJnHvD5IWY1C5UlG3ScrdJ_eW756Zb2EzYlrWlfvlzt5sEkfPJZxGfA8Y7D5u-NMUXCuMJ5bjvNyqXTP9GtfQLHnsKgABy4EP5kzeNDhJuEc6nnQIkcGVH6aE_ej/s640/IMG_6670.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Once you cross the bridge above, you have some really tough climbs. They are really steep and pretty long. But, what goes up must come down! Here I am at the point where you get to enjoy a lovely descent after some super hard inclines.</div>
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I normally love this spot in the run - it's just before a boat launch area and there's just about 1.5 miles left to go. I was hot here. I was not loving this spot in the run. </div>
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This is always a happy place: on the dam/bridge. My car is less than a half mile from this spot. It's fun to run over. </div>
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And done! I was stretching and took this last shot. I am also wearing a unicorn/rainbow headband. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBg84HtyLEzHzwztBgovf-zPL440B5ViSohd-MJ3pcoiJDglWAGAYSa3wijthBTLBSi9pt-TNRRevNMa0ZaqX51t4qksu9i23djURwU78r1mOwwjNJ94Kk9sVoz-BWTBxmTBKWOysjTE08/s1600/IMG_6678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBg84HtyLEzHzwztBgovf-zPL440B5ViSohd-MJ3pcoiJDglWAGAYSa3wijthBTLBSi9pt-TNRRevNMa0ZaqX51t4qksu9i23djURwU78r1mOwwjNJ94Kk9sVoz-BWTBxmTBKWOysjTE08/s640/IMG_6678.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The run was hot (and late in the day for me), but it was good. It was great, actually. I'm starting to settle into this remoralizing phase really nicely. It is making me a much happier runner in the present ... which is almost as beautiful a gift as running itself.</div>
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Happy running. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-823699193911065572016-06-21T07:00:00.000-04:002016-06-21T07:00:16.439-04:00magic and mystery<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't feel like Spring happened this year. I just started to get my head around the fact that it was Springtime when bam - Summer - June 20. Part of it was the absolutely horrible weather that we had this Spring: rain, dreary days, clouds, raw temperatures, little sunshine if any at all. That doesn't make one feel very Springy. </div>
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But for me, more than the doldrums of what would be our eternal Winter, it was the loss of my beloved grandmother, or my Mom-Mom as we called her. She died unexpectedly and suddenly on Saturday May 7, just a day before Mother's Day. She had suffered a stroke a couple of years ago, which really affected her health. But in the days before she died, she seemed OK -- pretty stable and pretty good and upbeat. She was 86. She loved more fiercely than anyone I've ever known. And she was loved by many. </div>
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I spoke at her funeral. My sister and I did, as did my dad who read something that my mom had written. I have been to so many funerals where the officiant gives a stock speech about the person who died, and I couldn't bear to have that happen with her. It didn't at all. I felt that our three eulogies gave Mom-Mom's memory and legacy the respect they deserved. And while I am normally happy to [over]share with the internet things in my life, I'll have to beg you to forgive me for not sharing my speech here. It was my entire childhood and my grief and her and me and our family all wrapped up in 8 tear stained pages. </div>
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But I can tell you that she was special. Grandmothers are special - they all are. I have said that to so many of my friends whose grandmothers pass away. And I am lucky because prior to May 7, both of my grandmothers were still alive. I never really allowed myself to think about a life without them because, well, I didn't know a life without them, and I couldn't imagine one. I'm still not sure I know what it's like. </div>
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I spent every single Saturday night with my Mom-Mom from the time that I was an infant to the time I was in high school, when I stopped, opting to hang out with my friends instead. It, and she, was a constant in my life. I didn't realize how special this was until I was much older. Mom-Mom was there for every life event: every graduation, every ceremony, every religious milestone, every baby's birth. She would call me every single birthday. I still have a couple of her voicemails on my phone. She would call from time to time to check in. Or, despite the fact that I am a grown adult and a working professional, she'd sometimes send me some money in a card -- always cash (usually about $50) and always taped to the inside of a card: "I know it's not much..." she would say. It was always more than enough. </div>
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As the years passed, her writing and her voice got a little shakier. I tried to ignore it until it was impossible to ignore. I remember having a conversation with my mom about her and about how we were aware that our time with her was limited. I certainly didn't feel that her death was imminent. But I knew it was happening sometime kind of soon. I just didn't expect it to be that soon.</div>
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The kids and I were all set to visit her on that Saturday. We planned to stop by her house and give her cards and flowers and then head over to my parents' house for an early Mother's Day. The day before that visit, I was in the car heading to get my kids and had the urge to give her a call. I am still not 100% sure how to work my new car's phone, so I got to the "M"s in my phone book and was struggling with finding her number and canceled the effort. I will regret that forever. My friend Julia assures me that there was a reason I didn't make that call ... that God often directs us to do things that we might not understand. I am holding out faith that this is true. But I would give anything to have made that call and to have had the chance to say "I love you" and to hear it one last time. That was how every phone call, every visit, every card ended: "I love you, Shan." I can hear it now. </div>
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I find myself thinking about her all the time and how she lived her life. She was stubborn, yet eminently forgiving. She was strong and independent, working until she was 85 years old and retiring only because of her health. In the end, she had the hardest time with allowing others to care for her: it was in her nature to care for others, not to receive that care. </div>
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I realized on a run recently that two things that I love, and that have somewhat jokingly become sort of signatures for me, will forever link me to her: sparkles and unicorns. I'm a fan of sparkles. I love sparkly headbands for running. I know they're silly, but they make me happy and they make me smile. At Mom-Mom's funeral, the mother of one of my dearest friends came through and paid her respects. She had known Mom-Mom. She gave me a teary hug and said, "She sparkled. She was sparkly." I had never in my life heard anyone describe Mom-Mom like that but it was so perfect. She did sparkle: her eyes and her laugh and her warm smile. It was as though her heart was beaming through her entire face. So now whenever I don my sparkly headbands for a run, I will think of my sweet, sparkly Mom-Mom.</div>
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And unicorns. I'll be honest that this was a shock to me as well. I love unicorns. I know it's partly silly, but as juvenile as this may sound, I kind of love their silly magic. I don't even like horses, but I do like the idea of a unicorn with its magical magic. Life needs a little magic and a little silliness. The day of her funeral, my mom asked the immediate family to come back to Mom-Mom's house and take a few things that we might want. That was really hard, but I am glad we did it. I had taken a handful of things that were very meaningful to me, when I stumbled upon this recessed wall shelf that she had. It had a bunch of random knickknacks and photos and tchotchkes but in the 40+ years of my life and in all of those 40+ years that I've been to her house, I never really looked closely at them. One of the little knickknacks was a unicorn. I took it with me. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tqFD4aVcW5TkicIHN9OyRPYEvIwEuTcCG6J6Tk_noqmlqDDIhfcGCh3aW3NrGkRag_8N1QzvL_xUeE3mrZ19QtUz8kWk_Vzbz_Bp5P2v2eiWieZyigWquzKV0wVtYTUoqLxsvxwCVKS5/s1600/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tqFD4aVcW5TkicIHN9OyRPYEvIwEuTcCG6J6Tk_noqmlqDDIhfcGCh3aW3NrGkRag_8N1QzvL_xUeE3mrZ19QtUz8kWk_Vzbz_Bp5P2v2eiWieZyigWquzKV0wVtYTUoqLxsvxwCVKS5/s400/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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It reminds me that there is a little bit of magic right here with me. It makes me wonder what else about Mom-Mom I didn't know, and never will know, because I didn't ask or didn't think to ask. I find myself simultaneously longing to know the story behind this little ceramic unicorn and hanging onto the fact that I don't ... that there is, and always will be, some mystery to her life. I knew her and I knew her well, but there is so much that I didn't know. Proof that there is never, ever enough time. </div>
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I miss her. I always will. Our family reunion is this weekend, and it is going forward, which is exactly what she would want. It will be painful and sad to not have her there, but I know I need only look at the smile and love surrounding me by my parents and sister and children and niece and cousins and aunts and uncles and know that really, she is there ... sparkling through our tears and our smiles. </div>
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Hug your loved ones. Tell people you love them. Forgive. And if you are lucky enough to have your grandmother, give her a call today. Do it for me. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-338410066954219192016-05-06T07:00:00.000-04:002016-05-06T07:00:13.186-04:00Mother's Day<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happy Mothers Day to me. It's my 10th one. A decade of freshly picked dandelions and sweet cards covered in crayon and handmade gifts and smudgey fingerprints and messes and sloppy slobbery kisses and being known as Mommy or Mama or, gulp, Mom. </div>
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My babies are getting bigger. Every day, every moment, I can see it. </div>
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I remember wishing for this time - this exact moment. When they were newborns and it was 2 am and I couldn't get them to sleep and I was tired and they were fed and they didn't need a diaper change and they hated me and I hated life and everything was hard and awful and is a mother supposed to feel this way and I'm a fraud and please stop crying and please stop crying and I can't wait until this little baby is older and then - when this little baby is older - I will feel more in control and normal. And in spite of that and all of the feelings about all of the things, I remember pulling them close and smelling their sweet baby heads and taking it in and saying "<i>shhhhh. stop. just for a moment. they will be big soon</i>."</div>
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The crying eventually stopped. The 2 month olds turned into 2 year olds, who finally slept through the night in their little toddler beds. And the 2 year olds turned into 4 year olds who somehow - every single night - ended up sleeping next to me in my bed. Every night, around 2 am, I would hear the soft pitter patter of little baby feet on the carpet and the heavy breaths attempting to pull their little baby bodies up onto my bed. Sometimes they would just fall asleep. Sometimes they would say "hi Mommy". Sometimes they would talk more at length about what was going on. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. But I would listen and say "ok, it's time to sleep, baby." They would fall asleep, and I remember pulling them close and smelling their sweet baby heads and taking it in and saying "<i>shhhhh. stop. just for a moment. they will be big soon</i>."</div>
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Motherhood is hard. It is beautiful and amazing and wonderful, and I will go to my grave knowing that even in a life where I wasn't perfect and did oh so many things wrong, I did two things very right. But it is hard. Nothing can prepare you for how hard. All the while you know that while the days go by so slow, the years go by so fast. And you try to remind yourself "<i>shhhhh. stop. just for a moment. they will be big soon</i>."</div>
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But for every moment where I was at the end of my rope and cried myself to sleep with self-doubt, there was a moment where a tiny baby hand reached out for mine and let me envelop its softness in my own grasp. For every moment of sheer exhaustion and not believing I could do this -- this "motherhood" thing -- there was a moment where my sweet baby child would hug me and gently pat my back - a tacit message of "I love you. I need you. And you're doing fine." For every moment where I felt like I was The Worst Mother Ever, there was a moment where my little one said, unprompted and apropos of nothing, "mommy, I love you." </div>
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My baby children are 10 and 8. They're certainly not "grown" but they are big. And yet, I still find myself reminding myself to slow down, to stop, to take in their sweet still-kind-of-babyness. "<i>shhhhh. stop. just for a moment. they will be big soon</i>." That state of "Big" is pretty much, but not quite, here. I still reach for their hands, and they still let me hold them. I still smell their sweet baby heads, and they still let me. I still snuggle their bigger (but smaller than mine) little bodies, and they let me. I still call them "darling love" and they still let me. And now I find myself begging them, and begging time, to just slow down. Please slow down. Please, I am not quite ready for you to be big. </div>
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Yes, Motherhood is hard. But that's what makes it great. Giving birth is truly an allegory for motherhood itself - it's hard, it's painful, you're filled with doubt, but in the end, you do it, and you do great. </div>
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Happy Mother's Day to me. And to my sweet baby children. I am their biggest fan, their biggest cheerleader, their biggest advocate ... but I am also Mommy. I am bracing myself for what's coming - the eye rolls, the "please drop me off a block away", the "OMG Mommmmmmmmmm". I'm not remotely ready for it, but I know it will happen -- much like motherhood itself. And I'm hopeful that when I do, I can think back to when they were babies, and how I took the moment in the middle of the chaos and reminded myself to "<i>shhhhh. stop. just for a moment. they will be big soon</i>." Because although they may be big, no matter how big or how old, they will always, forever, be my babies. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-6929931399139548852016-02-15T07:00:00.000-05:002016-02-15T07:00:00.179-05:00I heart you.Happy Valentines Day. Yesterday. But better late than never. <br />
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Valentines Day is one of those really tricky holidays. There's a lot riding on it, a lot of expectation, and hope and emotion and pressure. Sure, you can opt out of the holiday, but good luck trying to escape it. For all its commercialism and "Hallmark holiday" kitsch, the Valentine message is pervasive and loud: Love! Love! Love! (and, of course, just as pervasive and loud: candy and cupids and chocolates and hearts and cards and kittens and overpriced underwhelming crowded prix fixe dinner. and kittens. did I mention kittens).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bFS4AQIrgm0SzDjQaLYbDcOSTpwvHLObHSHPW05IhyphenhyphenH2QDsj1hvqJr4hzUE_Bpwl2X5DeRk-Ym4gUX6DfHF8gLfcdQfYhwJAjg1V2zKbi0uZ-eUhKk9o63NKZR8bqeqFNPVUjkXfP4Jx/s1600/IMG_5422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bFS4AQIrgm0SzDjQaLYbDcOSTpwvHLObHSHPW05IhyphenhyphenH2QDsj1hvqJr4hzUE_Bpwl2X5DeRk-Ym4gUX6DfHF8gLfcdQfYhwJAjg1V2zKbi0uZ-eUhKk9o63NKZR8bqeqFNPVUjkXfP4Jx/s640/IMG_5422.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know what's inside this kitten Valentine box, but I need it because the kitten looks so forlorn.</td></tr>
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There are so many kinds of love to celebrate on Valentines Day. I <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/02/my-funny-valentines.html" style="text-align: start;">wrote a Valentine last year to my kids</a>. I had been alone for three full years and had made peace with the holiday ... and realized that my sweet little loves deserved a love letter of their own. </div>
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I opted out of the holiday for years. And then, upon my divorce, <i>I</i> was opted out of the holiday. So in <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2013/02/valentines-day-amo-amas-blah.html">2013 I grappled with that a bit, and</a> I wrote my first post on my own. I realized that when you cut through the cliches and the saccharine and the over the top nonsense, the idea of Valentines Day was really pretty wonderful. A day celebrating nothing more and nothing less than love is really not so bad. I said the following in that blog post, some three years ago: </div>
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<i><span style="color: red;">But I also want to turn around my thinking and focus on love and the love I want and deserve. I always think about Carrie Bradshaw's line from the finale of the "Sex and the City" series:</span></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); color: red;"><i>I’m looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><i>This is what I want. I believe it is out there. I believe in love and all that comes with it -- to love and to be loved; to need and to be needed. I believe there is someone out there who will love me and get me and who knows that I would rather have one single lily of the valley stem over a roomful of red roses -- someone who knows that despite the fact that I would never ask for them, I actually love receiving flowers. I am hopeful that this will be the hardest Valentines Day that I ever have. I feel a lot like Scrooge at the end of A Christmas Carol, because I promise, when the time is right, I will not take Valentines Day, and more importantly what it means, for granted again. Because, despite the heartbreak and all of the struggle of life and love, I believe in love. And I believe in me.</i> </span></div>
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Oh 2013 self. You had no idea what was in store for you, but you knew. You knew -- you knew deep down in your heart, in your heart that may have been a little torn and tattered, but that was never fully broken -- you knew that the love you have right now was waiting for you. That in just a few short years, you would find that someone, and you did. That you would find your heart, and you did. And what's funny and ironic is that my darling love gave me a necklace with a heart (and it's just coincidental, or perhaps serendipitous, that I was wearing my running heart headband too). The necklace is an allegory for life: my sweet love gave me his heart, but he also gave me mine. </div>
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Usually, my blog posts are directed to the world at large and all of the interwebs. But not today. Today, I am talking directly to my sweetheart. Please forgive me, interwebs. It's Valentines Day and I have a love letter to share with my darling love. </div>
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Thank you, my darling, for loving me and needing me. And thank you for letting me love you and need you. </div>
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Thank you, my darling, for making me laugh and smile, and for smiling and laughing with and sometimes at me ... and for knowing that there is a line there and always caring to protect my feelings. <br />
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Thank you, my darling, for "getting" me and who I am. From moment one. And for not only letting me be who I am, but for loving who I am and wanting nothing more, and no one else, than what, and who, I am.</div>
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Thank you, my darling, for anticipating my needs. For giving me personalized pencils and books and phone cases, because you know I spent (and continue to spend) my life looking for the elusive "Shanna" bike license plates and pencils and magnets in the souvenir shops to no avail. For giving me flowers. And chocolate. And beer that I love. Thank you for somehow knowing when I need a text with just a picture of a small soft kitten or other baby animal. Thank you for encouraging my love of unicorns and rainbows, even though you don't get it.</div>
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Thank you, my darling, for loving to swim with me. And for being patient and sweet and reassuring when we go hiking and I get a little scared. And for suggesting that we do a 5K at a local brewery in the Spring (even though you hate running) because you know how much I love running and beer. And you of course. </div>
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Thank you, my darling, for giving up watching a very important and exciting Eagles v. Cowboys game in the Fall to take me to see the band <i>America</i> -- surrounded by people a generation older than us -- because you knew I love their music and you knew how happy that it would make me. And how happy you were, simply because I was happy. </div>
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Thank you, my darling, for looking at me the way that you do. For the times we are looking at each other and for the times you think I don't see you looking at me. </div>
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Thank you, my darling, for being you. You're not perfect, and I do not want you to be, but you're perfect for me. You make me feel good and alive and loved and safe and adored and respected and liked and all of the things. You make me feel more like "me" and more alive and loved than I have ever felt. And you know exactly what to do and what to say. When I am having a stressful day, you make it better. You don't (and can't) fix it. But you listen and you make it better. </div>
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I promised back in 2013 that "when the time is right, I will not take Valentines Day, and more importantly what it means, for granted again." The time is now. And I don't and I won't. </div>
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Happy Valentines Day, my sweet Matthew. My heart is full with our love -- our real love ... our ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each other love. Thank you for showing me, by doing nothing more than simply being you, that it's true: love always wins. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-65681302553959505952016-02-01T07:00:00.000-05:002016-02-01T07:00:02.352-05:00Quality v. Quantity<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm sure it's pretty obvious by now that my blog writing has trailed off a bit. And not for lack of passion about writing. I adore writing. I have always been steadfast that running and triathlon got me through my divorce in one piece, but I've come to realize that writing -- and more specifically this blog -- did as well. Writing has been my catharsis in a way that running could not, and can never, be. It has enabled me to do something that even at the ripe <strike>old</strike> age of 40 that I struggle with ... to articulate my inner most feelings and "say" them aloud. My blog, first and foremost, is for me. But I've been thrilled, and frankly surprised, that so many people have reached out to me to say that they're somehow touched or moved by what I say here. For Christmas, Matt even gave me a little (pink!) leather journal personalized with my name on the front and a lovely inscription on the inside cover because he loves the blog and wants to encourage me to write. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGusNOdMs7gjXtvtrcpZ2kvb3wMSc58PZsMudgaIqFetfgmheHSk_qLAwqeHYRh05NbqvM8ERtDxL2pc4rzCW75wgt0oLtvk3gv7b-HVC_CZC67-9Rq-j7sPbFx3WFQzMVI1DrGbAoeJ7/s1600/IMG_5356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGusNOdMs7gjXtvtrcpZ2kvb3wMSc58PZsMudgaIqFetfgmheHSk_qLAwqeHYRh05NbqvM8ERtDxL2pc4rzCW75wgt0oLtvk3gv7b-HVC_CZC67-9Rq-j7sPbFx3WFQzMVI1DrGbAoeJ7/s400/IMG_5356.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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My lack of posts is due to many reasons too numerous and varied to share here. But one of them, and perhaps the most important, is that I'm focusing on quality over quantity where it comes to my writing. My blog has evolved from a very structured three post per week workout-home-clothes schedule to a very unstructured, more "organic" (God, I really hate the overuse of that word sometimes but it's really the only one that fits) flow of introspection and reflection. I will still post about my home and projects and decorating and style and fashion and unicorns and kittens. And of course I'll continue to share posts about running, races and workouts going forward. But at least for the foreseeable future, I want to incorporate more "real" writing here. I'm thankful that this is my space to do it. </div>
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Thank you for giving me the chance to share with you. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-70176725217680760382016-01-25T07:00:00.000-05:002016-01-25T07:00:03.006-05:00Sweat: 2015 Year in Review - the pit and the pendulum<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello and happy new year! I hope 2016 has started off on the right foot for you. It has for me, and actually, it's started off with the right <i>three</i> feet ... of snow.<br />
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We got pummeled with a ton of snow this past weekend. Cheers to Winter!</div>
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Funny, this kind of epic snow puts me immediately back to 2014 when I was Ironman training, and every snowstorm brought with it the accompanying stress of "how/where/when will I do my workout??". The timing of today's post works well with that. <br />
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Each year (admittedly, usually much earlier than now), I post a recap of the prior year's athletics feats and my goals for the current year ... I started doing this in <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2013/12/swim-bike-run-2013-in-review-and-race.html">2013</a>, and then had a pretty epic <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/01/sweat-swim-bike-run-2014-in-review-my.html">2014</a>. But if you read my blog this past year, you know that 2015 was a rough year athletics-wise. I guess that is inevitable coming off of the three year momentum of triathlon!-->half ironman!-->ironman!-->BQ marathon! .... BA BOOM crash. Like this:<br />
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As much as I loved those big, juicy goals and those incredibly transformative experiences and the sweeter than can be imagined finish lines, it was impossible to sustain. Well, that's not really fair or accurate. It was impossible <i>for me</i> to sustain because I no longer wanted to make that level of effort because something had shifted; hence: the pit and the pendulum.<br />
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The pit was pretty big post-Ironman and post-BQ at Steamtown. Where does one <i>go</i> after an Ironman and after qualifying for the Boston Marathon? If you're me, you keep on going. Or at least you try. I had it in my head that I would obviously not continue the Ironman-level training that I had done in 2014, but I figured in 2015 I could step back just a tad and continue to run faster and faster. That didn't happen. I don't think I'm giving anything away by saying I didn't PR once in 2015. Every single race I did, I fell short of my time goal. And I didn't get it: I was training, I was putting in the work, I was trying ... and yet, something was off. And so deeper into the pit I fell. As I went further and further from Winter to Spring, my confidence eroded more and more. My runs were slower and I was feeling tired. I tried to pep-talk myself up, but I realized that my heart was not in it. And, as an allegory for life, if your heart's not in it, it's not gonna work out. <br />
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So, after a string of disappointing races (<a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/01/race-recap-2015-athletes-closet-january.html">New Years Day 5K</a>, <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/02/race-recap-2015-austin-half-marathon.html">Austin Half Marathon</a>, <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/03/race-recap-2015-frostbite-five-miler.html">Frostbite Five Miler</a> and then the sad deflated cherry on top the <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/05/race-recap-2015-novo-nordisk-new-jersey.html">New Jersey State Marathon</a>), I opted out of racing and "training". Truth be told, I had been struggling for awhile before I decided to just stop pushing and railroading myself and, instead, just let myself be. Running, my soul sport, had begun to feel like a chore. And I knew that that alone was reason to dial it back and reconnect with the reasons that I loved to run. I resolved to take the Summer (and possibly more) off from racing and training. I would run. I would swim. I would bike. But I wouldn't "train", and I wouldn't keep a training log, and I wouldn't have a training schedule. I would swim, bike, run for the fun of it, and for the love of it. I hoped that this would get me out of the pit, instead of deeper into it. <br />
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And honestly, I was having a rough time. Not only was my heart not in my races or training, but my heart wasn't into anything. I was lonely, and that loneliness was palpable. And an amazingly strong run could not fix it. Nothing could. I've made no bones about the fact that as part of my journey I wanted to find love - both to love and to be loved. But love isn't something you can set a goal and attain and shoehorn your way into. Love, almost always, finds you. I knew that a shift needed to come from within. <br />
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And it did. As part of my time off from the structure of my training/races regimen, I also resolved to go outside my comfort zone in all areas of my life. I did, and within a relatively short amount of time, I met my Matthew. And the pendulum swung in a major way. We started dating and very early on, I knew (and so did he) that there was something different and something special here. As adults in our 40s who have both been married before, we didn't propel ourselves into a relationship filled with only hearts flowers unicorns glitter and sparkles ... things got real really quick. And while our relationship is, really, filled with hearts flowers unicorns glitter and sparkles, we've dealt with the really real stuff along the way too. He is, without question, my soulmate. It's only fitting that my soulmate helped me reconnect with my soul sport. <br />
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With the pendulum swing, and the resurgence of my heart, I felt more and more like me (actually, more and more like a "me" that I didn't think was possible ... a truly happy and fulfilled "me" ... which will be the subject of another post to be sure), and more and more like I wanted to really run and race again. I ran the <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/11/race-recap-2015-philadelphia-half.html">Philly Half Marathon in November,</a> and while I didn't hit a PR, I had a wonderful, fulfilling race. As I ran, I knew I wasn't going to PR, and for the first time in a very long time, I truly did not care. I enjoyed running and racing for their own sake and for the love of it and for how they made me feel. I look back at that race, and I can't remember my time, but I can remember how I <i>felt</i>. It was as though running was giving me a big hug. I realized that while finish times matter and are important, right now, they don't matter as much and aren't as important to me. <br />
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So, there are no stats this year. I usually post a run down of my distance and time for swimming, biking and running from the prior year and all of my race times/whether they were PRs. I don't even have that information this year, because I didn't sync my watch for so long that the watch and computer utterly refused to cooperate and upload all of my workouts. It doesn't matter -- at least not this year. It doesn't matter that I ran X miles or biked Y hours, but it does matter, very much to me, how those things felt and where I did them. I can tell you that I swam a bunch, including a refreshing and fun swim in Jamaica where I cut my thumb on some coral that I swam too close to. I got to swim in Mirror Lake again, and I cried actual tears in my goggles when I swam the IMLP course and remembered all of the sight landmarks along the way.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8N2Z3y4ehPIPU0ARcnKoMM0SHlqp1vA-esRehL13q5Kb7KW1JbrdsBJklGRa7nijsD93D9qFjdgWsqT-tpQ6AtvqIDy2aWpBK8faMmbsd3WznvbfH1C1rnhbyGVigm5pKDMSvDz1ID25/s1600/IMG_4046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8N2Z3y4ehPIPU0ARcnKoMM0SHlqp1vA-esRehL13q5Kb7KW1JbrdsBJklGRa7nijsD93D9qFjdgWsqT-tpQ6AtvqIDy2aWpBK8faMmbsd3WznvbfH1C1rnhbyGVigm5pKDMSvDz1ID25/s640/IMG_4046.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I biked a bunch. You know biking isn't my favorite. So I'll just say I biked a bunch because I did. I biked with my friends and my sweetheart on the road and on trails. I biked in Lake Placid on the IMLP bike course.<br />
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And I ran a whole lot. Running is my favorite. I ran runs that made me feel like I wan't tethered to legs and was, instead, flying; I ran runs that made me feel like a fraud and a failure; I ran runs that made me cry with transcendence; I ran runs with dear friends where we laughed, cried, cursed and said many inappropriate things. I ran alone where I got lost in my thoughts. <br />
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The pendulum swing in 2015 was to a year in which I really, truly lived. I didn't simply swim-bike-run. I fell in love, and I really lived. I swim-bike-ran ... but I also did this ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyx9D3q_k3EuLxGXE4-XZ6ySL5pMdkq143PHgOo-O3Y6QzM6U_2li9gL3W4pH-fekvRQU6TDx0MbQ8UX7NaR4Q8s_AqGc0-xqPGMF1EvZV9xKUEEnCy3ilLqwGOPCdd4XxFK-rvSzwIrI/s1600/IMG_4457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyx9D3q_k3EuLxGXE4-XZ6ySL5pMdkq143PHgOo-O3Y6QzM6U_2li9gL3W4pH-fekvRQU6TDx0MbQ8UX7NaR4Q8s_AqGc0-xqPGMF1EvZV9xKUEEnCy3ilLqwGOPCdd4XxFK-rvSzwIrI/s640/IMG_4457.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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And this ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNleohShHBAZc_I0ZCZDvmFtTmvlhZ5OjYBr7HIoHrcU_gRozHg0Sq_9yiz8alq9PZqJdX5l0b_TwIaR5vPNOk4dwBE4Efdx1FuVhvuZdIcAsbTIn2FHoi221UPPgfXPWcA21s0PA7Sg1j/s1600/IMG_4075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNleohShHBAZc_I0ZCZDvmFtTmvlhZ5OjYBr7HIoHrcU_gRozHg0Sq_9yiz8alq9PZqJdX5l0b_TwIaR5vPNOk4dwBE4Efdx1FuVhvuZdIcAsbTIn2FHoi221UPPgfXPWcA21s0PA7Sg1j/s640/IMG_4075.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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And this ...<br />
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And this ...</div>
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I've found that as much as I enjoy running (and swimming and biking), there are so many delicious life experiences to be had that don't involve those things. Hiking, zip-lining, enjoying a glass of wine, relaxing and resting ... and nurturing and being present in a loving relationship. <br />
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In keeping with that shift, I don't have any real goals for 2016 other than to continue to have fun and to do what I love. Of course, I still love to swim/bike/run, and I will keep on doing those things. I'm signed up for the Love Run Half Marathon in April and Escape the Cape sprint triathlon in June, which will be my first triathlon since Ironman Lake Placid, some two years ago. And for now, that's enough. I may decide I want to try to BQ again. I may decide I want to do more tris. I may decide I want to PR at a half marathon. Or I may decide I have no desire to do any of those things, and I'm happy with the status quo of running (and swimming and biking) and don't want to do anything more than that. I'll let my own pendulum decide. <br />
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Cheers to the lessons learned in 2015 and to the joyful hope of what's to come in 2016.<br />
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-76056387080042316382015-12-30T07:07:00.000-05:002015-12-30T07:07:02.196-05:00Home: DIY Christmas Tree Skirt<div style="text-align: justify;">
Add this to the category of "things I DIYed but could have paid less if I bought off the shelf." Also add this to the category of "things I meant to post about before Christmas but didn't and yes today is December 30, so I am getting this one in right under the wire."</div>
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Back at the beginning of the holiday season, I made a Christmas tree skirt. And by "make" I mean simply cut some felt and trim, and glue the trim onto the skirt. Super easy, but not super affordable. But I love it, and it's totally my style, and I made it with my little girl, so I guess that is priceless. At least that is what I am telling myself. Here's the skirt!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdplUpddroVQJwrrt3u_ZZLnm7sDGg6Q1qIVLpf37DyvqogURNtzGZEnifJ_2AX7Uu1o0cgcmoc4htwKXmMT8Rd-6xSFTxrC2bWxUgJ3L8OFS6mTA75XNF6pTf-8VzRBjMRetwxe9k9KNc/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdplUpddroVQJwrrt3u_ZZLnm7sDGg6Q1qIVLpf37DyvqogURNtzGZEnifJ_2AX7Uu1o0cgcmoc4htwKXmMT8Rd-6xSFTxrC2bWxUgJ3L8OFS6mTA75XNF6pTf-8VzRBjMRetwxe9k9KNc/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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I saw this gorgeous <a href="http://www.designsponge.com/2014/12/diy-moroccan-wedding-blanket-inspired-tree-skirt.html">tree skirt on Design*Sponge</a> last year, and it seemed easy enough. My old tree skirt was very simple red scalloped felt -- something I grabbed at Target just because I needed something to cover the bottom of the tree (my mom <i>had</i> made one for me before but I think it got destroyed or lost in a move or it's possible it's still being used by my ex). So when I saw this gorgeous, textured number from Design Sponge that was a DIY, I thought it was perfect. </div>
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I printed out the Design*Sponge tutorial, which was my shopping list and got my supplies at JoAnn's. I bought a big piece of ivory felt that was in their scrap bin (they had several of these) and then spent some time with the trim picking out exactly what I wanted. Ummmm, it was super expensive. I almost died when the cashier told me the total (which was close to $100 ...) but decided I was committed to this project and would see it through. This was last year.<br />
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On the morning that we put up our tree (which was the weekend after Thanksgiving), my little girl and I made the skirt by following the directions on the tutorial. It was very easy. The hardest part was choosing which trim to put where on the skirt. First, we cut a hole in the center. Easy enough.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxJuiMOirWeuto-KleOgzXibLbQ-Iy2Q60M1nflGHuP4rtpIBaLROjVRaKT7wWeDH3ZFTyh8JmuPMWL2Sqcni6B88C46aShpak7yvTsfHwqnMmZI7PnDSaKe2ob56VJhkuUjod-6Bc8kt/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxJuiMOirWeuto-KleOgzXibLbQ-Iy2Q60M1nflGHuP4rtpIBaLROjVRaKT7wWeDH3ZFTyh8JmuPMWL2Sqcni6B88C46aShpak7yvTsfHwqnMmZI7PnDSaKe2ob56VJhkuUjod-6Bc8kt/s640/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Then, we glued the tassel/brush trim around the edges and in the middle. In order to make the skirt look nice and neat and not like a roving band of preschoolers did it, I used a ruler to make sure that the trim was at least somewhat uniformly placed around the skirt.<br />
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There was no science to it. We chose which trim we liked and where it should go. I regret not buying more of the thick sequined trim. We ran out of that and could only do one strip of it. Sad face. </div>
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The skirt is a little small, but my tree is also a little small, so the scale works. If I do this again (and that's a big "if" given the cost of the supplies), I would make sure to get a very large scrap of fabric for the skirt. Here it is complete and under the tree!</div>
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Whew! Just under the wire with the Christmas craft. I hope you had terrific holidays. The new year is upon us. Time for fresh starts, resolutions and renewed hope that this year will be the best one yet. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-19953965053377088652015-12-08T07:00:00.000-05:002015-12-08T07:00:01.846-05:00Lucky number 40<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well look who's 40! Today! </div>
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That's right, y'all. I'm the big four-oh! And I am grabbing 40 by the big brass ones. Needless to say, 40 is a huge milestone. I think it's way bigger than 30. I know there have been movies and shows and books about the mid-life crisis that's supposed to accompany turning 40, but to be honest, I haven't been looking at 40 as something lurking in the corner, waiting for me to get there and pounce on me like this adorable, yet menacing, cat:</div>
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Rather, I have been looking at 40 like this - with me as the Kool Aid Man bursting through a big wall.</div>
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That's right. I went full on Kool Aid Man on you! And now I want Kool Aid. Anyway, no mid-life crisis for this girl, no crying in my <strike>wine</strike> beer ... I won't be bemoaning the fact that I'm older or that my age starts with a "4" or that I'm as close to retirement as I am to starting college or that my body has changed or that I have laugh lines and crows feet -- though all of those things are all true. The way I see it, is my thirties were my awakening. I did the very difficult and often painful work of discovering who I was, what I wanted, what I didn't, and what my life was all about. I am certain that my parents and grandmothers would read that and laugh -- that I think at age 40 I've got it all figured out. I am not so bold as to say that, but I know a lot more about life, love, loss and myself than I did just a decade ago. I am ready to turn 40 and embrace the new decade and season of my life and wait for the good things and lessons that are yet to unfold. The difference between now and ten years ago is I feel equipped to handle what may come, and I know that what may come will be beautiful, horrible, painful, sublime and everything in between.</div>
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I've also been thinking. I've been thinking a lot. I tend to do that, as I think this blog shows. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">But in life, when a milestone approaches, one ponders. I've been doing a lot of thinking and reflecting and pondering as I near the close to mid-way point (<i>Deo volente</i>) of my journey through this life and I've realized that there has been one thing that I have been really wrong about: luck. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This realization was prompted by a gift from my parents. They recently went on a trip to Scotland and Ireland. They always ask what I'd like as a souvenir, and usually my answer is a Christmas tree ornament. But this time, I asked for a Celtic knot necklace. I love simple jewelry and I thought a pretty little Celtic knot would be something I could wear all of the time. They brought one back for me, and a very similar, but smaller, version for my little girl. When she gave it to me, my mom said that the knot meant something, but she could not remember what ... that each of the knots has a unique meaning but she could not for the life of her remember what mine was. I figured I could google it and figure it out eventually. One night as I took off my necklace, I looked closely on the back and realized that the answer was right in front of me the entire time and stamped onto the back of the necklace: my knot meant luck. </span></div>
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And I realized, just like that, I've been living a life filled with luck. <span style="text-align: justify;"> Just like I have been walking around for weeks with luck literally hanging around my neck without knowing it, I realized I have been living the most luckiest life of all. I've never thought of myself as a particularly "lucky" person, and </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I've never really believed in luck, at least for me. I always ascribed to Lucille Ball's philosophy of making your own "luck":</span></div>
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<i>Luck? I don't know anything about luck.</i></div>
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<i>I've never banked on it and I'm afraid of people who do.</i></div>
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<i>Luck to me is something else: hard work and realizing what is opportunity and what isn't.</i></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While I can say with conviction that many of my life's blessings are the result of my hard work, I have to admit that so many more -- the really important ones -- are the result of pure and total luck. Of things beyond my control. I'm talking about my relationships and the people who I treasure more dearly than any possession or any accomplishment. Those are all the result of luck. Ironman or marathon finish? That was me. My success in college and law school? My hard work. Career? All me. But friendship ... family ... love ... those are not things you can attain by working hard and putting your head down and seeing it through. Those are, at least at the outset, by and large, all driven by luck. By somehow magically being in the right place at the exact right time. </span></div>
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I am lucky that I have two incredible, kind, sweet, smart children. Sure, part of who they are is shaped by me and their dad, but I believe a bigger part of them was who they were when they were born. Their capacity for and ability to love humbles me and shows me that regardless of how I might feel to the contrary, I have done something really right by them. Sometimes I just watch them do their homework, or watch a show, or work on an art project and am overwhelmed that these two perfect little creatures are here because of me.<br />
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I am lucky that I was born to two wonderful, loving parents. I had no control over this. My mom and dad have always encouraged me and never once made me feel like I couldn't do anything I set my mind to. My parents were and continue to be first in line when it comes to supporting me - whether it was by watching me with a bunch of friends put on <i>The Muppet Show,</i> or by applauding my sister and me dancing in our tutus to ABBA, or driving up to Lake Placid to see me become an Ironman. I feel like I make them proud. But they make me proud as well.<br />
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I am lucky that both of my grandmothers, who are in their late 80s, are still with us. I am so so blessed to have such strong, smart, vibrant role models in them for the past 40 years. They are both incredible women. </div>
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I am lucky that my sister was born some 3 years and 4 months after I was. She was my first friend, and while we are very different, we are always sisters and have each others' backs like no one else. As we have gotten older, we have gotten closer. I am looking forward to becoming even better friends. </div>
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I am lucky that by some stroke of luck, my friend Heather and I were both in Mrs. Nidorf's first grade class. And that despite some tween-angsty ups and downs we managed to stay friends essentially from age 6 to the present day. And I am lucky that I played field hockey in high school with "the girl with the red shin guards from Hopewell." My friend Angie and I met in high school and became fast, close friends. Angie, Heather and I were, and are, so close through good times, bad times and everything in between. We literally grew up together, laughed and cried together; and we continue to grow together and laugh and cry together. We just have a lot better hair and clothes than we did in the early 1990s. </div>
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I am lucky that the powers that be at Catholic University put me in close proximity in the same dorm as my friends Missy, Maggie, Melissa and Julia. Looking back, we became friends solely because of where our dorm rooms were located. I came into my own in college, and these girls were there. We became adult women together and have not only remained friends but have gotten closer. Our friendship was strengthened 8 years ago when Maggie died. The five of us spent one last night together, with Missy, Melissa, Julia and I sitting vigil with Maggie in her hospital room. Our friendship has continued to grow despite our loss, but I believe that our friendship keeps Maggie alive. Things are not real until I tell my Catholic girls. </div>
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I am lucky that my friend Colleen and I ended up going to the same law school, and despite living together for a year, remained friends. Haha. Colleen's perspective on life and love has come to my rescue many times. Colleen, more than anyone else in my life until that point, encouraged me to be myself and thought that the person who I was (and am) was weird and funny and that I should never change. </div>
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I am lucky that I stumbled upon the Martha Stewart wedding boards back in 2001 when I got engaged ... and that almost 30 other remarkable women -- my "Wedding Friends" -- did as well. We've gone from talking about dresses and flowers and favors to children and divorces and marriage. Our perspectives and lives are as different as our geographic reach. They are dear, precious friends. Abby, Andrea, Angie, Ava, Camille, Debbie, Denise, Heidi, Jeanine, Jen, Jennie, Juliet, Kate, Lea, Liz, Lynn, Madelyn, Mandie, Marci, Maya, Nicole, Patti, Rachel, Rose, Toya and Yovanka -- all of them have shaped who I am. </div>
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I am lucky, though this may seem odd to be considered a "lucky" thing, that my dear friend Toya and I were newly single again around the same time. When you are newly divorced, you feel as though everyone around you is a couple, and you are very, painfully alone. Frankly, it is kind of true. But Toya and I, who had struck up a very close friendship some 6 years prior, helped each other through what was at times a painfully lonely time. That shared experience brought us even closer. And now the two of us have found happy, fulfilling relationships ... oddly enough one month to the day apart. She knows everything about me. We are soul sisters. </div>
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I am lucky that Toya decided to try to sell her half marathon bib that she could not run rather than take a loss. And that when I emailed my running club about the bib, Tina answered. Tina and I started talking races, running and unicorns and have been close friends ever since. There is no way we would have met had this not happened. Lucky lucky. She makes me laugh on the regular and only she knows the importance of owning a pair of yoga pants emblazoned with unicorns and rainbows. </div>
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I am lucky that even though my marriage did not make it, my relationship with my former sister in law, Jamie, did. Jamie is my sister forever and a dear, treasured friend. We talk often and see each other as often as we can. I am lucky that what started out with us being the spouses of brothers turned into a close friendship of our own. I've seen Jamie become a wife, and now a mother. I am lucky that she will always be in my life.<br />
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I am lucky that I happened to have the exact same train schedule as my sweet friend Robyn and that she took pity on a very pregnant woman who needed a seat. We had seen each other for months on the morning and afternoon trains that we took and one day struck up a conversation about how unkind people on the train were to pregnant women. We became friends and realized we had so much in common. Thank you SEPTA for being the catalyst for my friendship with this wonderful, sweet and always got your back friend. </div>
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I am lucky that when I started my career at my firm, Amy did as well. And that we were somehow staffed on the same case that enabled us to get to know each other better. We became friends, and then close friends and then super duper close friends. I am lucky that we run, and swim, and bike at the same pace. There's nothing quite so therapeutic as a run with a close friend. And I am lucky that when she could not train with me for the 2012 Philly marathon that Bill could and that Amy insisted that we train together. Bill and I didn't really know each other well, but on our first long training run, he said, "So tell me the story of your life. We've got a lot of running to do. We might as well start there." And a friendship of our own was born. I am lucky that my two friends have been my training partners [IRONMEN!] and dear friends who supported me through some of the highest, and some of the lowest, times in my life. They're about as close to family as you can get. </div>
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I am lucky that my incredible boyfriend Matt and I happened to meet online in the early Summer and that the line "so how was your Monday?" was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. I am so lucky that despite what happened in our respective pasts that we were (and are) both happy people and both truly ready for and open to love. And that we found each other. I am lucky that he loves me for who I am and does not want to change a single thing about me -- even my music. I am lucky that we love one another and tell each other how we feel. Not only am I lucky to be loved by him, but I am so lucky to love him. The first picture is one that he took of me, and he is responsible for that smile. He makes me happy. So very happy. And what else can you ask for in life than to be really, truly, purely happy? </div>
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And finally, I am lucky that I am here. That I was able to wake up this morning, take a deep breath, look around at all of my blessings and live another beautiful day on this Earth. And take a run and listen to my <strike>horrible</strike> music. And then have a delicious IPA because beer makes me happy. And cake. And maybe cry a little, because I am a sap but also truly thankful for my luck in life, so much so that it brings me to tears. And I'm thankful for this blog - it's been my creative outlet for years and a place where I love to share a little bit of me with the big world [wide web]. Today's post was about as "me" as they come - cats, Kool Aid, running, beer, Latin [<i>Deo volente</i> means "God willing" - I've been waiting ages to use this phrase], dorkiness, love, and most of all, the people who I love and who love me. </div>
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So tonight I will spend the evening with my darling children and the love of my life eating my birthday meal of fried chicken and thanking God for the incredible life of luck and consequent love with which I've been blessed. <br />
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Here's to 40. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" /></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-10287316585823569632015-12-03T07:00:00.000-05:002015-12-03T07:00:09.463-05:00Grief is the Price We Pay for Love<div style="text-align: justify;">
My friend Maggie was, herself, a contradiction - a tiny person with a huge personality; a beautiful woman who was most comfortable in fuzzy novelty socks from Target and jeans; a thoughtful, quiet presence with an enormous and unforgettable laugh. So in a way, her death on December 6, 2007, seemed to fit that mold. That profound sadness and grief at a time when the rest of the world was celebrating and filled with hope. </div>
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It's been 8 years. Eight years since I got the phone call and lived the following 5 days that would change me forever. Eight years since one of my very best friends quietly, beautifully, and with incredible strength, left this world. Eight years since I saw her face. </div>
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Her death was unexpected. She wasn't sick. It wasn't a disease or an affliction. It was just "one of those things," which is what people say when they don't know what else to say. She was there and then she was not. She hung on for days, and I truly believe that was so that we could all come see her and say our goodbyes. Even though we weren't really prepared for the fact that we were saying goodbye.</div>
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I vividly remember looking out of the window at the hospital on the morning of her death before she died, knowing what was about to happen in a very short time, and watching the cars on the Beltway below race to wherever they were going. I remember wanting to scream at their drivers "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IS HAPPENING IN HERE?" because, to me, it was unfathomable and unfair that the entire world was not grieving and feeling those same feelings as we were. That this beautiful life was about to be gone forever and there they were, going about their daily routine, unfazed by the sadness and grief and horror that was happening so painfully and acutely right then and there to me. But I didn't scream. I sat at the window, held my very pregnant belly in silence and cried. And to this day, when I drive on the Beltway and see that hospital, my heart aches and my eyes well with tears. </div>
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Even though it has been eight years, I am still unprepared for the way I feel in early December. I always know, in my head, that the anniversary is coming, but I am never prepared. I know it's coming. In the back of my mind, I think "OK December 6 is coming ... it will be sad." If only grief were logical. If only grief understood that time is supposed to make things easier to bear. I've stopped trying to figure out why I feel the way that I do. I just accept it and deal. After all, life goes on, which is a painful truth of grief. There is work to be done, children to be mothered, errands to be run, bills to be paid, life to be lived in all of its grand and mundane details. Grief is always there. </div>
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As I write this post, I have a candle flickering nearby. It's the holidays, and I love to have holiday candles in my house. I've had to take a few moments from writing this to wipe away my tears and I find myself looking at my candle and the flame, and it occurs to me that grief is so much like a flickering flame. It's always there burning ... when it starts the flame is the largest and the most intense, and then the fire settles a bit but it keeps burning and it stays burning, sometimes low and quiet, and sometimes, without warning or reason, bursting with an unexpected bolt of fire. There's no real rhyme or reason, and there's no real antidote to it. It's just there. And in a way, it's comforting. I hate to think of a time in my life when I am not grieving the loss of my very dear friend. My 8 years of grief have been just like that: a long slow burn with occasional and unpredictable bursts of profound sadness. Such is life. And such is death. </div>
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I miss her every single day. I miss her the most at this time of year. With 8 years, I can actually see differences in my appearance from the last time she was with us. But Maggie will always be young and beautiful. I am thankful and grateful to God that I knew her. I miss my friend.<br />
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Rest in Peace, Maggie. We will always love you. <br />
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-8512890416030449502015-11-30T07:00:00.000-05:002015-11-30T07:00:04.346-05:00Race Recap: 2015 Philadelphia Half Marathon<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello and <i>happy post Thanksgiving it's Christmas time how did that happen?</i> time! I know that I have really neglected the blog and it's a goal of mine to get back to it on a more regular basis. I have so many thoughts and blog posts in my head, but making the time to write isn't happening right now. It will. </div>
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But I have a race recap! On Sunday November 22, I ran the Philadelphia Half Marathon. It's the first race I've done since the disastrous <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/05/race-recap-2015-novo-nordisk-new-jersey.html">New Jersey State Marathon</a> in April ... April!!! Just about 7 months to the day even. After that race -- actually <i>during</i> that race -- I realized I had lost my racing mojo and needed to take a break. A break from racing, not running. I allowed myself the Summer and Fall to just enjoy running (and a tiny bit of biking and an even tinier bit of swimming) and run for the love of it without a training plan. I had signed up for the Philly half a long time ago because, at the time, I thought it would be a good first race to start my Boston Marathon training. When <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/10/the-lyin-and-unicorn.html">Boston didn't happen</a>, I knew I'd still run Philly because it's such a great race at such a perfect time of year. And frankly, after training for full marathons for so long, training for a half felt a lot more fun and more manageable. It is. I won't and would never say training for a half is "easy", because it is not, but it is definitely less onerous than training for a full. I truly enjoyed training and only did what I wanted to do: long runs and a mix of shorter runs. No speedwork. No hill repeats. No intervals. This was to be about fun and what I love, and while those things truly work to make me a stronger, faster runner, they do not make me very happy. </div>
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My "training plan" for the half, such as it was, enabled me to focus on the pure joy of running and why I was doing it in the first place. It was just what I needed. And I found that the more I ran and focused on the race, the more I really wanted to race. It was a feeling I hadn't felt in quite a long time. Races had become part of the drill ... something that I did, versus something that I really wanted to do. So this shift alone was exciting for me. Oddly enough, I did not feel the competitive urge to hit a certain time or to get a PR. Of course, I <i>wanted</i> to have a strong, fast race, and I <i>wanted</i> to get a new PR, but I also knew I wasn't in tip top <strike>fighting</strike> running shape, so a great race of which I could be proud was the number one goal. </div>
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Something very sweet happened in the start corral that showed me that just that would happen. Backing up first, ever since my friend Maggie died eight years ago this December, when I run in the Autumn, I try to catch a falling leaf in my hand as I run. When I do, I like to think it's a little nod from Mags. I don't know why, but it's what I do and it makes me feel her presence, and oddly enough, it happens quite a bit. As I stood in the corral on the Ben Franklin Parkway in Philly, I was thinking about my race and how I would run, when a leaf fell right on my head. It was so random and so weird because I was on a street in Philly, not in a wooded trail. I liked to think it was Maggie bopping me on the head saying "just have fun." And have fun I did!<br />
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I raced this one in 1:53:38 [8:40/mile pace]. Certainly not a personal best, but it was a really solid, strong effort and I truly did love every moment and every mile of this race. Initially I thought I would try to follow the race plan I used for the Philly Love Run in March 2014, but after a few miles, I decided to just run by feel. Even though my race was not my fastest, the miles ticked off faster in this race than in any I have ever done. So much so, that unlike in past races, I cannot really remember vivid detail of each mile. I was so happy to be running and surrounded by other runners that I focused on the experience versus details. <br />
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The last time I ran the Philly Half was in 2011 and my life was completely different then. So was my running. I raced that one in 2:06:15 [9:37/mile pace]. This year I was 114th of 824 women in my age group, 936th of 6,595 women and 2398th of 10,903 overall.<br />
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Here's a list of my splits (these may be a little fast because my watch had me at running 13.15 miles ... but I am too lazy to figure out the differences and they're not that far off): </div>
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Miles 1-6 -- I just remember feeling so happy and so fast! Initially I wanted to run these miles between 8:25 and 8:30. There is no feeling like running down the Ben Franklin Parkway at the start of the race with tons of people cheering you on. It was a very warm day for the race ... I was happy to be in just a tee shirt. With each mile I looked at my watch and thought, ok, good mile, keep it up. I was surprised at South Street - this was the first year where it was pretty empty. It's usually filled more with spectators. <br />
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Mile 1: 8:33<br />
Mile 2: 8:38<br />
Mile 3: 8:16<br />
Mile 4: 8:23<br />
Mile 5: 8:22<br />
Mile 6: 8:32<br />
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Mile 7 is my favorite. It's the absolute best. You run up Chestnut Street essentially the entire length to Drexel. And it is packed - three people deep - with people cheering. This mile is almost always my fastest mile on this race for that reason. You can't help but feel like a running rockstar on this mile. <br />
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Mile 7: 8:10<br />
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Miles 8-10 are rough. Mile 8 is a hill at Drexel, and while it's not particularly steep, it is super long and seems interminable. What helps in this mile is it's very populated with college kids, most of whom are drinking (and offering) beer. So fun. Mile 9 is near the zoo and has a couple of little hills. Mile 10 is the doozy - a huge, steep, long, punishing hill to the Please Touch Museum. It's the hardest, and the last, hill on the course, and the reward is my running club (including Amy and Bill!) are at the top handing out water, Gatorade and gels. Knowing that my good friends were at the top made me inspired to get up that hill ... and it was awesome to see them. They told me where they would be, so I stayed to that side and got huge high fives from them when I saw them. <br />
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Mile 8: 8:59<br />
Mile 9: 8:38<br />
Mile 10: 9:07<br />
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Miles 11-13 are back on the flat ground and are straight to the finish. I was happy to rally and hit my usual 8:30ish pace. The photo is about a half mile from the finish. I was pushing hard here!<br />
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Mile 11: 8:26<br />
Mile 12: 8:25<br />
Mile 13: 8:38<br />
Mile 13.1: 7:54<br />
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As I got closer to the finish, I looked at my watch and knew that a PR was out of reach. I was totally OK with this. My inclination at the finish is always to push it as hard as I can, but this time, I decided to just hold the pace. An extra thirty seconds-minute wouldn't make a difference, and I wanted to just soak in the sights and sounds of the finish line. I always try to turn off my music and listen to everything, and this race was no exception. I love that feeling of seeing the finish and hearing all the cheers and cowbells. And because I finished before the first full marathon finisher, Mayor Nutter was still on the half marathon side to give high fives to finishers! I got a nice high five from the outgoing mayor. Woo hoo. </div>
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What a great race! And look at this medal! A little Liberty Bell that actually rings! It rings! It was hilarious walking back to my car because of the pure cacophony of hundreds and hundreds of ringing medals! The full marathon finishers got the bigger red one and the half finishers got the yellow one. <br />
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This was my last big race of my 30s, and what a way to go out. I'm allowing myself a full on sleighride of no pressure fun through the holidays, but come January, I'll resume swim-bike-run training. Nothing Ironman crazy, but I am looking forward to the variety again.</div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" /><br />
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PS: playlist time! I created a new, fantastic playlist for this race. This one is a little heavy on Chicago and Lionel Richie, and very light on ABBA. Enjoy! I sure did! My notes in <i>italics!</i><br />
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1812 Overture (Finale) (London Philharmonic Orchestra) <i>don't laugh - it will make you feel like a winner!</i><br />
A Horse With No Name (America)<br />
All Out of Love (Air Supply)<br />
Annie's Song (John Denver)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Bad, Bad Leroy Brown (<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jim Croce)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Break My Stride (Matthew Wilder)<br />
Can't Hold Us (feat. Ray Dalton) (Macklemore & Ryan Lewis)<br />
Do You Hear the People Sing? (Les Misérables Original London Cast) <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? (Chicago)<br />
Double Dutch Bus (Frankie Smith)<br />
Down (feat. Lil Wayne) (Jay Sean)<br />
Dynamite (Taio Cruz)<br />
Emotion (Samantha Sang)<br />
Feels So Good (Chuck Mangione)<br />
The Gambler (Kenny Rogers)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Hard to Say I'm Sorry / Get Away (Chicago)<br />
I Can't Hold Back (Survivor)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
I Got a Name (Jim Croce)<br />
If I Had $1,000,000 (Barenaked Ladies)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
If You Could Read My Mind (Ela Wardi)<br />
If You Leave Me Now (Chicago)<br />
It Takes Two (Rob Base)<br />
It's Not Unusual (Tom Jones)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
It's the Same Old Song (Four Tops)<br />
Knowing Me, Knowing You (ABBA) <i>this was the last song that played at the race, which I loved, as it's my swim song and the first song I sang at the Ironman (and every other tri) swim start.</i><br />
Let It Be (John Denver)<br />
Let It Go (Demi Lovato)<br />
Let's Hang On (The Four Seasons)<br />
Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now (Starship)<br />
Oh No (The Commodores)<br />
One Moment In Time (Whitney Houston)<br />
Party In the U.S.A. (Miley Cyrus)<br />
Philadelphia Freedom (Elton John) <i>gotta have this song at a Philly race</i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Push It (Salt-n-Pepa)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Reflections (Diana Ross & The Supremes)<br />
Sailing (Christopher Cross)<br />
Saturday In the Park (Chicago)<br />
Shake It Off (Taylor Swift)<br />
Sloop John B (The Beach Boys)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Take Me Home, Country Roads (John Denver)<br />
The Tears of a Clown (Smokey Robinson & The Miracles)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Theme from "Greatest American Hero" (Believe It or Not) (Joey Scarbury)<br />
This Is It (Kenny Loggins)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
Truly (Lionel Richie)<br />
Weekend In New England (Barry Manilow) <i>I love to run so much to this song I played it twice. sure did. may have even run with emphatic arm and hand motions. </i><br />
While You See a Chance (Steve Winwood)<br />
Working My Way Back to You (Spinners)<br />
You Are (Lionel Richie) <i>sigh ... love this song. love lionel. </i><br />
You Give Love a Bad Name (<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bon Jovi)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
You May Be Right (Billy Joel)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
You Shook Me All Night Long (AC/DC)<br />
You're the Inspiration (Chicago)<br />
(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher & Higher (Jackie Wilson)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-4611399372695944122015-10-30T07:00:00.000-04:002015-10-30T07:00:03.946-04:00What I Wore {post 80} June 2015 Style Challenge - finishing it up ... in October<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello and happy Friday! I realized that when I left the blog untended for so long that I also forgot to wind up my June (!) Style Challenge. Here are the last few days of that.</div>
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<span class="s1">As with prior weeks in the challenge, I had to move things around based on work schedule and what not. Also, I played around with a new photo editing app ... and I'm not thrilled with the results, but I want to publish this sucker! </span></div>
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<span class="s1">June 22: </span>Whiteout </h2>
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I found this white dress at Loft last year. I'd always wanted a white dress and this one is perfect for Summer. It's not exactly perfect for work, but I just paired it with a lightweight white cardigan and a fun turquoise belt that I grabbed from Nordstrom. I love this belt! </div>
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<span class="s1">June 23: Nautical</span></h2>
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<span class="s1">I got this dress from <a href="http://www.stitchfix.com/">Stitch Fix</a>, which is a new guilty pleasure. My stylist for this particular fix nailed my style, and I love love love this dress. There's nothing more nautical than navy blue and white stripes. Except maybe a sailor hat but that isn't happening. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">June 24: Cold Shoulder</span></h2>
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I had a meeting this day but it was pretty warm and thought a sleeveless top would work. I got this at the Ann Taylor outlet with Jamie awhile ago. I wore it with simple black pants. </div>
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<span class="s1">June 25: </span>A dress to the floor</h2>
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LOVE THIS DRESS. Love it. I needed to go full on ALL CAPS because at 5'1", it is impossible to find a long dress that works on me. Impossible. Truly impossible. And this does. I got it at Nordstrom. My only regret is not buying it in every color and pattern. </div>
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<span class="s1">June 26: Summer feet</span></h2>
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<span class="s1">And the final day - summer feet! I wore my orange sandals (from Target!) with a cute floral top and jeans to work on a casual Friday. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">And there you go. It only took me four months to finish, but better late than never? Better late than never.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Have a terrific weekend! And Happy Halloween!</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-33442356401479641472015-10-12T07:00:00.000-04:002015-10-12T07:00:01.486-04:00on graceHappy Monday. [horizontal smile]<br />
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I still owe a major recap (both of life and of training) of the Summer and I promise to get to that soon(ish). I have a handful of half-finished posts that I've been working on for awhile, and I am really hoping to get back to a more regular schedule.</div>
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When I dusted off the cobwebs and logged back on to the blog this past weekend, I found this post that I had written awhile ago but not finished and had not published. I thought hmm ... this is a good one I want to share. </div>
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Quite some time ago, I read the blog of a friend of a friend (got it?) who divorced and then discovered he had a brain tumor. Talk about an epic kick in the teeth, right? I don't know him, but a lot of what he posted resonated. In particular, I found myself nodding along with his comments that he relied, and relies, on his friends in this new stage of life, and that he is constantly amazed by how truly giving his true friends have been and continue to be. I had (and continue to have) the same experience, especially in those early days. Days when I didn't ask for help -- days when friends just showed up and did. </div>
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It got me thinking about grace, and how so many people extended so much grace in those early days. When you are in the throes of a separation and then a divorce, you can't really express your feelings in a coherent manner. I look back at those days and it was really like triage: I survived because I had to, I put one foot in front of the other, I breathed in and out, I survived. And I am so lucky that I had people who stood by my side and were there, were kind, were loving and showed me grace. </div>
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I am fortunate that I didn't have any real naysayers in my life ... no people who wanted to criticize me for not working hard enough, for not caring enough about my children to "make it work", for "giving up", for disregarding my marriage vows. I did not have to explain myself to those who loved me, and that was grace. </div>
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Relatively recently (and long after my separation and divorce), an acquaintance on Facebook (an acquaintance who is not, and never has been, married or divorced) posted a link to an article that basically criticized the notion of divorce and essentially passed judgement on those who found themselves in an unhappy marriage and then divorced. This Facebook friend said the following: </div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #333333;">Thoughts on this? What constitutes a "dead" marriage? I've never been married but my "map" has always been that</span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #333333;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">divorce</span><span style="color: #333333;"> </span><span style="color: #333333;">would only be an option for me if there was cheating, abuse, or addiction involved (which, chances are, I would see that behavior prior to marriage if I am in a relationship long enough with the person). Once I'm married, I feel I should know that person's core values and beliefs enough to gauge the likelihood of those things occurring. I guess my thought process is that "irreconcilable differences" or just "not being happy" in a marriage is not enough of a reason to</span><span style="color: #333333;"> </span><span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">divorce</span><span style="color: #333333;">, espe</span></span><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #333333;">cially if children are involved. Work on it - you fell in love with that person for a reason and if you're unhappy then that has more to do with work you need to do on yourself than anything else. The only way you would be modeling bad behavior is by allowing children to be in a continual unhealthy environment of cheating, abuse, or addiction. You're modeling good behavior if they see you are in a relationship free of those things and choose to work on your own "unhappiness" to grow as a person.</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I sat there at my computer and read the post over and over. My face was red, my hands were shaking, my heart was pounding. And as much as I wanted to just ignore and move on, I did not. I stood up for myself. And I stood up for people in my shoes who went through the same thing that I did. And I said this: </span><br />
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<i>I have a lot of thoughts. As you know, I’ve been married once and am now divorced. So I can bring that perspective to the table. While you are certainly entitled to your own opinion, having never been in a marriage, or through the absolutely heart wrenchingly difficult process of <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span>, your opinion is, quite frankly, overly simplistic. Marriage, even the best marriages with the most amazing and truest loves, is difficult. Marriage is a living, breathing thing independent of the people who comprise it. People grow, people change, time marches on. A marriage has to be strong enough to adapt to those changes. That’s so easy to say and acknowledge in concept, but in reality, it’s really just hard. I venture that most people are not the same people they were 10, 15, 20 years ago. Change is wonderful, but often very difficult. And sometimes permanent and divergent. No one enters a marriage thinking that <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span> will happen; likewise, no one leaves a marriage without a hell of a lot of heartbreak. </i></span><br />
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<i>This comment of yours: “I guess my thought process is that ‘irreconcilable differences’ or just ‘not being happy’ in a marriage is not enough of a reason to <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span>, especially if children are involved. Work on it - you fell in love with that person for a reason and if you're unhappy then that has more to do with work you need to do on yourself than anything else” is rife with judgment, and having been through a <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span> (a <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span> that was, by and large, amicable and a <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span> in which children were involved), it made me bristle. To limit <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span> as “only an option” where there is cheating, abuse or addiction involved is myopic in my view. Those are horrible things for sure. But irreconcilable differences are insidious. They don’t just happen overnight. They take time and they are destructive. By brushing them off as “not enough reason to <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span>, especially if children are involved” invalidates, minimizes and undercuts the difficult decisions that many people make to leave their marriages. Without going into details here about my own situation, I will tell you that I did “work on it.” For years. But at the end of the day, ending my marriage was the healthiest thing for me, for my ex, and for my children who now have parents who are happy, well-adjusted and living a better life, which, in turn, makes my children happier, better adjusted and living a better life. They did not ask for divorced parents, and my ex and I work very hard to surround them with love and show them every single day that we are still a family, if not in a traditional sense. I am thankful that, by all accounts, we are succeeding. </i></span><br />
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<i>All this to say – before you make declarations like the ones above, give some thought to those who have actually had to go through it and who live it every single day. I am beyond grateful that I have friends and family who were, and continue to be, kind, supportive, caring, sympathetic, empathetic and just plain amazing and who understood that making the decision to <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span> was done with a lot of thought and prayer. I was shown a lot of <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">grace</span> by the people in my life, and I encourage you extend that same <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">grace</span> to those facing the prospect of <span class="highlight" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial;">divorce</span>.</i></span></div>
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She deleted her post. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I reproduce our exchange here not as a means to chastise her, but as a plea to anyone who is watching a friend or an acquaintance or a loved one go through a separation or divorce or troubles in a marriage to muster the strength to show grace. The beauty of showing grace is that it is as active as it is passive ... by simply loving your loved one, without judgment, and being there and saying or simply implying that no matter what happens, "I love you, I am here, and I will love you," you are extending an incredible amount of grace at a time when everything is upside down, inside out and unrecognizable. No one knows what to say. Even now, when a friend is contemplating divorce and confides in me, I admit that don't know what to say (which is hard because I've been there). But everyone's journey and everyone's story is different. So I listen. And I let him or her know that there's no magic answer, but I am there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's been more than three years, but I still cannot thank enough those in my life who showed (and continue to show) me that grace. I am who I am today because of it. I was able to move on, find myself again, and now, find a loving relationship in which I am truly in love and truly happy. "I once was lost, but now I'm found ... was blind but now I see." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There's a reason that the song calls grace "amazing". It truly is. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-70253987308688402502015-10-09T07:00:00.000-04:002015-10-09T07:00:05.190-04:00The Lyin' and the Unicorn<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well hello! Yes, it's me. It's been months. Seasons. Ages. Forevers. I am sorry. Kind of. It's just that I've been busy and loving and living life. I have so many posts that are in varying degrees of completion and many posts in my head. I've resolved to give myself a break and post when the inspiration strikes. </div>
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And ... ba boom. Inspiration didn't just strike, but it hit me like a lightning bolt. Or a wrecking ball. Or an arsenal of unicorns with super strong horns. What happened?</div>
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I missed the cut-off for racing the Boston Marathon by 16 seconds. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jOpE0ZJfmR-7IdHzcQj6av1Wn1Shb1PPMbulwrXwX1czFblKfz6Gor6G2FwFPZtubx4Pszp60D2aNml_SL4e0xfUZOqMFTcGobCYeonbytvQJbGmkQYxCx2S5phbKiTxkQUlQvs8-8s/s1600/IMG_4371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jOpE0ZJfmR-7IdHzcQj6av1Wn1Shb1PPMbulwrXwX1czFblKfz6Gor6G2FwFPZtubx4Pszp60D2aNml_SL4e0xfUZOqMFTcGobCYeonbytvQJbGmkQYxCx2S5phbKiTxkQUlQvs8-8s/s640/IMG_4371.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Seriously.</div>
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Sixteen.</div>
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Six-teen sec-onds. Less than a second per mile. I've done the math (and you know I hate math). But ultimately, have consoled myself with the fact that missing by 16 seconds is worlds better than by 6 seconds. Or 2 seconds. Or 1 second. <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2012/11/philadelphia-marathon-2012-goal-attained.html">Or one-one hundredth of a second like at Philly in 2012</a>. </div>
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You are probably wondering how this happened when <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2014/10/bq-race-recap-2014-steamtown-marathon.html">I qualified for Boston at the Steamtown Marathon</a> last October -- in fact just one year ago this weekend. I did. I absolutely did. The "BQ" time for my age group is 3:45. BQ means Boston Qualifying. And I ran Steamtown in 3:42:48 -- a full 2 minutes and 12 seconds faster than the BQ time! But, sadly, that is not enough. Running a BQ means only that you are eligible to apply to register for the Boston Marathon. This is no surprise. All runners know this (even though we complain that a BQ <i>should</i> mean you can actually run Boston). It's the great lie about nabbing a BQ - yay you are fast enough to maybe run the Boston Marathon but maybe not! There are so many amazing runners out there that if everyone who got a BQ were able to run the Boston Marathon, the race would have way too many people. So the race lets in the fastest people first and gradually rolls down until they are sold out. So, usually, if you run a bit faster than your "BQ" time, you are able to race. Everyone also knows to check out the historical data on BQ and how much faster than BQ has been required in years past. The most time ever was about 90 seconds faster than BQ. So, with my 132 seconds in the bank, I thought even though there was no sure thing, I was <i>preeeettttty</i> sure that I could get in. </div>
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Ahhhh ... not so fast. Literally. Not so fast. The cut off was 2:28 under BQ this year. Thousands of runners like me were in the sad position of nabbing a BQ but being denied the opportunity to run Boston. It's certainly not the end of the world. And it takes nothing away from my accomplishment of running the race, and marathon, of my life at Steamtown. There is absolutely no way I could have made up that 16 seconds that day. Each mile felt perfect, and I won't look back on that race and kick myself for not running faster. It simply wasn't possible that day. And Boston 2016 is just not in the cards. Like the incomparable Kenny Rogers once sang, "you gotta know when to hold em and know when to fold em." </div>
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Kenny also said "you gotta know when to walk away and know when to run." I am both walking away and running. Rather than focus on the lemons, and admittedly, these are some epic lemons, I am focusing on the lemonade. For the first time in three years, I don't have to train for an Ironman or a marathon in the Winter. Yippie! I am excited to focus on the half marathon distance for the time being and get back into sprint triathlons. I have missed tri training, and I am excited to hit the pool once or twice a week again. I have not missed my bike trainer, but I'll hit that too. </div>
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I'm signed up for the Philly Half Marathon in November. I'm so excited to run it. It's my first race since the epic disaster for me that was the <a href="http://www.swoonstylehome.com/2015/05/race-recap-2015-novo-nordisk-new-jersey.html">NJ State Marathon</a>, and it took me this long to get the itch to race again. After that, I'll do the Love Run in the Spring (another half marathon) and then I am doing the Escape the Cape Triathlon in June. Once June comes and goes, I'll decide whether I want to push again and try for a BQ. Right now, I am taking the pressure off entirely and just running (and swimming and biking) for the ever loving joy out of it. Taking the Summer off from "training" has been a delightful reminder that I actually love running and swimming and biking and that doing them for the sake of nothing more than the pure pleasure of doing them is enough to make me happy.</div>
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In closing, the title of this post probably didn't make sense to many of you. I have to give a little shout out to my middle school music teacher, Mr. Futer, for the title of this post. We used to sing the song, "The Lion and the Unicorn" in his class. Since the Boston Athletic Association (and the Boston Marathon) use a unicorn as its logo, I think about this song every time I think of the race. </div>
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The song goes like this:</div>
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<i>The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown;</i></div>
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<i>The lion and the unicorn were all around the town.</i></div>
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<i>Some give them white bread and some give them brown;</i></div>
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<i>Some will give them plum cake ... and drum them out of town. </i></div>
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I have no clue what this means. But when (not if) I run the Boston Marathon, I beg of someone to show up with some plum cake. That sounds amazing. I also think it's destined to happen given my love of unicorns. </div>
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Anyway ... more to come! I have so much to share. And I still need to finish out my June style challenge. In October.</div>
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Have a great weekend! </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-62067986301514136792015-07-30T07:02:00.000-04:002015-07-30T07:02:00.142-04:00I'm here! I'm alive! I'm good!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ok ... it's been more than a minute since I posted on the blog and I have received enough emails from concerned readers (thank you!) that I figured I should at least say hello. So ... hello! </div>
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I'm sorry I have been MIA, but it's Summer, work is busy, I've been traveling a ton (expect a blog post on my IMLP 2015 volunteering experience!), and things are otherwise really, really good in my life. Like pinch myself and cupcakes with rainbow icing and teeny tiny kittens on top good. I will try my best to get back to a regular blogging schedule, but that probably won't happen until mid-August. </div>
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So in the meantime, I'll be swim, bike, running and having fun (and drinking my favorite IPAs) while the computer sits in the desk where it belongs. I will be back as soon as I can. </div>
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Happy Summer!<br />
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-11424170821721697582015-06-26T07:00:00.000-04:002015-06-26T07:00:03.858-04:00What I Wore {post 79} June 2015 Style Challenge - week 3<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hey there! It's Friday again! Time for weekend! Time for fun! Time for a recap of my third week of the Style Challenge. This week was tricky for a couple of reasons: (1) I had to move things around because I had court one day and a big meeting another; and (2) I was out of the office on Thursday and Friday with my kids (it's that weird time of year when they're done school but camps don't start, so we cobble together their care). I fully intended to do the challenge, but at the end of the day, my outfits were not blog post worthy - I was home with them on a rainy day on Thursday (read: I wore yoga pants, an old cotton tee and hair in a bun) and took them to Hershey Park on Friday (read: shorts, tank top, and sweat). All this to say, only three outfits this week. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRPftHZWbp18eXo6krYf8TQPPc-s4cEEc1TdCh6A_N8sZMA5nZcafJIi2t-OHQhyphenhyphenSDUGwL_uJM2-LfmK7mz8UNDeZWB_3pruyYqNEn8BYcEY1yTYvgTtriVs-a2ByJv_sN0P8-etuxR8/s1600/StyleMeJuly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRPftHZWbp18eXo6krYf8TQPPc-s4cEEc1TdCh6A_N8sZMA5nZcafJIi2t-OHQhyphenhyphenSDUGwL_uJM2-LfmK7mz8UNDeZWB_3pruyYqNEn8BYcEY1yTYvgTtriVs-a2ByJv_sN0P8-etuxR8/s400/StyleMeJuly.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">June 15: Put a bow on it (moved from June 16)</span></div>
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<span class="s1">June 16: Daydream vacation (moved from June 17)</span><br />
<span class="s1">June 17: Long Necklace (moved from June 20)</span></div>
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June 15: Put a Bow on It</h2>
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I had court this day, so I had to wear a suit. There's only so much creativity and leeway you get with a suit. And, of course, in keeping with the weather that we've seen this Spring so far, it was insanely hot this day. I wore my black skirt suit (from 2003 - seriously. From Petite Sophisticate, which doesn't even exist anymore) and a blouse from Loft from 2006. The blouse is a halter top with a bow that ties at the neck. I rarely wear the blouse and I'm not sure why. It's very flowy, but I tucked it in and it was fine. I wore the outfit without the jacket all day except when I was in front of the judge. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkd7o9WSdyNZwcga5AJHTpN9a-AWpGRWgtS7l1iS66CSdseYnW8QcEslAT2e9of82-RMJsuHsYtYoWCzmZQmEouL9gXatiZjoY9UMtje_40kmdGxYYTW0y4TvnZyLEU_-2xJy43d0A6JA/s1600/IMG_3755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkd7o9WSdyNZwcga5AJHTpN9a-AWpGRWgtS7l1iS66CSdseYnW8QcEslAT2e9of82-RMJsuHsYtYoWCzmZQmEouL9gXatiZjoY9UMtje_40kmdGxYYTW0y4TvnZyLEU_-2xJy43d0A6JA/s640/IMG_3755.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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June 16: Daydream Vacation</h2>
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Another crazy hot day. I took my cues from a dress I bought with Jamie a few weeks ago at the j.crew factory - a lovely crisp, light little linen sundress with an A-line cut. This is a dress I would love to wear on a beachy vacation because it's so light and breezy. And it was so hot at work that I didn't care how casual it was. I wore with my gold & brown leather wedges. I think this photo has a filter on it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0mO65U_Iw9jRaQyd0iwOvILLQ_PYAO9I_R45vv2BGDcAu5zQYoh0KQEZjzOZZ3ZFso0EJs_NbsDruf6BSg2Yk2C9kkPMpltCKEhFZ9FdRXYPGXJRfMIPLKe5vdZD9Bjj7Goz-3IeALc/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0mO65U_Iw9jRaQyd0iwOvILLQ_PYAO9I_R45vv2BGDcAu5zQYoh0KQEZjzOZZ3ZFso0EJs_NbsDruf6BSg2Yk2C9kkPMpltCKEhFZ9FdRXYPGXJRfMIPLKe5vdZD9Bjj7Goz-3IeALc/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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June 17: Long Necklace</h2>
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This was the day of my big meeting at work. Actually, meetings (plural). It was a busy day and I had to step it up a bit in terms of formality. A bunch of my colleagues wear suits to these meetings, but I cannot bring myself to do that especially since I wore one earlier that week. So I wore my go-to: a wrap dress. I bought this dress (again) with Jamie at the outlets. This was the Ann Taylor outlet and was on crazy clearance. I think it was $25. I wore my pink quilted sling-backs and my long necklace from j.crew. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdq5BkgXunrLLkgPbfS6p9DIHIdCwmrWG7TJX2AwtQ8opznV8zwVxOSCFvnavoTYvnyevnkALnbj8Vf0tSBQ9H4N3tkTFbIL2KGJTtKi7aI_-8CUwB1QP_Dy6BJYMxRPqT0a-J_dob0GU/s1600/IMG_3766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdq5BkgXunrLLkgPbfS6p9DIHIdCwmrWG7TJX2AwtQ8opznV8zwVxOSCFvnavoTYvnyevnkALnbj8Vf0tSBQ9H4N3tkTFbIL2KGJTtKi7aI_-8CUwB1QP_Dy6BJYMxRPqT0a-J_dob0GU/s640/IMG_3766.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Just a couple more posts left! Have a wonderful weekend! I have my annual family reunion this weekend and then a business trip. And then it's July. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273580153926842824.post-43483463990142230552015-06-24T07:00:00.000-04:002015-06-24T07:00:02.274-04:00Updates to Big Kid's Room<br />
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Ever since I moved into my place, I've felt bad about the kids' room situation. My home is a three-bedroom with a master and two smaller bedrooms, but as between those two other bedrooms, the one is much larger than the other. I gave the larger room to my daughter, who is two years younger than my son, only because as the baby, she seems to get "seconds" in many things, and I thought it might do them both good for her to get the better choice. </div>
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My son has made it clear to me that he views this as an injustice and a travesty ... that it is profoundly unfair that his room is so much smaller than his sister's. I understand, and I feel bad, but short of moving walls, there is nothing I can do. So, this year, I told him that we would make some changes to his space and asked, again, short of moving walls, what I could do to make his space better for him. </div>
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He asked for a desk and for a place to store his Lego creations. Easy enough! I knew that in addition to those things, I wanted to give him more storage and to organize his closet. I bought a couple of things over the past few months and got them ready, and then on a rainy day off, spent a few hours finishing up the room. Here are the before and afters:</div>
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Before</h2>
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This picture is pretty old. But this is the view from the door. I made the window treatment and headboard myself. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5LP71vdX1iSsBEG2LoZHAjILX8h5CQCzxjZ0TtWAIL98KXmI684NN_fehgREiOVjgSZno8iU8S7IsUmN-6sVkMlnI7ZuCnCeemIiu2iIGLOE3Vl_T-W05peVIfotLpk_eCVNJD91Z50/s1600/IMG_2648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5LP71vdX1iSsBEG2LoZHAjILX8h5CQCzxjZ0TtWAIL98KXmI684NN_fehgREiOVjgSZno8iU8S7IsUmN-6sVkMlnI7ZuCnCeemIiu2iIGLOE3Vl_T-W05peVIfotLpk_eCVNJD91Z50/s640/IMG_2648.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Most of the changes were things I did a little while ago. I added the print over his bed. The nightstand used to be in my room but wasn't big enough to hold my workout clothes, so I upgraded the chest in my room and moved this to his. I did a two-tone treatment on it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOKq9NamWo22bUPEW2Pjqg3XKJQbfHDiGzCi09WpvLBjNVrYwShy-KBubOhYWpU3tAoLHK61UU7QvpSHtGnmYo5zzSjqR2sH4tZrm7r55oDEgMyLmH4tOprNy_LAWeJSY8En3BORxIno/s1600/FullSizeRender_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOKq9NamWo22bUPEW2Pjqg3XKJQbfHDiGzCi09WpvLBjNVrYwShy-KBubOhYWpU3tAoLHK61UU7QvpSHtGnmYo5zzSjqR2sH4tZrm7r55oDEgMyLmH4tOprNy_LAWeJSY8En3BORxIno/s640/FullSizeRender_3.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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The dresser wall was pretty good. I had the one large dresser for his clothes but no other storage. The big red tub in the corner held his sports equipment. There was a set of shelves on the opposite side of his room, but it did not hold enough of his stuff. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFu4pVzkOQ5vOKEmVt4I1tIFcQIfv0vDfBt1Km_2p6Ksyb-G3K_5tiaGoiWzFMIQc0LMgJg2hbsELDcMX2fcjXqoMUh2D-iPK7HpPSvXmtYgqusU4pq33ILzcYgVQB6-Bol4gWFc-PUU/s1600/IMG_2649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvFu4pVzkOQ5vOKEmVt4I1tIFcQIfv0vDfBt1Km_2p6Ksyb-G3K_5tiaGoiWzFMIQc0LMgJg2hbsELDcMX2fcjXqoMUh2D-iPK7HpPSvXmtYgqusU4pq33ILzcYgVQB6-Bol4gWFc-PUU/s640/IMG_2649.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yah - this is a lot. A lot of shelves! But it's all working storage and holds things that he loves and uses The shelf on the right is the Kallax shelf from Ikea. The top holds his Lego creations. In the top cubes, I bought some lidded storage from Target, and those hold Legos and Lego kits. The bottom cubes hold his cars and trucks, which he still plays with quite a bit. On the left of the dresser, I broke up one of the three shelves that were once where the desk is now (see below). This is his Pokemon area. The top two shelves hold his Pokemon cards and the very bottom shelf holds some games and random toys. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFpi0yPSW7xGgqEpBP6Xfiwh8ZTbIPsSYS71jlDdMHsVoMUvEXYRpL3xrHxygl92-XNSj0D5MocX7WxxvEhNiKUer9BYy1ybbBmcJ8jLKfwaNqOu2SBH0BmbjXizXTyFXZG9wtRXzR18/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFpi0yPSW7xGgqEpBP6Xfiwh8ZTbIPsSYS71jlDdMHsVoMUvEXYRpL3xrHxygl92-XNSj0D5MocX7WxxvEhNiKUer9BYy1ybbBmcJ8jLKfwaNqOu2SBH0BmbjXizXTyFXZG9wtRXzR18/s640/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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These are very old shelves from IKEA, and they worked for awhile to hold his toys and books. But as you can see, he needed more storage and this was the only place in the room where the desk could go. Luckily, those shelves are narrow and not attached. So I moved the one to the wall with the dresser, the one into the closet (see below) and left the one here. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf9xvedLJ2C-JcuIGX8r299BBWoXtlJVquH-ht8xo3tOIpSvz9X83WJhizgQyUk-rHJChhftpKaARNZGHiiwPAIlG2dCnNQ-nMJahT2OLqsxMxEXrGhJnYArH164IwQETTfku9CpEGkc/s1600/IMG_2653.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf9xvedLJ2C-JcuIGX8r299BBWoXtlJVquH-ht8xo3tOIpSvz9X83WJhizgQyUk-rHJChhftpKaARNZGHiiwPAIlG2dCnNQ-nMJahT2OLqsxMxEXrGhJnYArH164IwQETTfku9CpEGkc/s640/IMG_2653.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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And here is the desk! I found it in January at Target. It was on sale, I had a $10 off coupon and I used my Red Card for an additional 5% off and free shipping. I think it ended up costing about $45, which is perfect. I needed a very compact desk and this one got really good reviews. The chair is from IKEA. I let him pick it out. I like the print a lot! The shelf to the right of the desk [barely] holds his books. I added a bulletin board over the desk so he can pin things to it. And I had bought the bulletin board/shelf/hook combo at Target last summer and never got around to putting it up. Oops. I added his medals. I also put his name in big wooden letters over the shelf (I cut them off purposefully so his name isn't readable). Rather than drive myself nuts with nails and trying to get it perfect, I just used the strongest On Command strips to hang them. Fingers crossed it holds. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48bTotUX24L3C4ezG-BbbXolSKVD0dxcbVpIm5PzyvurWcwhlvE03NGE_Si295_x46jtzsASU66MExNsx67w5ylznaLXGlnbcoXlX45xcQOPm9FBmV3m47ZEINmitTX9XhpAwkcCzlpE/s1600/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48bTotUX24L3C4ezG-BbbXolSKVD0dxcbVpIm5PzyvurWcwhlvE03NGE_Si295_x46jtzsASU66MExNsx67w5ylznaLXGlnbcoXlX45xcQOPm9FBmV3m47ZEINmitTX9XhpAwkcCzlpE/s640/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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I don't have a before picture for this section because it was pretty bad - the inside of his closet. It wasn't *terrible*, but it needed some order, and that's what I added. The black bins at the top of the closet were there, and they work well to hold clothes that are too big and other things. I moved his sports bin to the floor and used the extra shelf to hold more sports stuff, his sleeping bag, extra "fancy" shoes, and his suitcase. I added hooks to the walls to hold his bags and hats. And his violin is front and center. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoU72GY_z84j46_Qt4SboBBsy1xSLo7Tn1ZmSPWzigsg_mOCQg884JkfZCpC_Zaw2bW7j_sppNb9oz3_3kR6yq7XeMuVEeP5WTcO_wgGjZxsEuzZ9uVwmHr5tsbLX0k7uRQTaitnHBWHo/s1600/FullSizeRender_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoU72GY_z84j46_Qt4SboBBsy1xSLo7Tn1ZmSPWzigsg_mOCQg884JkfZCpC_Zaw2bW7j_sppNb9oz3_3kR6yq7XeMuVEeP5WTcO_wgGjZxsEuzZ9uVwmHr5tsbLX0k7uRQTaitnHBWHo/s640/FullSizeRender_4.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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So yay! One more space checked off my list! Now, of course, my little girl wants a desk for her room and wants to redo her space. I told her we would work on that in the Fall. As for the house list, I think the next project will be to tie up the loose ends in the playroom: I have a few piles left to address and some small storage to take care of. I also need to get back to some cabinet organization in the kitchen. But I'm definitely at the point in my home where all of the *big* projects are done. </div>
<img alt=" photo sig_zps903hgg96.png" border="0" src="http://i1060.photobucket.com/albums/t455/stephaniegdesigns/Shanna/sig_zps903hgg96.png" width="200px" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8