tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79248436661558167672024-03-13T16:34:43.478-06:00smoking crayolasA peek into our lifejen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.comBlogger320125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-45134494009453663022013-05-06T22:08:00.001-06:002013-05-06T22:08:27.495-06:00California, we miss you already!Three months ago my sister, Rachel, received a mission call from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints to serve in Japan, and last week Lincoln and I visited my parents for her farewell. My favorite clip is of my entire family dancing with Lincoln, since that's the last time my family will be all together for a number of years (as well as Lincoln's expression of overwhelmed confusion by the amount of people jumping in such close proximity to him).<br />
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Although Rachel is hardly in this video, I wanted to remember the happy family that she has influenced and set such an amazing example for, and to remember our last moments all together.<br />
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jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-30171542018218480612013-04-20T11:54:00.003-06:002013-04-20T11:54:52.113-06:00Banishing the Winter Blues<div style="text-align: center;">
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In our apartment, we get down (or more specifically, "get up, get up, and get down")! Salt Lake offers so many toddler-friendly activities throughout the winter, but I'll be honest - the motivation to attend a thirty minute activity is significantly decreased by the ice that needs to be scraped off the car windshield, and while I have enjoyed watching Lincoln walk like a penguin because of the 62 coats I layered him in, strapping all of that into a frozen car seat tipped the enjoyment factor back down again. <br />
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I can tell you one thing about Lincoln's newfound toddlerhood - kid loves to <i>move</i>! Like it's nobody's business! The last few months have been so full of dance-offs, "beat boxing" attempts, jumping on our miniature trampoline, games of hide and seek, finger painting, building train tracks and racing hot wheels, that by bath time I'm pretty exhausted (but very happy I have my own personal trainer).<br />
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I started to randomly video these little moments which make up our day, especially since our routine will soon drastically change (once the weather gets it's act together). I compiled a few clips to remind myself that being stuck inside over the winter, with a toddler, really isn't so bad...in fact, I think I will miss it. A lot.jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-87271280317587815292013-02-15T14:44:00.000-07:002013-02-15T14:44:15.228-07:00Hugs and Kisses<div style="text-align: center;">
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jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-84212890577451908922013-02-12T17:47:00.001-07:002013-02-12T17:47:25.561-07:00To Die For<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqEOaZHGejk6qYCc6zePLknGMAHGYsiSYc4Gk-q-BhQH4y0ALOGonsZ91hO6BoOvxO5xwGT60Uwdyv9KHPXaR__jaNmqW7fzxmKInPQwQtSOw-hMmy8_D-dgIzLsmOv4ow_6s_0FSCuBD/s1600/IMG_2210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqEOaZHGejk6qYCc6zePLknGMAHGYsiSYc4Gk-q-BhQH4y0ALOGonsZ91hO6BoOvxO5xwGT60Uwdyv9KHPXaR__jaNmqW7fzxmKInPQwQtSOw-hMmy8_D-dgIzLsmOv4ow_6s_0FSCuBD/s640/IMG_2210.JPG" width="540" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">I think the day Lincoln's baby cheeks disappear will be the day I die </div><div style="text-align: center;">(okay, maybe just on the inside).</div>jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-38027501204282473122013-02-11T19:11:00.000-07:002013-02-11T19:11:29.263-07:00Buildin' Forts and Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These cardboard blocks have been Lincoln's new obsession, especially when Tyce is home to build a fortress around him. Watching these two boys play together is kinda my favorite thing in the world right now. I love that regardless of how "cool" a guy might seem, as soon as building blocks or legos are out, they're down on the floor playing just as hard as the toddler next to them.jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-4564466461408321142013-02-09T18:28:00.002-07:002013-02-09T18:28:55.441-07:00While I Was Sleeping<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zkPLhgKqxh8keny0kT6-WfkPivHmQrOjb6ZUPmovwNy4ALPxeHjAToqzvj8p7tjOc0HB95PaUtr0IJX8fIXLzEBfLtDx711PIF91cYzl0o39EeFcA9Hvcx-fugpgQRMMR2XQGSpBGzNx/s1600/IMG_1928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zkPLhgKqxh8keny0kT6-WfkPivHmQrOjb6ZUPmovwNy4ALPxeHjAToqzvj8p7tjOc0HB95PaUtr0IJX8fIXLzEBfLtDx711PIF91cYzl0o39EeFcA9Hvcx-fugpgQRMMR2XQGSpBGzNx/s640/IMG_1928.JPG" width="499" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHyWyV6-wgU43IbfkZxRpY8z5m9PCtshuD21tuNHwyXo0HvgL8gllVZ12DfrfZmlH17jYM3kqN8LvUvKsCyyzUSAnXxi6nlGGYfFh3lCmdbyOwvVPfXv-QO7inybfSdPr27JoUnnIAXjN/s1600/IMG_1932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHyWyV6-wgU43IbfkZxRpY8z5m9PCtshuD21tuNHwyXo0HvgL8gllVZ12DfrfZmlH17jYM3kqN8LvUvKsCyyzUSAnXxi6nlGGYfFh3lCmdbyOwvVPfXv-QO7inybfSdPr27JoUnnIAXjN/s640/IMG_1932.JPG" width="540" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3j22lLDP2MkYDmKM_BUjhnSbRgX3brJisDFI2yPEoev4jP1CQFUQa1ozW6lKyuG24jZsWKoHoN_ScV4sIC_8u_iOS-w1g-RDb4gJHNThmiO_w-S5MoxjIlNq21qsMTv36O3i8532dF2U/s1600/IMG_1933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3j22lLDP2MkYDmKM_BUjhnSbRgX3brJisDFI2yPEoev4jP1CQFUQa1ozW6lKyuG24jZsWKoHoN_ScV4sIC_8u_iOS-w1g-RDb4gJHNThmiO_w-S5MoxjIlNq21qsMTv36O3i8532dF2U/s640/IMG_1933.JPG" width="540" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixxx1XVgXgYxITGtr-hCtB4Bnu6mKhVwK0D_j1NkFRpL1B6ot4xL3replnAOuugWvBRGNUwXaVzy-KnCtnnky6ifLJbApHc5MmzQ4zo-cV9JtdM7l_bT9LHYURbnR4eXOBB3vW722RhCmX/s1600/IMG_1930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixxx1XVgXgYxITGtr-hCtB4Bnu6mKhVwK0D_j1NkFRpL1B6ot4xL3replnAOuugWvBRGNUwXaVzy-KnCtnnky6ifLJbApHc5MmzQ4zo-cV9JtdM7l_bT9LHYURbnR4eXOBB3vW722RhCmX/s640/IMG_1930.JPG" width="540" /></a></div><br />
A few days ago Lincoln and I returned from a ten day "vacation" to California. A few days into our trip, Lincoln lost his appetite and obviously felt sick, so the first Sunday at my parent's house we spent cuddling in bed, watching Shaun the Sheep on my iPhone so we wouldn't have to get up. <br />
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My sister, Hannah, was the first to lose it, and apparently I shouldn't have laughed, because it was all my body needed to throw me into a very intense sickness. One moment I was laughing, the next, sitting near <i>multiple</i> siblings in front of the fire trying to minimize convulsions from extreme chills (Funny in retrospect...not so funny in the moment). <br />
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While still reeling from the first few minutes it hit me, my little brother walked by my room where I momentarily managed to fake an "I got this" face, and told me, "my antigenes are obviously too good to let my body get sick!" Ten minutes later he was in the bathroom throwing up, Rachel knocking on the door, yelling, "how are those antigenes treating ya, buddy!?" And a few hours later, Rachel joined us in hell, so sick she could hardly walk.<br />
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I lost every ounce of fluid my body had available, was practically delusional the first night, had very intense back pain accompanied by full body spasms, dreamt of drinking gallons of water when I could hardly keep ice chips down, and when the worst was over, I claimed that labor wasn't as horrific (which I still fully stand behind. It was <i>that</i> bad). Thankfully my mom didn't get sick until my third day of recuperation, so she completely took care of Lincoln. <br />
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My point to this (very drawn out) story: I was only able to take a small amount of pictures (to prove we weren't kidnapped, obviously) and the fact I hardly touched my phone didn't help. The few pictures that do exist will most likely have a short novel attached to them, in a feeble attempt to make up for what my camera missed.<br />
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As I slept off this deathly virus, Lincoln and my mom became BFF's (times 4,475). My mom became a living Pinterest on crack, every moment experimenting a new idea or exciting "diy" project. It reminded me of growing up, because my mom really rocked our childhood's socks off. I was also treated to the memory of her remarkable artistic talent (notice the "Wilson" painting). Now I know why I stick to "abstract art" when I paint...<br />
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Lincoln and I are still recuperating: Lincoln is dealing with the disappointment of leaving, while I deal with post-sickness lagging fatigue. Lincoln's is probably worse though! I don't think I'd be exaggerating to say that both Lincoln and I would've probably died if my mom wasn't there. So, phew! Close call...jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-15550831512075949192013-01-18T19:05:00.001-07:002013-01-18T19:05:41.247-07:00Burning through the last of our Christmas candles...Aren't you? I mean, they never smell as good the next year, plus using precious storage space to pack them away? Please. And that wintery, juniper tree smell? That still jives with my January, so I've been lighting what's left of those guys all month.<br />
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I think I justified procrastinating posting Christmas pictures because firstly, it is no longer December (somebody had to tell you), and secondly, if my Christmas candles weren't burnt out, then neither was a post about Christmas. It's a very mathematical equation, but in the end, I'm glad I waited. Why? Because January is boring. Like, damn boring. So I'll do us both a favor and rewind to a festive season, full of presents, houses wrapped with multi-colored lights, hot apple cider, and the smell of cinnamon...because, you know. My Christmas candles are almost burnt out.<br />
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<br />
Lincoln and I flew back from California on Christmas Eve, so we could spend Tyson's <i>one</i> day off work, as a family. Since my parent's house was never warmer than 60 degrees each night, Lincoln slept in bed with me while we visited, making our first night back home filled with Lincoln yelling "Moooom!!! Bed!" into the video monitor. So. Much. Fun.<br />
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Once we woke up Christmas morning, about to open presents in pajamas (who doesn't?), there was a knock at the door. Naturally, I fled the scene (although I <i>do</i> rock snowflake thermal leggings), while Tyson and Lincoln answered the door to find Tyson's entire family on our porch. Surprise! And they even brought dinner. <br />
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By the time they left that evening, we were so exhausted we considered opening presents the next day, but ended up tearing through everything...because are we really so old we would choose sleep over presents? Never! Then Lincoln gave us a Christmas present by sleeping through the entire night, in his own bed. And Oh. Holy. Night. An entire night, sleeping in my own spacious bed? It was the best gift ever. jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-86914085866123930492013-01-07T03:10:00.000-07:002013-01-07T03:10:36.887-07:00"We cannot call back time that is past"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After the endless games of hide-and-seek, the complete lack of personal time and space (because heaven forbid I close the bathroom door), the soaking splashes of turbulent bathtub-turned-battleship-water, and the emotional exhaustion felt from turning every errand on my "to do" list into an exciting adventure, I occasionally need an extra reminder to truly treasure what I have been so very blessed with.</span></div>
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Because that's what every moment <i>is</i>, and <i>should be</i> as a parent: an exciting adventure. Most days with Lincoln are haphazard escapades, spent embracing discoveries and laughter...but, of course, there are days I struggle to maintain patience, where enjoyment does not come as easily. <br />
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<br />
With the difficult moments in mind, <a href="http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2000/10/dedication-day?lang=eng">these words</a> perfectly articulated the importance of valuing time. To help me remember, again and again: time passes too quickly to allow even one day to escape appreciation. Thomas S. Monson writes,</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><i>"As parents, we should remember that our lives may be the book from the family library which the children most treasure. Are our examples worthy of emulation? Do we live in such a way that a son or a daughter may say, “I want to follow my dad,” or “I want to be like my mother”? Unlike the book on the library shelf, the covers of which shield its contents, our lives cannot be closed. Parents, we truly are an open book in the library of learning of our homes.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><i>Near the end of his life, one father looked back on how he had spent his time on earth. An acclaimed, respected author of numerous scholarly works, he said, “I wish I had written one less book and taken my children fishing more often.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><i>Time passes quickly. Many parents say that it seems like yesterday that their children were born. Now those children are grown, perhaps with children of their own. “Where did the years go?” they ask. We cannot call back time that is past, we cannot stop time that now is, and we cannot experience the future in our present state. Time is a gift, a treasure not to be put aside for the future but to be used wisely in the present."</i></span></div>
jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-31685411872832064792013-01-05T19:38:00.000-07:002013-01-05T19:39:58.403-07:00New Year Kisses, (etc)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For New Year's Eve (being such party animals) we visited Temple Square to see the Christmas lights. Every year we've set aside an evening to see the lights, but hands down, this year won for "most freezing." After walking in fifteen degree weather for fifteen minutes, we got back into our car and slowly drove around Temple Square, Lincoln pointing to all the different lights, yelling, "ober 'der! ober 'der!"<br />
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Our yearly visit to Temple Square's lights is the only night where I can 100% justify paying $4.00 for apple cider. I was seriously concerned for Lincoln's little fingers, because even with gloves on, my hands were so cold they started burning (ironic, I know). Once we were home and Lincoln was warm in bed, we rang in 2013 by watching fireworks from our balcony (with crossed fingers the explosions wouldn't wake Lincoln).<br />
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Sidenote: if Lincoln looks like he's wearing lipstick, it's probably because he is, courtesy of my kisses!jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-73782510974081955572012-12-31T20:05:00.001-07:002012-12-31T20:05:51.081-07:00At first...<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm like, "this is New Years!! Gimme somma that!"</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">and wonder how people drink on a regular basis, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">because that's crazy bubbly!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">...and then I don't care because it's SO DELICIOUS!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> And I feel greeeat!</span></div>
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So I guess what I'm trying to say is have a safe (and very happy) New Year's Eve. Kids get crazy...even if it <i>is</i> only a sugar high from sparkling cider!jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-18122246897001468582012-12-31T19:47:00.000-07:002012-12-31T19:47:32.023-07:00Gingerbread Houses & Animal Cookies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was younger, so were my grandparents. Totally rude of them, I know. Since they were "alive and kicking" then, whereas now they are "almost dead and stiff" (directly quoting them), they had the energy to host a huge gingerbread house party for our entire family every Christmas Eve.<br />
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A few years ago they called it quits (not life - just cooking and laundry) and moved into a Veteran's home an hour away. And so ended the tradition. Until this Christmas, anyways.<br />
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Now that our immediate family is large enough (due to my own, generous donation), my parents thought it would be fun to start that tradition up again. Like usual, they were right. Because tell me one person who doesn't love a sugar rushed launch into their childhood dream of becoming an architect? You know I'm right. And then that sugar crashed nap afterward? Heavenly. <br />
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P.S. I would like to point out, for honesty's sake, that I did not make a gingerbread house because I was helping Lincoln choke down more sugar than he's had in his life, all concentrated into 15 minutes (courtesy of Mrs. Claus). <br />
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The house I'm 'reppin in the last picture was made by my dad. And isn't it beautiful? Well...not as beautiful as the "teepee-turned-Santa Claus-hat" created by Jake (whom should love this holiday because all he needs is a green shirt, and, <i>bam</i>! He's Christmas colored). jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-31248114962018060322012-12-28T18:11:00.001-07:002013-01-05T19:56:13.882-07:00Christmas in California<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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While Tyson was working in Salt Lake (driven by his merciless district manager, whom deserves a high five in the face), Lincoln and I flew home to be with my family for the Christmas season. Every time we go back to California it gets better and better because Lincoln gets older (dang him) and is able to interact and form connections with family members more easily.<br />
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When my dad would run outside to grab more wood for the fire, Lincoln would call, "Papa!? Paaapaaaa! Papa?" Once my dad was back inside, Lincoln would either begin a game of hide and seek, or lead him to his tent, where Lincoln tried to pull him through the (very) small tunnel attached. My dad's response was, "oh this is nothing, I do this for work every day!" then army crawled through a baby-sized, nylon and spiraled metal tiny hole into Lincoln's fort. <br />
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Each morning, the first thing he'd ask for was "Ann Way" while signing "aunt" so it was clear he wanted to be taken to his Aunt Ray STAT. Lincoln loves that girl more than cheerios, and I've gotta admit, that's a hard love to beat. When Lincoln couldn't find my mom, or just wanted her attention (so probably 95% of the time he was awake), he'd call "Meeeeiiaa!" until she'd come scoop him up for more hugs.<br />
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Lincoln drug me out of Spencer's room so they could play at 11 p.m., and he'd rope Hannah into playing on the stairs or watching The Wiggles with him every time she came home from school. Amy, her boyfriend Jake, and McKay were all entertainers and made it possible for me to actually make a meal for Lincoln without distractions. <br />
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And I had time to just sit and watch everyone else take care of my child...except when Lincoln would catch me on the phone. I'm wondering if it will ever be possible to have a conversation without Lincoln trying to steal (and run away with) it.jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-23144916437006172812012-12-27T05:26:00.003-07:002012-12-27T05:27:55.120-07:005 a.m. seems logical, right? (that was rhetorical)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've sort of been living moment to moment, trying to wrap my head around the fact I no longer have a baby, but a toddler - a buddy, a dude who regularly has deep and meaningful conversations with me...even if I don't understand anything he's saying.<br />
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And so, after staying up all night in the name of "alone time," (which is horrifying when I think about Lincoln waking up in 3 hours), I have firmly decided an attempt to re-commit. That I should dust off my laptop and post a few highlights from the bajillion days I've been MIA to the internet world, but haven't because I've allowed (also near a bajillion) excuses to get in my way.<br />
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Is it weird my eyes literally feel as if they were burnt by mustard gas? Probably not. It <i>is</i> 5 in the morning, ya know. And yet here I am. Attempting a blogging "re-commitment." Holla!!jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-44362552533031147012012-11-13T14:44:00.000-07:002012-11-13T14:44:07.560-07:00Brought to you by...<div style="text-align: center;">
late night errands in 22 degree temperatures,<br />
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and waffles (with extra syrup and cheerios) for breakfast with Dad.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">All within fifteen hours? Delicious! </span></div>
jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-9289137734477269302012-11-12T15:23:00.000-07:002012-11-12T15:23:20.832-07:00Because I am a Mother.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After Lincoln's asleep, I begin to reflect on my day as a parent. As all mothers do, I focus on what I <i>should</i> have done, <i>could</i> have done differently, and regret, regret, regret.<br />
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Like many toddler-aged children, Lincoln has begun emulating everything around him: most of all, me. From the ages of 18 months to three years old, children are influenced by their surroundings, setting the foundation for everything from eating habits to behavioral management. Their development is primarily based on the parent's example to model these actions.<br />
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It's all very intimidating! I'm burning through Parenting books to feel better equipped to handle Lincoln's changing needs, and to feel reassured I'm doing everything possible to be a worthy example.<br />
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Occasionally, this continuous parental-improvement literature aggravates my "should have, would have's" and becomes a reflection of my own personal inadequacies. This isn't to say I find parenting literature self-deprecating, because I do not - it is countlessly beneficial, insightful, helpful and constructive...but sometimes, I desire sincere appreciation and recognition for my best effort, even if I fell short. <br />
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Sometimes, when I feel as if I'm disappearing, I crave recognition, someone who notices what I'm doing <i>is</i> significant, regardless of my intermittent feelings of deficiency.<br />
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Overwhelmed by this incredible responsibility, I stumbled upon a devotional given by Jeffrey R. Holland, entitled, "<a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/1997/04/because-she-is-a-mother?lang=eng">Because She Is a Mother</a>." Elder Holland writes:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span style="color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;">In speaking of mothers generally, I especially wish to praise and encourage </span><span style="border: 0px; color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">young</span><span style="color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;"> mothers. The work of a mother is hard, too often unheralded work. The young years are often those when either husband or wife—or both—may still be in school or in those earliest and leanest stages of developing the husband’s breadwinning capacities. Finances fluctuate daily between low and nonexistent. The apartment is usually [simply] decorated. The car, if there is one, runs on smooth tires and an empty tank. But with night feedings and night teethings, often the greatest challenge of all for a young mother is simply fatigue. Through these years, mothers go longer on less sleep and give more to others with less personal renewal for themselves than any other group I know at any other time in life.</span></i></span><br />
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</i></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;"><i>Do the best you can through these years, but whatever else you do, cherish that role that is so uniquely yours and for which heaven itself sends angels to watch over you and your little ones.</i></span></span><br />
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</i></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;"><i>May I say to mothers collectively, you are magnificent. You are doing terrifically well. The very fact that you have been given such a responsibility is everlasting evidence of the trust your Father in Heaven has in you.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;"><i><br />
</i></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;"><i>Ask for the healing balm of the Atonement for whatever may be troubling you or your children. Know that in faith things will be made right in spite of you, or more correctly, because of you...</i></span><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;">You are doing God’s work. You are doing it wonderfully well. He is blessing you and He will bless you, even—no, </span><span style="border: 0px; color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">especially</span><span style="color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;">—when your days and your nights may be the most challenging.</span></i></span><br />
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</span></i> <span style="background-color: white; color: #2f393a; line-height: 18px;"><i>Yours is the work of salvation, and therefore you will be magnified, compensated, made more than you are and better than you have ever been as you try to make honest effort, however feeble you may sometimes feel that to be.</i></span></span><br />
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</span>That night, I went to bed feeling empowered and peaceful. Although I sometimes feel "feeble," I'm doing my best...and that<i> is </i>good enough. That<i> is </i>recognition enough. And before climbing under the covers, I may have done a little "fist pump" into the air, celebrating the very incredible responsibility I'm blessed with.jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-30605078470262565322012-11-06T11:52:00.000-07:002012-11-06T11:52:47.328-07:00Some girls get stretch marks.Although my belly button has seen better days, I didn't get <i>one</i> stretch mark while I was pregnant with Lincoln. I know "the professionals" say it doesn't matter what moisturizer or trick you use, but that it solely depends upon your skin's elasticity. I'm calling bull, but whatever. <br />
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I moisturized like a maniac, especially because I was pregnant during the winter in very low humidity, already plagued with dry skin year-round. My sister still laughs when she thinks about how much I used to itch my stomach...I'm sure I looked like a fat man scratching his pot belly (isn't <i>that</i> a nice image)! <br />
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For the most part, I thought my body handled an 8.4 lb baby pretty well, until it became impossible to sleep on my stomach because of a piercing, jabbing-like pain at the bottom of my rib cage. Perhaps to some people, this wouldn't be a problem...but for me, this was a colossal disappointment. My body has a strict "if you want to sleep without waking up every five minutes, do it with your face in your pillow" policy. <br />
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My entire pregnancy and throughout many months of nursing, I dreamt of the day I could once again sleep on my stomach. I obviously find it very comfortable. After giving my body 18 months to adjust (as much as possible) back to pre-baby condition, I asked my doctor about this conundrum. He told me that during my pregnancy, my lower right rib had broken (broken!!) outwards and healed that way. And "haha, sucks to be you!" (well, that was his attitude).<br />
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I was never one of "those girls," whining about being kicked; instead, I found everything (except stretchy pants) about pregnancy quite amazing. Since so many people had horror stories, sentences beginning with "just you wait," and annoying complaints instead of excitement, both Tyson and I developed a near-disgustingly positive attitude about anything baby or pregnancy-related. <br />
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Because c'mon! A woman's body can create another life?! We were so captivated by the beauty of this, we purposefully gave little focus to backaches, sleeping problems, the oh-so-creative sex life (TMI?), my brain's decision to promptly immobilize my intelligence, or to the white dress I wore practically the entire last trimester. <br />
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So, world! Here's my one complaint, my one outcry of agitation: <i><b>kid broke my rib!</b></i> Goodbye stomach sleeping...I guess in the long run my face will have less wrinkles, or something positive like that. <br />
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Disturbing broken rib aside, I'd do it all over again: to hold my own baby, to smell their sweet breath, to watch their mouths flicker into smiles as they sleep, and the powerful feeling that Heaven's angels haven't left them alone in mortality just yet.jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-41302338239889160152012-11-04T19:20:00.001-07:002012-11-04T19:20:15.684-07:00Glow Sticks, Music, Drinks & Dancing = Pre-Party!Oh, did I forget to mention that before we left for our <a href="http://smokingcrayolas.blogspot.com/2012/11/black-hair-and-skeleton-pajamas.html">Halloween bash</a>, Lincoln and I danced, drank (mostly water, with a side of soy milk), and broke out the glow sticks? And have I mentioned how obsessed Lincoln is with "playing the drums?" Well...<br />
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When Lincoln's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWF86D_UNxc">favorite song</a> started playing, he put his drink down, ripped the glow stick necklace apart to create two awesome, gleaming drum sticks, and exploded into a mini Travis Barker. Meanwhile, I kept rocking out (via Lincoln-command), and I'm positive I looked almost identical to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxVDYYxkQfw">this</a>...but maybe not <i>as</i> cool.jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-42491913755412824922012-11-03T05:17:00.003-06:002012-11-04T12:11:12.229-07:00Black Hair and Skeleton Pajamas. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Unfortunately this Halloween, Tyson had no choice but to work while we went "trunk or treating," an event our church hosts. When we got there, Lincoln actually held my hand (and squeezed it <i>just</i> a little) when we first approached a car's trunk, decked out in orange lights with princesses and bumblebees pushing in front of us.<br />
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After two cars, Lincoln was fearless. He signed "thank you," which he says, "dee-dee," and kept holding his pumpkin out so anyone standing in front of an open trunk would drop something into it. Lincoln had no idea that those "somethings" would later transfer him to a sugary heaven, but he liked seeing his toddler buddies, tricked out in capes and dinosaur costumes, playing the same game.<br />
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But the fun didn't really start until we were home...or should I say, until <i>Tyson</i> got home. Then it was a chocolate par-tay! I did manage to find a jolly rancher, but Lincoln needed that too. What can I say? The kid never eats candy, so we followed his rules for the evening. <br />
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After a whopping 3.35 pieces of fun-sized candy bars (which were shared), Lincoln was sky high on sugar. Sugar-high enough that he should've high-fived Jupiter while he was up there. <br />
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Since I was somewhat drained by the event, I went to the grocery store (where I bought mascara then zoned out, staring at the unnecessary amount of toothpaste that filled an entire wall), while Tyson scrubbed the black spray out of Lincoln's hair (bless him), and put him to bed. <br />
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Who knew Lincoln had that much hair?! I'm not claiming it's a lot, but in comparison to his natural (transparent) hair color, it seemed like a ton. It surprised me every time I looked at him...but I kinda liked it (and secretly hoped it wouldn't wash out)!</div>
jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-74845531037549373932012-10-26T18:40:00.000-06:002012-10-26T18:40:16.282-06:00Balcony Nights (sounds so dreamy...)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So yes, I'll just come out and say it. Lincoln is the boss, applesauce-style (it rhymes...stay with me here). When he goes down for a nap, not only do we have a white noise machine running, but we also have a fan, black out curtains, and a video monitor displaying his room temperature. Since the sun hits Lincoln's room in the afternoon, we actually <i>turn on</i> our air conditioner (it's 34 degrees outside, to further my point of lunacy) in order to keep his room at a comfortable temperature. Does this leave the rest of the apartment sweater-required freezing? Possibly. Okay, yes. <br />
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We don't talk while Lincoln slumbers; we don't do dishes or close the microwave (if we have the courage to open it at all), and I have asked noisy neighbors to "<i>shut it or so help me</i>!" (which I do by universal signing "baby" and "sleep," since no one in our complex speaks fluent English). <br />
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Have I exploited our extreme, keep-Lincoln-asleep anxiety yet? It's ridiculous, yet every time Lincoln goes to sleep (especially after his bedtime), both Tyce and I continually shush the other until we end up outside, on the balcony, where it <b>is</b> literally freezing, just so we don't have to whisper.<br />
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Which brings me to my point: sometimes, when we're feeling especially enthusiastic about our self-eviction into the frigid, cold night, we plan ahead and make a sort of "date" out of the situation. We buy sparkling cran-apple cider and break out the fancy wine glasses. Tyson surprises me with a ring pop (my very favorite of favorites), we light candles, pull on two layers of sweatpants over our jeans, and say a prayer for our noses (they're always the first to go painfully numb). And yes, I end up bearing a striking resemblance to the <a href="http://wot.motortrend.com/thread-of-the-day-what-on-earth-is-the-michelin-man-made-from-5787.html">Michelin Man</a>. Sexy, I know.<br />
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These "balcony nights" (although we have to do frostbite checks afterward) have provided a somewhat worry-free, relaxed atmosphere for us, where many of our best conversations and (loud!) laughs have taken place lately. It's a fun little ritual we've created, almost like a bi-weekly "date night." <br />
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Yes, we live in fear of waking our light-sleeping one year old, but it's produced a unique experience and a time we get to spend together without interruptions (except to maybe check Lincoln's monitor every so often)! Now let's just get it out there - do we know how to party, or what? <i>Raise the roof!!!</i><br />
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<i> </i>(and don't even pretend you're not busting that move after this!)</div>
jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-40927210945375788162012-10-25T19:37:00.001-06:002012-10-25T19:37:23.766-06:00Snowed In<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One aspect of toddlerhood I'm especially loving is Lincoln's ability to turn any ordinary object into something more exciting and completely different. Even snowed in, Lincoln still found wooden spoons to drum, new books he hadn't looked through, dance moves to try while balancing on a trike, a dryer to climb into and use as a voice amplifier while he sung songs, and finding the right materials to create a fort. You know what they say: one mom's throw pillows are another toddler's fort (with the help of an enthusiastic dad)!jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-42169191209862209822012-10-22T17:56:00.001-06:002012-10-22T17:56:23.751-06:00Last geese of the summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love feeding the geese with Lincoln...until they get snippy, or until the bottom of my sandals turn sticky from mass amounts of white, feathery poop. Then it's not as fun, but I digress. On Labor Day Weekend (yep - almost a month ago), my sister, Rachel, visited us for a few days while Tyce's parents also drove down for an evening of food, Lincoln loves, and geese feeding. <br />
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Last week, Lincoln and I sat on the balcony and watched several groups of geese begin their winter migration. Their huge "V" formation made it easy for Lincoln to spot and keep his attention (for the entire 30 seconds they were visible). Although the geese were fun to feed (and chase) during the summer, they really are the most beautiful when they're flying away!jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-82926427818156544352012-10-16T20:18:00.003-06:002012-10-16T20:18:41.275-06:00One of the perks of the third floor<div style="text-align: center;">
....is the view on the way up!<br />
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Luckily, Lincoln makes our (sometimes) long haul up a lot more fun - he thinks peeking through the stair's gaps, down at me, is <i>hilarious</i>.</div>
jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-91977355018650992622012-10-14T19:21:00.001-06:002012-10-20T02:57:10.489-06:00and while we're on the subject...I'm going to throw a few of our attempted "family pictures" at you. I claim Amy was worked by Lincoln, but by the amount of pictures Tyson had to take while I held him, versus when Amy held him...well, perhaps I should take another look at my theory.<br />
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While I was in charge of Lincoln...</div>
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...versus Amy. Hmm.</div>
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It seems like a lot of people, but we're missing two siblings! My parents won't know what to do with themselves in three years when their youngest goes on a mission.jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-11300246773257901872012-10-13T16:53:00.001-06:002012-10-13T16:55:42.957-06:00Pictures from that one time...my family was in Utah (yep, that time like two months ago) and decided to join us on our <a href="http://smokingcrayolas.blogspot.com/2011/06/chocolate-ice-cream-cones.html">summer tradition</a>: to walk to Iceberg for a late dessert, and only return home when it's dark <i>or</i> when Lincoln's trying to karate chop my knees. Oh yeah, we're still <i>that</i> serious about our ice cream (specifically Iceberg's, since there nowhere else can you order a small and end up with a shake so colossal).<br />
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That week, Lincoln realized if he pulled someone's hand, they'd go wherever he wanted...and so, these pictures are the living proof that he truly is the master manipulator (they loved it though, but it made me laugh seeing them get <i>worked</i> by a one year old). </div>
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Because he is the first grandchild/nephew, Lincoln gets everyone's undivided attention. Like...all of it, all of the time. And I'm happy with that (at least until we have an "attention crisis" when we have another baby)!</div>
<br />jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7924843666155816767.post-20388639628607480302012-10-09T17:10:00.002-06:002012-10-09T17:10:38.502-06:00year number two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Although our first year of marriage was one of excitement, clarity, and beautiful life-changing events, it was also a year we look back on thinking, "wow...that was <i>crazy</i>!" Not because we didn't adore every moment of it, but with clarity also came abrupt and major lifestyle adjustments. It was a beautiful time that united and bonded us because we choose to lean on one another for reinforcement. But we did it!<br />
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Now, here we are on our second wedding anniversary, realizing how difficult that first year really was because of how quickly we decided to become individually better, to recognize a value system, and to (quickly) prepare for parenthood. We've made it to a more enjoyable place in life and as I'm sure each year does, this second year of marriage has added fortification and an emotional collaboration which far surpasses that of the first.<br />
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So tonight we'll be raising our [sparkling cider] glasses to a wonderful year of marriage, parenthood, late night homework sessions, insane work schedules, <i>oh-so-beautiful</i> sleep, and the best friend we've been able to share these moments with...and to the many more to come!jen fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823394396575170631noreply@blogger.com3