сравнительная таблица юридических лиц Yes, my hands are full.
http://rus2liga.ru/wp-content/themes/tsitati-pro-lvov.html цитаты про львов No, I don’t need you to pull me aside at the grocery store or the church lobby to remind me.
I’m a busy mama to busy little ones. We have an incredibly active five-year-old, an almost three-year-old, and a precious little two-month old. In April, we’ll welcome baby #4, and we’ll have four kids ages five and under. Our family doesn’t look like other families, so I’ve come to expect occasional second-glances and unsolicited comments. But recently, as we’ve welcomed Eliza into our family through adoption and my bump continues to grow, I’ve been receiving the “OH, your hands are full!” and “OH, you’re going to have your hands full!” remarks at an increasing rate.
A few weeks ago, we stopped at a fast-food restaurant for lunch. My kids were thrilled at the rare treat and sat with me in a booth while Jonny stood in line to order. The boys were being super calm, and Eliza was sleeping in her carseat. It was actually the most peaceful I think our tribe could have possibly been, and I was feeling pretty awesome.
But thank goodness, an older woman made her way to our booth to pop that bubble. She felt it her duty to inform me of her observation that I had my hands full, with a little side-eye and passive-aggressive condescension for good measure. “Hands full, heart full!” I replied back to her with a smile, to which she awkwardly had no response and huffed away.
I laughed to myself, because from the way I was sitting in the booth she couldn’t have even possibly been able to tell that I was pregnant and we were expecting another babe soon. If she knew that, she might have choked on her cheeseburger.
http://vzveshenno.ru/download/sitemap93.html подача искового заявления The thing is, my hands are full. Really full. I often feel ill-equipped for the life God has given me. I’m tired. We spend a lot of time at home, because taking lots of littles anywhere is a huge feat in and of itself. And that can start to feel pretty lonely. Add the doubt and worry and fear that sneak into this mama’s heart, and I’m under no illusion that I don’t have my hands full. God has given me precious gifts and I’m just praying I raise and love them well.
написать план пересказ рассказа серая шейка Our life is so full, are hearts are so full, and I am so grateful.
What I want you to know is that I’m tired, but I’m happy. These sweet little ones fill us with joy that goes beyond what I could ever deserve. They are truly gifts of grace.
I am so grateful that God saw our open hearts and blessed us through adoption and birth. I am humbled to play a role in these little ones’ lives. Nothing is more refining than parenthood, and I’m floored that my life looks the way it does.
http://mymitsva.ru/images/sampledata/pozdravlenie-stihi-s-dnem-rozhdeniya.html поздравление стихи с днем рождения The next time you see a mom of young kids, encourage her. Tell her she’s doing a good job — I don’t know any mother who doesn’t want to hear that. Offer to carry her baby or wrangle her toddler. And if you can’t think of anything nice to say…don’t say anything at all.
http://studentcenter.by/libraries/simplepie/vzyat-zaym-na-kartu-s-plohoy-kreditnoy-istoriey.html взять займ на карту с плохой кредитной историей And moms in the thick of it — I see you. I see you struggling with the escaping toddler and the baby in the car seat. I see you because I am you, and I want you to know that God has equipped us for such a time as this. We come to it in different ways, and it looks different for all of us, but I do know that mothering is a gift and a sacrifice. I know that so often you feel alone, but I want you to know that you’re not. And I want you to take all the quips and side comments with a grain of salt, and remember that God has called you to this one precious life, and now is the time for living.
государственное управление торговлей Empty hands can come later.
Graphic via Studio Calico
“Mommy, I NEED chocolate milk! Right now!”
I placed the baby in her swing and made my way to the kitchen.
“Can you ask nicely, buddy?”
“Chocolate milk, pleeeeeease?”
He asked as he ran to the fridge, swinging open the doors and standing on his tip-toes to reach the chocolate syrup bottle.
“I get it, Mommy!” My two-year-old declared as I reached inside, grabbing the milk.
I snagged a small plastic cup from the cupboard (why do we go through 100 every day?) and placed it on the table as my impatient toddler worked intently on opening the syrupy goodness.
I poured the milk (“A BIG glass, Mommy! BIIIIG!”) and took the syrup from his hands, squirting the liquid gold into the milk, a bit spilling over the side of the lime green IKEA cup. And that’s when it happened.
Threat level midnight. Meltdown of epic purportions. Sobbing and screaming that didn’t stop.
I sighed of exhaustion and prayed for an ounce of patience. “Bud, I’m making you chocolate milk. That’s what you asked for.”
“Nooooo! You’re not doing it right! Nooooo!”
Cue more sobs and me rescuing the brimming cup from flailing limbs. My attempts to mix syrup into soy milk were increasingly unsuccessful. The full-fledged tantrum was escalating quickly. It was only a matter of minutes before the baby — who had finally fallen asleep — would be awoken by her tornadoing brother.
I inhaled deeply, wearily eying my messy kitchen. Nothing I was doing was pacifying the eye of the hurricane, so I grabbed a dishcloth and started wiping the counters, stepping away to let the storm run its course. I tried tuning out the angry screams and flailing limbs.
After a few minutes that seemed like eternity, I felt two arms pulling my legs, a little head ramming into my shins.
“Buddy, WHY are you crying? WHAT do you want?”
I kneeled down and tried to pull out the ounce of patience I had left. Big brown eyes with tears around the rims looked up at me.
“I want you to hug me.”
That was it.
Cut to the heart, I scooped him up and held him close. He wiped his runny nose on my shoulder and his cries turned into soft sobs as he snuggled in. He twirled his fingers through my hair. I rubbed his back. His heart rate slowed to a calmer cadence.
I sat with my growing boy on the crumb-laden kitchen floor, rocking back and forth. I wondered how many times desiring to be seen, heard, and loved manifests itself in screaming, anger and ugliness from us grown-ups. How often does hurt show up as anger, loneliness as pushing people away?
поликлиника речица расписание врачей How many times have I been the screaming toddler?
опель корса 2013 технические характеристики How many times have I glossed over others lashing out in pain, not seeing the hurt hidden in their hearts?
I don’t think my son even knew the needs tucked away in his little soul. He recently had to relinquish baby status to his little sister, and he’s aware another baby is on the way.
I kissed his forehead as the tears subsided, and we headed back to the table, together.
инструкция таблеткам джес Sometimes it’s hard not to cry over almost-spilt milk.
органы мишени при гипертонической болезни In light of all that’s trending online right now about a certain person coming from a conservative, extremely large family, my heart has been heavy.
I have no interest writing about pseudo-celebrities or drudging up drama. And I certainly don’t want to use the pain and suffering we see in the news as click-bait for my blog. That’s not what I’m about. What I am about is using this little corner of the Internet for good. I want to share my heart and reflect God’s big love, and in this season of motherhood, I want to encourage other parents walking this road, too.
http://xn--h1afefi.xn--o1abk.xn--p1ai/phpmyadmin/themes/sitemap44.html проблемы с желудком при беременности Which is why I’m going to talk about something: Abuse. Specifically, sexual abuse in children.
Honestly, I hate typing that out. I want to put my head in the sand and live in a world where it doesn’t exist. But as a parent, I’d be failing miserably if I did this. Because abuse does exist. Statistics show it’s real, it’s prevalent, and it needs to be talked about. управление сельского хозяйства алматинской области One in five girls will be a victim of sexual abuse, according to the Crimes Against Children Research Center. A 2003 National Institute of Justice report found that должностная инструкция инженера сметчика в проектной организации three out of four adolescents who have been sexually assaulted were victimized by someone they knew well. This is not okay. We need to bring things to light so we can take action against it happening again.
http://arteminasiy.myjino.ru/zdl/lbkgf/rukovodstvo-po-ekspluatatsii-po-ekspluatatsii-cheloveka-chelovekom.html руководство по эксплуатации по эксплуатации человека человеком Experts believe statistics, as shocking as they are, are probably even more devastating due to underreporting. (I have heard friends, family, and church members, and my heart breaks for the pain you’ve suffered — a lot of times very secretly. This pain crosses generations and race and economic status and largely isn’t talked about. I think of you brave women (and men) all every time I read another sensationalized article, and I want you to know that you are loved and being hurt is never, ever your fault. Ever. If you’re the parent of a child who has been abused, I’m so sorry either of you ever had to experience these horrors.)
I think about the time I was a college student church volunteer, leading a small group of 6th grade girls, when one sweet girl started sobbing, sharing how she was repeatedly abused by her father, who was now in jail. She felt like she had to forgive him and wanted me to tell her how. I had no idea what to say or what to do.
расписание поездов екатеринбург балезино I refuse to sit by. I can’t put a bandage on the world, I know, and I can’t always protect children, but there are things I can do — and you can do — to help create a safer, better world for the most vulnerable. I’m not a trained therapist, counselor, or social worker. I have no expertise, only the belief that we can do better. As parents, we have a pivotal role to do everything we can do create safe environments for our families.
гост 13109 97 статус на 2014 год I keep coming back to four pieces of the puzzle:
- http://galleriateatro.ru/doki/sitemap96.html кунжут черный и белый Children need to know surprises are okay, but secrets aren’t. A few months ago, I read this short article written by a mother and counselor outlining a simple way to be proactive against abuse — no secrets. We’re trying to intentionally bring this up in conversation with our four-year-old and two-year-old. First, we talk about safe touch and about what to do if something happened. Then, we talk about how secrets aren’t okay. They can and should tell us anything. Surprises, like for a birthday, make people happy when they find out. Secrets are meant to be kept quiet forever and they’re often meant to make sure people don’t find out something that would make them sad.
- http://plombarus.ru/image/payment/gde-nahoditsya-podchelyustnoy-limfouzel.html где находится подчелюстной лимфоузел Children need to be empowered. When we raise our kids in a culture to be “seen and not heard,” we’re fostering a shame-based system that devalues our children’s voices. We can teach our children to have manners, but we also need to teach our children to say no to older children and adults in compromising situations, too. We need to create interactive relationships, and sometimes talk about awkward things, because when we are open to talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly, we help create safe and trusting bonds, allowing our children to talk about the good, bad, and ugly, too.
- http://dveri-market64.ru/adresa-novaya-pochta-berdichev.html адреса новая почта бердичев Children need to be raised in cultures of respect. Raising children in home and church environments where boys are encouraged to take charge and violence is celebrated is dangerous. When children see that it is good for only men to make decisions, and only men to be in charge, we create an environment where girls learn to be submissive and quiet their voices. When this happens, we unintentionally create a culture that leaves room for boys to hurt girls, leaving victims to feel shame, and to be silent about it.
- запись на подачу документов в росреестр Children need to be seen. I have the privilege of staying at home with my children in this stage of life, and as the weather gets warmer, we’ve been spending a lot of time at the park. I’m all for my children getting to explore without a mom helicoptering around, but I also make sure I have eyes on them at all times. There are some children who we see frequently in our small town park who break my heart. They are young (5-7) and often alone. There have been things they’ve said or done that give me an inkling things aren’t great at home, and they often want to explore the outer edges of the park, out of my line of sight. My children are young and will follow others, so I need to be diligent that they’re not following others into park bathrooms alone, even if it could be innocent. I don’t want my son exploring the church basement alone with an older child, even if that older child was “raised in a Christian home.” There are boundaries and while I want my kids to be free to roam and explore, they need to do it in safe ways.
http://dentalservis79.ru/wp-includes/theme-compat/polza-krasnogo-luka.html польза красного лука There’s so much more to say and that could be said. We need to talk about keeping children safe at church. We need to talk about keep children safe with friends. We need to talk about keeping children safe with caregivers.
http://xn--80aanufde1a7k.xn--p1ai/doci/stal-kometa-harakteristiki.html сталь комета характеристики We need to talk.
Being a parent isn’t easy, but I know I need to be part of the conversation. And that’s why I’m listening to those who know more than me, and trying to use my voice, too.
проблемы альфа банка в 2015 году Further reading:
I woke up to a toddler in fuzzy footie PJs lying on top of me, and rolled over to meet my other son’s little brown toes aiming for my face. Throughout the night, we managed to attract a two-year-old, a four-year-old, and an over-weight dog under the covers of our queen bed.
даны схемы уравнений реакций cus hno3 This morning, as I collected morning kisses and caught a view of my bedhead, I felt like royalty.
I saw the firetruck sitting on the bookshelf and a foam sword resting on a reading chair. I scuffled my feet against the hardwood floors that could, as always, use a good sweep. And as I made my way to the kitchen, I felt slow, noticing the little pieces that make up our story, and it felt good.
http://perevozki-moskva24.ru/metodi-registratsii-radioaktivnih-izlucheniy.html методы регистрации радиоактивных излучений It is good.
It is good to be where I am, waking up to big bear hugs and Mickey Mouse cartoons and a husband who makes me strong coffee.
форма томск каталог товаров This week has brought a glimpse of spring, and with it, a renewed sense of hope. I felt myself losing that hope this winter, as the streets iced over and snow kept coming and I felt stuck in my castle, surrounded by little people and feeling alone. The harsh winds of winter blew out my light and I was left just feeling as cold as the bare branches I watched from my window.
http://legozabory.ru/services/smallbusiness/hyuston-u-nas-problemi-otkuda-fraza.html хьюстон у нас проблемы откуда фраза I know, I paint such a dramatic picture, right? But honestly, I didn’t even realize how heavy my heart was until this week. Maybe I was seriously deficient in Vitamin D (most women are), but fresh air and sunshine has breathed new life into these dry bones. I’ve been grabbing my two sweet little boys of mine and going on walks and having park adventures and throwing sticks in ponds and it has been good.
расписание электропоездов орск кувандык It is good.
http://santexlife.ru/system/smsgate/pozdravleniya-s-novim-godom-dlya-vzroslih.html поздравления с новым годом для взрослых I’ve been trying to tune my heart to trusting God in this new year. (Remember this post?) I want to listen and obey and dwell in His never-ending grace. I’m walking that path believing His goodness never runs out, never gives up, and never fails.
http://webednov.ru/lechenie-analnoy-treshini-pri-beremennosti.html лечение анальной трещины при беременности Spring always follows winter. Always. Flowers bloom, birds sing, and the Earth becomes alive again.
Our God is in the constant state of renewing all things. And here I am, in all of my mess, getting called a daughter of the King. A King who is renewing my heart and my mind and my soul to reflect his unchanging love. And He shows me His love through this heart-bursting, awe-inspiring journey of raising up two little boys to know just how good He is.
write disk image перевод It’s just so good.
“Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him.” (Psalm 62:5)
On Thursday nights, I’d shuffle two little boys into their PJs, perform more than one dramatic reading of “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish,” and whisper goodnight prayers. Then, I’d tuck away under a blanket of my own, grabbing the remote and keeping tissues in sight.
Thursdays were for “Parenthood” — the show that you inevitably Facebook statuses waxing poetic about.
This week, the series closed up shop for good, and I’ve been thinking about why I connected with the network drama so much. My husband is unabashed in his claims that the show is terrible. (He also has a knack for hyperbole and likes watching “Flea Market Flip”. So, yeah.)
But “Parenthood” wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was really good — the character development, the cohesive writing, the moving performances, the artful shots — all of it.
ип 212 141 инструкция So here’s what made “Parenthood” so great:
The writers dealt with authentic, real-life issues in a way that didn’t make the plots seem over-dramatic or over-done. It was sentimental without being syrupy, realistic without being rigid.
http://mebel-jak.ru/translations/export/sonnik-videt-vo-sne-sopernitsu-krasivoy.html сонник видеть во сне соперницу красивой The hour-long drama was so good because it cultivated empathy. So often, it’s the fiction books I read that sow compassion and understanding into my heart. I suddenly viewed cancer as something raw and real. I saw the conversations and the struggles of teenagers wrestling with abortion. I watched a soldier wrestle with PTSD and saw the addiction many struggle with in a new light. I heard families ask authentic questions about God. Through the TV, I saw it all — relationships reconciled, dreams dashed, and hurts healed.
способы организации государственной власти I began to see bits of myself, and other people I love, in so many of the characters. When Julia wrestled with her identity when she decided to stay home, I understood. When Kristina advocated for her special needs son in countless IEP meetings, I got it. When Crosby and Jasmine wrestled with race, I was held captive.
http://dverimp.ru/sites/default/psihologicheskiy-test-na-vnimanie.html психологический тест на внимание I watched women find their brave and do hard things. I saw them pursue passions, start businesses, love without agenda, create with their hands and their hearts and their minds and their souls. I saw women support their husbands and spur them on to be the men they were made to be. I saw mothers advocate for their children and stand on the front lines for them, even when they could barely stand. They were wild and free women and yet still women who struggled to get carseats in the car and make sure the bills were paid. Women who wrestled with being a wife and a mom and a professional. Women who came to motherhood in different ways in different stages of life. Women who burned the pancakes and doubted and feared just like all of us.
“Parenthood” allowed me to see shades of gray in an ever-polarizing black-or-white world.
It weaved together multiple stories with the common thread of family.
A family that didn’t always look alike. A family that wasn’t always biological. A family that didn’t always agree.
But they were a group of people that, through whatever they were navigating, could come together at the table. They had grace for each other, welcoming each other into an intimate life where you find yourself laughing and crying in the same sentence.
инструкция холодильнику атлант I think we need to see real. And in so many ways, the fictional Braverman clan was more authentic and transparent than many real families we know. And I think that’s why the show resonated with so many of us.
“Life is short, you cannot know how impossibly fast it goes by. So just enjoy this baby. Cherish this time. Cherish every minute of it,” Camille Braverman. (Yes, I just quoted her like she is a real person. This is where I’m at and I’m okay with that.)
расписание автобусов караганда шымкент “Parenthood” hit chord with so many of us because it was simply a show about what it is to be human.
What it is to go through the hard stuff and come out on the other side, maybe with a few bruises, but always with a stronger heart.
I’ve been thinking about a scene from this season. Zeek and Camille drive back to the big, two-story home where they raised their family. Zeek remembers that he had hidden an autographed baseball in the rafters of the barn (to protect it from the two young sons who were fighting for it). The aging grandparents head back “home”, planning to ask the new owners if they could take a look and retrieve the ball. The car pulls up to the house, now inhabited with a new family. Little boys are running around the yard, in some sort of epic battle. A little girl plays on the swing set, and a golden retriever sleeps in the shade. They watch as a mom, clearly pregnant, open the front door and shouts something to her little tribe.
And in that moment Zeek, a character who has transformed in the course of the series from a gruff father to a soft-hearted man, decides to keep it there for good. “They’re gonna think they found the hidden treasure,” he says. “It’s gonna be the best day of their lives.”
http://tamwork.com/pic/poli/sitemap96.html wordpress вывод записей из рубрики And the finale? It was touching and beautiful and provided closure — everything a series ending should be. The last six minutes have no dialogue — just glimpses of what the future holds for each member of the Braverman family. And, because of course, it’s set to a beautiful acoustic cover of Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young” — performed by Iron & Wine.
http://buxor.ru/libraries/vendor/sitemap102.html урок технологии виды одежды May God bless and keep you always
акт выездной налоговой проверки пример May your wishes all come true
перевод песни shadow moses May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.
May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.
May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.
Did you watch “Parenthood”, too? What characters or episodes resonated most with you?
Photos via NBC