tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133704282024-03-23T06:13:57.927-04:00Where I AmChristy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.comBlogger1487125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-74672469580351607582020-04-22T12:47:00.001-04:002020-04-22T12:47:46.465-04:00Spring cleaning, blogger style<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With this stay-at-home order I’m doing all kinds of
spring cleaning, so I thought I’d do some cleaning of the cobwebs on my little
corner of the internet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(Okay, fine, I’m not doing that much cleaning. I can see
dust from where I’m sitting, and I really need to mop the kitchen floor...)<o:p></o:p></div>
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When last I wrote, Sean had just retired from General
Motors and we were figuring out how to live as a retired couple. After 35 years
of getting up at 4 in the morning, I was concerned he wouldn’t be able to
adjust to a different sleep schedule. He’s naturally an early bird and I’m
naturally a night owl (shocker – we’re opposites) and I was really looking
forward to him transitioning to a later bedtime. Our whole married life I’d
heard other couples talk about shows they watched together and as silly as that
sounds, I was really looking forward to doing that. But realistically, I was not
at all sure he could manage it. Keeping his eyes open past 9 pm was a struggle.
But after only a few days he began sleeping until 7 am. Which is sleeping in
for him! <o:p></o:p></div>
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(And in the Be Careful What You Wish For department: the
struggle of watching a Netflix show with someone who does not know how to binge
watch is real. Real.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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The plan all along was for Sean to take a few months off
and then head back to the work force in some way, shape, or form. After
enjoying the no alarm clock life for eight months, he started the consultant
life on March 2.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Little did we know the world would turn upside down a few
weeks later. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So now we’re sheltering in place in our little apartment.
We turned our second bedroom to an office and Sean’s working from home in there.
It’s been interesting to hear him on work calls… he has a serious work voice
that I’m not used to hearing! <o:p></o:p></div>
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As for me, most of my work with Midway Theater Company is
on hold. We haven’t been able to announce our next shows or secure performance
locations - but there is precious little I can do until we get back to some
semblance of normal and people head back to work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are some normal things happening despite this decidedly
non-normal life we’re all living. Birthdays are still happening and today is my
oldest’s 26<sup>th</sup> birthday. We can’t celebrate like we wish, of course… we’ll
make up for it when we can all be together again.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuZ3V2GH9bVwqM6wUT8iDGPif5D7ofYM5WFsFiAwfQ2nezDu5_3S-h8AG8q8g-tW1bbKXUZEJqlZWKEQj_YlQg10CSg2NxwDyf69kpvbjM8ooT8Sp6H5Dq0bu1BGrvCzqe5wHnA/s1600/birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="1600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuZ3V2GH9bVwqM6wUT8iDGPif5D7ofYM5WFsFiAwfQ2nezDu5_3S-h8AG8q8g-tW1bbKXUZEJqlZWKEQj_YlQg10CSg2NxwDyf69kpvbjM8ooT8Sp6H5Dq0bu1BGrvCzqe5wHnA/s320/birthday.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael's 9th birthday</td></tr>
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(And how can I have a 26-year-old? Of course, I know it’s
possible considering I have a rather momentous birthday coming next week but
HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! Just yesterday he was running around the house with a
cowboy hat on acting like Woody from <i>Toy Story</i> and now he's got a job and an apartment and a wife. Time flies.)</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, that’s what’s up with us. Lots of learning new normals
and figuring out how to live within them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I just hope this snow that’s falling on April 22 is not
Michigan’s new normal. I am not interested in living with that!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow on the top of our parking deck. In April. Of course.</td></tr>
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<br />Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-69794553877755029902019-07-16T09:00:00.000-04:002019-07-16T11:03:08.026-04:00The fortune cookie was rightY’all. It has been a crazy month. Crazy.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s the big news: After working for General Motors for
35 years, Sean’s hanging up the slide rule and coming home.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvsDwC8i2TA6GMbACHJvBqmZki9OmGfCvQPpzBb6hAjHUO_gwhSbQw4ub6jL7i0Bhg7vePQwoQUXxjrjAHf2tRcvoy17SYHjIAF7koQBCqQwyb_0jyuaRcPP8U9pTodCQH55Yrw/s1600/IMG_5943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvsDwC8i2TA6GMbACHJvBqmZki9OmGfCvQPpzBb6hAjHUO_gwhSbQw4ub6jL7i0Bhg7vePQwoQUXxjrjAHf2tRcvoy17SYHjIAF7koQBCqQwyb_0jyuaRcPP8U9pTodCQH55Yrw/s320/IMG_5943.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sean’s last day at GM was July 1. Technically, he’s on the
payroll until August 1 because he’s using all his vacation days this month but he’s
not answering emails or phone calls or worrying about work for the first time
ever. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of our favorites! Mary and Liz.</td></tr>
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You might be thinking, “Wow! I didn’t know Sean was
retiring!” Well, don’t feel too badly because we didn’t either until just over
a month ago. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A backstory: in January, GM went through a bit of
downsizing and Sean was moved from his job at one plant to a completely
different job at the other plant here in Lansing. He went from working four
12-hour days to six 12-hour days. We were thankful to the powers-that-be in the
two Lansing plants who made this happen, because it kept Sean in town and at
his same level. He knew plenty of people who were out of jobs and even more who
were demoted, so we were very grateful for this provision.</div>
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However, the job he was assigned is the job he had attempted
to avoid his entire career. It’s a job that he’s not best suited for and when
he realized what was happening, he said we’d give it six months and evaluate at
that time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It took about three months for Mr. Glass-Half-Full to realize
this job was turning him into Mr. Glass-Half-Empty. The hours were crazy, there
was talk of him going on 3<sup>rd</sup> shift and the stress of this position
really got to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great friend and boss, Jeff.</td></tr>
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What does stressed-out Sean look like? It looks like him
tailgating people. Y’all, that’s how I drive. I’m the driver who does not
believe the journey is the point. Getting there is the point. Sean is the
complete opposite. Trust me when I say in our nearly 27 years of marriage Sean has
NEVER tailgated anyone, not even in crazy Atlanta traffic when I’d be steaming
that people were cutting in front of him. He lives by the Three Second Rule. He
is the calmest, safest driver I know. And all that changed. He began
accelerating quickly and braking hard. And he rode people’s bumpers. I actually
started holding onto the door handle just like I did when the kids were learning
to drive.<br />
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In March/April we started talking about finding something
else in GM. But there weren’t any open doors. By May we’d tossed around the R
word and by June, he told his boss he planned to retire July 1. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, trust me when I say we were as surprised by this as
everyone else.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We went for Chinese food just before we made the decision
to retire. I don’t know who writes the fortune cookie fortunes but boy howdy did this
one hit home:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><b>Life will soon become interesting</b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
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That, my friends, is what you call an understatement.<br />
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Friends from Lansing Delta Township, Sean's last workplace with GM. Ian (second from left) is Sean's last boss. Sean got to know Luke (third from left) when he first moved up to Michigan in 2005. Sean has always appreciated his friendship. </div>
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I got there a little late...</div>
<br />Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-72410899496493171252019-05-15T10:45:00.000-04:002019-05-15T15:51:29.111-04:00Just do itIt’s graduation time! Some of my friends are seeing their
first-borns graduate from high school, and that brings with it all kinds of
emotions. But others are seeing their<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
babies</i> graduate: take all the feels from the first-born’s graduation,
expose them to whatever that bomb thing was that turned Carol Danvers into
Captain Marvel (a story line I’m still not sure about), multiply that by a
zillion and you almost scratch the surface of the crazy emotions you’ll have
when you see your baby pick up that diploma.<o:p></o:p>
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That could just be me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For you soon-to-be-empty nesters, be warned: when your
baby moves out, you might do something crazy. Like redo the kitchen. Or
re-purpose her bedroom into an office. Or get new carpet.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or sell your house and move into an apartment. Because why
just redo one room when you can sell them all?</div>
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<o:p></o:p>
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When Rebecca moved into her apartment last fall, our
house just seemed too empty. Heck, it didn’t seem it – it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> too empty. What did we need with all that space for just the
two of us? Besides, each time I’d go into the basement and see all that stuff
we’d accumulated over our 26 years of marriage, I’d have heart palpitations. It
seemed like this would be a good time to have a major purge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s something you should know about me: I am a major
procrastinator. Oh, I put up a good front, looking all responsible, but unless I
have a deadline, I am all kinds of distracted. That basement purge I was
thinking about was never going to happen without an outside force moving it/me
forward. So when I heard the real estate market was hot in DeWitt, I thought I’d
found my outside force! If we sold the house, I’d have to clean out the
basement.</div>
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I got all excited about selling and we started
thinking about where we’d go next. And this fun apartment building caught our
eye. And the thought of not doing yard work or dealing with snow gave me all
kinds of warm fuzzies. And it would give us some freedom to explore what to do
with our theater company.<br />
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We took the plunge and put the
house on the market. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And it sold the first weekend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the new owners wanted occupancy in three weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Talk about a deadline.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Twenty-six years of accumulated stuff all over our house
had to be sorted. Decisions had to be made. Keep? Sell? Donate?</div>
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We cleared out our house in those three weeks like a bad
furniture salesman: Everything had to go, go, go! Sean was a rock star - he worked like crazy and gave this procrastinator the shorter deadlines she needed to really make things happen. We got a storage unit for what I couldn’t quite part with (like my beloved kitchen table with indents
of the Babe Ruth paper and multiplication facts) and some things the girls
might still need, but we went from a 3,000 square foot, 5 bedroom house to 900 square
foot, 2 bedroom apartment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In. Three. Weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And that, my friends, is the only way this procrastinator
could have moved.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The fact that the deal fell through two days before closing
but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after</i> we’d moved… well, more on
that later. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To all you soon-to-be empty nesters, remember this: you
may feel the need to do something major when the rooms of your house echo. You
may think of all kinds of things you can do now that you’re the only one in the
house. You may even think of moving.<o:p></o:p><br />
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And everyone's going to say, "Don't do anything rash. Take some time. Breathe."</div>
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But here's what I say: Make the plans to do whatever crazy thing
you’re thinking of. Because why the heck not? The kids might not be thrilled
that things are changing (sorry, Rebecca!) but this is no time to sit back and
rest on the memories. Time to make new ones. I say that even after our deal fell through. Talk about new memories...<o:p></o:p></div>
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Besides, you just might find the motivation you need to
clean out the basement.<br />
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This is what sold us - we love all the windows! Unfortunately, the girl didn't come with the apartment.</div>
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The kitchen, obviously before moving in.</div>
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The view right now.</div>
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I'm thankful for the engineer who drew this to scale so I could figure out where to put our furniture. He's a keeper.</div>
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<br />Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-47017932843680814272019-05-07T09:09:00.001-04:002019-05-07T09:09:04.402-04:00Goodbye Prince Eric<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Here’s the thing about having a <a href="https://midwaytheatercompany.org/" target="_blank">theater company</a>: inevitably
you end up with crazy stuff all over the place. Costumes, props, scores, tap
shoes, programs – they wind up in your purse, your car, your house. All those
things have been in my backseat at one point or another.<br />
<br />
But the weirdest thing
that’s found its way home with me is the head of Prince Eric, who has been
living on a table in my entryway for the last three months. </div>
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See, this past January we produced <i>The Little Mermaid</i> – it was a huge success and we had a blast
working on it. But when the final curtain fell, we were left with gobs of,
well, stuff. Costumes, props, scores, tap shoes, programs. Thanks to amazing friends
and volunteers, most of the items were put where they belonged. But the bust of
Prince Eric, which was used in Ariel's grotto scene, was rented from a local theater company and it was my job to return
him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Between missed calls and lost emails, the director of the
other theater company and I couldn’t seem to connect. So, Prince Eric just hung
out in our entryway. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Prince Eric greeted all our guests. Some noticed him. Some
ignored him. Sean wondered if Eric was ever going to be returned. But the
longer Eric was there, the more attached I became. Eric hung out right by my
key hook so each time I left I’d give him a little pat on the head, and each
time I’d come back, he was right there to welcome me home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Thankfully I didn’t start talking to him, because that
would have been a little worrisome…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Finally, last week the director and I connected and
arranged a date for me to return Prince Eric. I bundled him up in the front seat
and went to our rendezvous spot. Dawn was glad to have him back and I was glad
to return him to her car’s backseat. She had two bags of costumes that she
wedged him between – man, I cannot believe how much theater stuff can accumulate
in a car! – and off they went.<o:p></o:p></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>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He was so sad he couldn't even watch me drive.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I returned home, there was no one there to greet me
as I hung up my keys.<br />
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Sean came home that night and said, “I love how the table
looks now!” Eric was barely gone an afternoon and Sean was ready to
redecorate. And by redecorate I mean by not have anything on any flat space in our entire world, especially not my piles. But that's another story...<o:p></o:p></div>
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Goodbye, Prince Eric! Your spot is clear for now. But
only until I find an acceptable replacement.<br />
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I’m sure Sean will be thrilled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-54430651801057703332019-04-29T09:44:00.000-04:002019-04-29T09:44:00.848-04:00Reboot #2Today is my 49<sup>th</sup> birthday. I am well over the
hill and quickly sliding down to the other side. The way that time speeds up
with each passing year is nuts. And I’m officially old because I said that.<o:p></o:p>
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It’s crazy to think I’m past middle age. I thought I’d be
middle aged at 60 – because math is not my strong suit. But once reality sets
in and you find out the average life expectancy for women is 84, you realize
you peaked at 42 and it’s been all downhill ever since.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So to all you 41 year olds: enjoy your last year on that
side of the hill! <o:p></o:p></div>
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With my doom racing towards me, I’ve thought about how I
want to spend the second half of the Christy Show. Obviously, I want to spend
time with loved ones. I want to travel. I want to do all the thing old people say they want to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(One thing I don’t want to do is cook. I really want to be
done cooking. Sean doesn’t want that to be part of the Sean Show
so we’re in negotiations about that one.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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But something else I want to do is attempt to restart my
little corner of the internet. It’s been 360 days since I last posted here. Almost
a year since I wrote anything other than emails. There are lots of reasons why I stopped and
I’ve just spent two hours writing about them, thinking that was going to be my
re-boot post. After getting them all down, I realized it’s really not all that
important to post why I stopped. Knowing why I want to restart seems like more
valuable info. And those reasons get back to why I started in the first place:
because I like to write and my family seemed to like what I wrote.<br />
<br />
So here's to trying again.</div>
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Much has happened since I last posted and I’m looking forward
to writing about it all. But I thought I’d start with this little clip from April 27, 2018. Three dear friends, Joanna, Sarah and
Margie, went with me to an Amy Grant concert to celebrate my birthday. They had
the brilliant idea to write Amy Grant’s tour manager to ask her to wish me
happy birthday during the show:</div>
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<i>Thanks to Joanna for letting her know where I was!</i></div>
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The number of times I’ve wished to hear something like
that from AG is incalculable. But in God’s perfect timing, He knew exactly when
I needed it most. And last April was definitely that time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This good Southern girl wrote thank yous to her friends,
but not to the tour manager, Brooks Parker, who made that possible. Here’s
hoping he sees this! Thanks so much, Brooks. And to Amy, too, of course. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s more to share about that and I will – please, it’s
Amy Grant. Wild horses couldn’t stop me from revisiting this. But I also want to
write about becoming empty nesters and selling our house and moving into an
apartment and starting a <a href="https://midwaytheatercompany.org/" target="_blank">theater company</a> and parenting adult-ish children and Amy moving to Georgia and Rebecca moving into an apartment and us getting
a new daughter by way of Michael’s marriage… A lot has happened in the last 360
days. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But today, I just have to get this reboot started. Here’s
hoping it’s not a fluke - and that I remember how to work this thing!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-59385703529823836902018-05-04T09:58:00.000-04:002018-05-04T09:58:45.039-04:00That's a wrapEighteen years ago, when I had Rebecca, I thought, I had
all kinds of time. Like 18 years’ worth of time. And I thought those 18 years
would take 18 years. But they actually took, like, 18 seconds. Because I swear
to you, yesterday I had that child and today she’s graduating from high school.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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What. The. Heck.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rebecca is my last one to graduate. The Duffy Homeschool
is done. If you had told me five years ago that this day would come, I wouldn’t
have believed you. I mean, I would have believed you in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">theory</i>; but as we slogged through math and science and spelling and
writing, I would have assured you we’d never finish.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And yet, here we are. Done.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The girl is graduating.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Amy Grant wrote <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Missing
You</i> when one of her sister’s kids left for college. It 100% describes my
feelings about this day: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Your smile lights up a room like a candle in the dark<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>It warms me through and through<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And I guess that I had dreamed we would never be apart<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>But that dream did not come true<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And missing you is just a part of living<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And missing you feels like a way of life<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I'm living out the life that I've been given<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>But baby I still wish you were mine</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I am thrilled to have a front row seat to her life. I can’t
wait to see all she’ll do and be. But dang I’m going to miss her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rebecca Hope, we love you so much! You are a gift from God and
our family wouldn’t be the same without you!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-26280359095919066712018-02-23T09:34:00.001-05:002018-02-23T09:34:43.124-05:00Time's up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here’s the thing about parenting: you eventually get
timed out of the job. And my time is running really, really short. </div>
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My baby turns 18 today. <o:p></o:p><br />
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When I was in the middle of changing diapers and midnight
feedings and potty training and carpooling to piano lessons/youth group/soccer
practice/dance rehearsals I couldn’t conceive of a time I wouldn’t do those
things. Because when you’re in the trenches, you keep your head down and do the
next thing that has to be done. You don’t look up much. And when you do, that
18<sup>th</sup> birthday looks far, far away. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But the milestones have a way of sneaking up on you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew this one was coming, but things have been pretty
busy around these parts. Sean and I have been in the trenches of starting a
theater company and running a show. Which I so wanted to do so that Rebecca
could be in one more musical with her Dad at the baton. But the curtain closed
a few weeks ago and my head popped out of the trench and here we are: Big 1-8.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When we asked her how she felt about turning 18, she
said, “Now I can buy lottery tickets and cigarettes.” Ah, she’s a laugh a
minute, that baby of mine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Once a mom, always a mom. I’ll always be her mom. But my
role is changing, and we’ll have to navigate yet another new normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was with a mom of young children last night and she
said, “As soon as we think we have things figured out, they go and change something
on us!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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If that is not the story of parenthood, I don’t know what
is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Happy birthday to my dear Rebecca! We love you so much!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-51354081692222004662017-12-14T12:51:00.000-05:002017-12-14T12:52:24.835-05:00Gotta know when to give<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I am very fortunate that, unlike many of today’s
politicians and Hollywood elites, Sean has no skeletons in his closet. He is a faithful
husband and loving father. He is as decent in private as he seems in public. And
he’s been that way as long as I’ve known him. Friends and family who've known
him even longer agree: he is a genuinely good guy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But there is one secret few know. It’s a
love he discovered shortly after our marriage and it took me by surprise. I
knew we’d have our differences – what married couple doesn’t! - and I knew we’d
have to compromise on certain issues; I just never imagined I’d have to give on
this front. But after seeing the joy this newfound love brought him, I caved
and welcomed four more ladies into our marriage: Shelly, Denise, Terry and
Heather, otherwise known as Point of Grace.</div>
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Point of Grace released their first album a year after we
were married. And Sean fell hard. Hard. Those tight harmonies, soaring
orchestrations and encouraging lyrics just did him in. He loved everything
about the group. We saw them in concert several times and with each show and
consecutive album, he was convinced they were the best thing going.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Four months ago, I found out they were coming to Jackson
for a Christmas show. As a bonus, Aaron Shust would be with them. Aaron was a
worship leader at our church in Atlanta and Sean has fond memories of playing in
services with him. Major score for the wife! I bought 5 tickets and kept it a
secret from Sean. I just told him to mark off that afternoon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It got a lot easier to keep that date clear because two
days after I bought those tickets, Amy Grant, the woman I brought into our marriage, announced she’d be in Grand Rapids
the very same day. I was inundated with texts and emails, telling me about the
show. Sean caught wind of it, and I knew he’d buy tickets for that and tell me
to chuck the other plans because he didn't know Point of Grace was even coming to town. I cut him off at the pass and said, “Oh, that
afternoon is blocked off <i>for</i> the Amy
Grant concert. I already have tickets.” He didn’t give that one more thought. Of
course his wife already had Amy Grant tickets! That was a no-brainer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Both concerts were last Sunday, and until lunch that day,
he was convinced we were seeing Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith that night. I
had the Point of Grace tickets wrapped up and as the five of us sat around our
lunch of soup and sandwiches, I handed him a package and said, “Merry
Christmas! Here’s the first gift of the season!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I can’t remember I time I saw him so confused. Or
genuinely excited.<br />
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We made our way down to Jackson for the show and it was wonderful. Aaron and his band were amazing. It was great to hear him in
person again. And those Point of Grace ladies did not disappoint. Even though they are now a trio, their harmonies were as perfect as ever. Sean loved
the entire show and I racked up some serious wife points.</div>
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When we got married, I controlled the CD player. And that
CD player played a steady rotation of Amy Grant music. I was upfront about who
I was bringing into the marriage. And as much as I initially begrudged having
to share CD space with Point of Grace, I must say they really grew on me. I am
glad we welcomed them in to our lives. I enjoy them almost as much as Sean
does. But not quite.<br />
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Thankfully, we love each other most.<br />
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-30755575141425660662017-12-05T10:57:00.001-05:002017-12-05T11:01:13.051-05:00Mothers have to stick together<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPusXaFCeKioSpWerphKWVFKyAbApheiZNUhXFRz8GDu-W52NudW46u99wQHw4yOjWW9stfyETj7D_CaNYYyVjjYFdhWK1lsGtndqgocnB2AGVwxmqpTUJtjqSV8UztiUPqV6-Xg/s1600/Image-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="750" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPusXaFCeKioSpWerphKWVFKyAbApheiZNUhXFRz8GDu-W52NudW46u99wQHw4yOjWW9stfyETj7D_CaNYYyVjjYFdhWK1lsGtndqgocnB2AGVwxmqpTUJtjqSV8UztiUPqV6-Xg/s320/Image-1.jpg" width="320" /></a>Some people can sit outside, get some sun, sport a golden
tan, and live their lives. Others simply step outside, burn to a crisp, peel
and go back to looking like they’ve never seen a sunny day in their lives. Sean and
Amy are in the first group. Michael, Rebecca and I are in the lobster category.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, when Michael had a work trip to the Dominican
Republic two weeks ago, I was very concerned about him burning. Yes, I know he’s
23 and living on his own – he was going on a business trip! – but still. The
boy does not like sunscreen. And he does not actually think he burns. Seriously.
It’s like in the peeling process a little bit of his memory peels away with the
flaky skin and he has no recollection that every single time he goes to the beach he burns within an inch of his life.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is the text he sent me and Andi, his <span style="line-height: 107%;">fiancé</span>*</span>,<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span> after
we both reminded him about using sunscreen:</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetH0WTTog72CXCU-3Bs1fnO4lxmBobPtebdGJSIkevzVXCZmhyIQUR3uOTu6q48gQ3f0CaNGaGY2oYgzXlIZAO7MrgPcw_YQAvZvgJv1c_ZkZ8vw11KFL-iuKmVGR8pvJa-HlTQ/s1600/dont+burn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="393" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetH0WTTog72CXCU-3Bs1fnO4lxmBobPtebdGJSIkevzVXCZmhyIQUR3uOTu6q48gQ3f0CaNGaGY2oYgzXlIZAO7MrgPcw_YQAvZvgJv1c_ZkZ8vw11KFL-iuKmVGR8pvJa-HlTQ/s400/dont+burn.JPG" width="253" /></a></div>
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No. We didn’t believe him.</div>
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After he’d been there a couple of days, a few of the
women he’d been teaching in his training sessions approached him with concerned
looks. They said they had sons his age and wondered if they might help him with
his sunscreen application. Because it appeared he was getting burned.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Y’all. If that is not the Greater Motherhood coming together,
I don’t know what is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He told them he was sure his mom would appreciate their
help and actually allowed them to help him. He allowed complete strangers to
put sunscreen on him!<o:p></o:p></div>
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He called us that night to tell me about the helpful moms
in his group because he was sure I’d be pleased they wanted to help him. Oh, I
was! And I sent him a text to show the moms:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unfortunately, their help came at the end of the week,
and the damage was done. But at least now I have photographic evidence that the
boy does not tan. He does, in fact, burn. And he looks just like a lobster.</div>
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*More to come on this development. </div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-16661747405384755412017-11-21T10:47:00.001-05:002017-12-05T11:08:14.830-05:00An addition to What to Expect, please<br />
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<i>What to Expect When
You’re Expecting</i> rocked the publishing world when it hit the market in 1986.
Since then, expectant moms everywhere have poured over its pages, soaking up info
on how big the baby is (It’s the size of a lentil! And now it’s the size of a
lime!), what to eat for optimal baby baking, what to ask the doctor and a
zillion other things I know I read but after nearly 18 years, can't remember.</div>
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Author Heidi Murkoff built an empire off that
publication. There are 12 other <i>What to
Expect</i> books, like <i>What to Expect:
The First Year, The Second Year, The Toddler Years</i>, not to <i>mention What to Expect at Preschool</i> and
a babysitter handbook.</div>
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But after 30 years, the <i>What to Expect</i> books have only covered about 5 years of a child’s
life. Kids typically live with parents a lot longer than that. And while there
are tons of other topics to cover after year 5, I would like to suggest an addition
that is hitting close to home today – What to Expect When Your Adult Child Won’t
Be Home for the Holidays.</div>
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By the time you read this, our oldest will be winging his
way to a Caribbean island where he is scheduled to teach several classes for work.
He will be there all week, missing Thanksgiving.</div>
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(Who schedules training over Thanksgiving week?! Turns
out this training session is for Canadian members of Michael’s company. Since
this is not Thanksgiving for Canadians, it’s a great time to schedule a
business trip for them and it only impacts a few Americans.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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When Michael first told us of his trip, I was surprised.
Fine, shocked. Okay, I cried. Whatever. I mean, this will be the first major
holiday the Duffy Five have not all been together. Sure, since the two oldest
left for college there have been missed birthdays and other lesser holidays.
But this is the first big one we won’t all be together. <o:p></o:p></div>
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After a few minutes of my own private pity party, I
pulled on my big girl pants and said, “This is the first of many holidays we
won’t all be together. This is yet another new normal. I will not simply make
the best of it. I will have fun with whoever is here, dadgumit!” <o:p></o:p></div>
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We’ll still do our normal Thanksgiving Day traditions: we’ll
watch the parade while eating sausage balls. We’ll decorate for Christmas. And
to mark this new time in our lives, I decided to add a new tradition: we’ll go
to Chicago and see the Christkindlmarket and all the Christmas decorations. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The five Duffys will eat turkey together after church on
Sunday so everyone still gets their fill of sweet potato casserole and my
mother-in-law’s pear/Jell-O salad that I have, after 25 years, finally
perfected. We’ll tell Michael about our time in Chicago and hear about his Caribbean
adventures. And it won’t matter one little bit that all of it happens on Sunday
and not Thursday.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Now that I’ve had time to process the situation, here’s
what I’d say, given the chance to write What to Expect When Your Adult Child Won’t
Be Home for the Holidays: don’t make an idol out of the date. Be flexible. Be willing
to change up traditions. Hold things loosely. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With all the impending changes in our lives, I think I’m going to
be reciting those thoughts to myself quite a bit in the very near future. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ms. Murkoff, if you need any help with my suggested book,
let me know. And Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, no matter when you celebrate! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-14666401954171401662017-11-09T12:17:00.001-05:002017-11-09T14:57:46.142-05:00To flush or not to flush?<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
(This is a semi-gross topic. Consider yourself warned.)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One of Rebecca’s classes was canceled this week because
the house where she takes it had some plumbing issues. That’s a polite way to
say sewage flooded their basement because the pipes from the toilets were
clogged. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Team Good News: the remediation people. They showed up right
away and cleaned up the sewage so the nastiness in the basement was all gone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Team Bad News: the plumbers. They told the homeowners the
clog was due in large part to tampons that had been flushed down the toilet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The plumber told the teacher, “Flushing tampons is like
flushing cement.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
(And you thought the sewage back-up was the gross part…)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Y’all. I am not one of those women who talks about
tampons or periods or other personal things relating to the bathroom. That’s a
big no-no for polite conversation. That I’m even writing about it is physically
hurting my fingers as I type. But when Rebecca’s teacher told me what happened
I knew I had to ask:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Who knew flushing tampons was a bad thing?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have assumed my whole menstruating life that tampons
were made of paper and, just like toilet paper, could be flushed with abandon. Obviously
you don’t throw plastic in the toilet, so the applicator goes in the trash, but
the actual, used tampon? Flush away!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We’ve all seen signs like this one:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbr7IhH6DecTCG5OexhXwdnNJAyLVidBjirLo6So_rcXKQhNOrhf1WxzRtrjyM_zP-gqtqkbTpg832WWrPcZnnf4MP6W9yAK0U6RiQeio1-0HnLGe9_44XdwDqYp9GEUJp0k3ekQ/s1600/IMG_0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1055" data-original-width="1600" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbr7IhH6DecTCG5OexhXwdnNJAyLVidBjirLo6So_rcXKQhNOrhf1WxzRtrjyM_zP-gqtqkbTpg832WWrPcZnnf4MP6W9yAK0U6RiQeio1-0HnLGe9_44XdwDqYp9GEUJp0k3ekQ/s320/IMG_0080.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But my thought was always, “I cannot believe they have to
hang this up! Who throws things other than paper in the toilet?!” </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Who's to blame for this potential
plumbing disaster? My mother never told me you couldn’t flush them. The
teacher said her mom didn’t either. But when the teacher asked her sister, she
said, “Of course everyone knows not to flush them!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Hey, sister - not everyone! Because when I Googled, “Can
you flush tampons?” I got 348,000 results in 0.88 seconds. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDpeXnoOfrtyzxplqMxjQAyZ2bOFsXE38HwUINq9FNVWlRLEZyGAfcH06B9NE619oqSBIp4RaCJoeOTsvkysb0fkudqhpykjy5N6H9GBPVzWo2Wh2nxs2m51m5I5LpQuRv2p1Fg/s1600/Capture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="165" data-original-width="590" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDpeXnoOfrtyzxplqMxjQAyZ2bOFsXE38HwUINq9FNVWlRLEZyGAfcH06B9NE619oqSBIp4RaCJoeOTsvkysb0fkudqhpykjy5N6H9GBPVzWo2Wh2nxs2m51m5I5LpQuRv2p1Fg/s400/Capture.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Clearly this is a question many have asked, but only to
Google, apparently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Let’s go to the source that’s not the Internet, I
decided. I ran upstairs and got my box of Playtex tampons so I could read the instructions.
In black and white they clearly state you can flush <i>or </i>place in the trash. Their online instructions are the same. But when
the teacher looked up Tampax’s instructions, they clearly state NOT to flush.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Why is there no International Board of Tampon
Instructions? I’m usually against that type of thing but in this case, I’m wondering
if it wouldn’t be helpful…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So my question to you, dear readers (if any of you are
still reading) is did you know this? Is this just some common knowledge that I
missed? Do most women talk about tampons? Is this type of conversation really happening
anywhere in the world?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I am now on a mission to erase my search history and the
text conversation with Rebecca’s teacher. Because if I die today, I do not want
anyone opening my laptop and seeing how many times I searched, “Can you flush
tampons?” or “Are tampons biodegradable?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I am seeing the flaw in this as I prepare to publish this
on my blog…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Of course, when I finally do publish this, Sean will be
so happy, because he has never talked about tampons ever before. And he is
ready to never talk about them again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I bet Rebecca's teacher feels the same.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-70920938972719732542017-10-26T11:40:00.003-04:002017-10-26T15:56:02.090-04:00Off the wagon for good<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For years I have <a href="https://oneduffy.blogspot.com/2015/12/its-still-no-but-i-get-it-now.html">railed against </a><em><span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://oneduffy.blogspot.com/2015/12/its-still-no-but-i-get-it-now.html">the wearing of leggings in public</a>. I’ve questioned how so many failed to realize
the legging is not a pant. I’ve wondered how it became acceptable to wear
little more than thick tights outside a dressing room. And I’ve marveled that
this fad that I was sure would be a flash in a pan has lasted as long as it
has.</span></em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But a few years ago, I got a pair of leggings FOR IN-HOME
WEAR ONLY, of course. In those years I have loved staying home if only to wear
those things. They are so stinkin’ comfortable! As soon as my outside-the-house
responsibilities were over, I made a beeline for my bedroom; off went the pants
and on came the leggings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, like a wave, LuLaRoe posts flooded my Facebook
feed. Grown, adult women started
wearing leggings. Like, all the time. These were women wearing the leggings,
not just college students who couldn’t be bothered to put on real pants to get
to an 8 o’clock class. And they were all coordinated with cute tops and
sweaters and boots… I found myself looking longingly at the comfy clothes and finagling
a way to get home to put on my leggings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After all that legging envy, I guess I shouldn’t be
surprised that I finally fell off the anti-legging wagon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Y’all, I wore leggings outside the house yesterday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I recently bought what I thought was a shirt but after
getting it home, realized it was a shirt dress. It was long enough to cover
everything that nobody wants to see. I instantly thought it might – MIGHT – be the
kind of thing I could wear with leggings instead of jeans. I put it on once
with the leggings but chickened out and put on jeans. But yesterday, I took the
plunge. I cannot recall a time I wore a more comfortable outfit.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg83cPGt3DGbYA_C4eKm-EaH-A5Frlz8LqtVrkurj2hrW15k-bVd9M7GMCw11W2R7Vn7HgP7Jrc_MV5ILgV3iXKSJQxsMHpgQCdYj-h7zqvgb4dPlFoX_6pJtoEPns351qViJnGw/s1600/1i5mah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="620" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg83cPGt3DGbYA_C4eKm-EaH-A5Frlz8LqtVrkurj2hrW15k-bVd9M7GMCw11W2R7Vn7HgP7Jrc_MV5ILgV3iXKSJQxsMHpgQCdYj-h7zqvgb4dPlFoX_6pJtoEPns351qViJnGw/s320/1i5mah.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, granted, I only went to a friend’s house (she was also
wearing leggings!) and I didn’t go in public places, so I eased myself into the
leggings-outside-the-house thing. But I did stop to think, “This is the day I
get pulled over and go to jail and I get arraigned and people take pictures and
I’m in leggings.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I should stop watching all those <i>Law & Order</i> reruns…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like all who fall from grace, it’s the small steps you
don’t notice that lead to the tumble. And for me, the in-home-only leggings was
the first step down the slippery slope to full legging acceptance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I caved on the legging thing, I’m really worried about
other fashion ideas I might change my mind about… white after Labor Day? Mixing
prints? Wearing black and brown together? Perish the thought!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But y’all, if I ever cave on </span><a href="https://oneduffy.blogspot.com/2015/03/socks-and-sandals.html" style="font-family: inherit;">socks with sandals</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">, lock me
up and throw away the key. Just don’t throw away my leggings. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">_________________________________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Here's a helpful guide:</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_19yXg3cel2er6MyNpzuoS_jfHBZP85HbFrELJFOGIivtnvKaChx8wRoxW8MWYDWAzOtCuFCdlMc6D861sfDx0qUsTrHvdY8X_p1nUlv0dcrNrkkuIcwnDCqTpEBSfMbT_8BUA/s1600/how-to-wear-leggings-425x3021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="425" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_19yXg3cel2er6MyNpzuoS_jfHBZP85HbFrELJFOGIivtnvKaChx8wRoxW8MWYDWAzOtCuFCdlMc6D861sfDx0qUsTrHvdY8X_p1nUlv0dcrNrkkuIcwnDCqTpEBSfMbT_8BUA/s400/how-to-wear-leggings-425x3021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-45147040280844766022017-10-19T09:55:00.001-04:002017-11-21T15:23:08.248-05:00Didn't budget for this<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, we still have a dog.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVydk4N2PChdp3cGpgO7J4o8EYd3CuPxalYfsnjzei2to3ELmf7C2QUSHQcaLlx2FWCfrp7TMtcOkAY7hm807p6D1rhKZlP4FjnT0MlAZmMl8DFDpIQRys4y8H3e-933DLsG0pg/s1600/IMG_1712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVydk4N2PChdp3cGpgO7J4o8EYd3CuPxalYfsnjzei2to3ELmf7C2QUSHQcaLlx2FWCfrp7TMtcOkAY7hm807p6D1rhKZlP4FjnT0MlAZmMl8DFDpIQRys4y8H3e-933DLsG0pg/s320/IMG_1712.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When the Westie Resuce adoption agency did our home visit (that
is not a joke), they asked me how much I thought we’d spend on a dog in a year.
Um, we need to buy dog food and take him for a yearly check-up. In my mind, that
equaled about $150, but I didn’t want to sound cheap so I answered “$200?” That
number did not please the agent and she began listing all the myriad items we
should expect to include for the Dog line item in our budget.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Turns out she was correct; my number was way low. From
check-ups to heartworm chews to flea treatments to treats and toys and the four
leashes we’ve had to buy since he’s chewed through them all, my number was
laughable. But after a year and a half, I thought we’d finally gotten
everything we needed for Dakota. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And then we went for his yearly check-up. He’s been
chewing on his paws lately so we talked to the vet about his itchy feet. She
said it’s most likely a grass allergy…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Y’all. This dog is allergic to grass. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
(He’s actually allergic to the pollen in the grass, but
at this point that feels a little nit-picky.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So, the reality of what we learned is that Rebecca’s dog
is allergic to his bathroom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What do we do about this? Grass is everywhere! The vet suggested giving
Dakota one Zyrtec each day.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I could not figure out how in the world we were going to
get the world’s pickiest dog to take a pill. I’ve watched our neighbor make her
cat take a pill and I was pretty sure that would never fly with Dakota. But the
vet suggested Rebecca put it in a bit of peanut butter. Dakota does like
peanut butter, so I was game. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrCFUbdTWZ3ECOQHpJ557kE8fA4xK_q0kn8jShP3STk-KZi3yh_tTP8L9LcQ9Xp94lmxepXtm28nwXXCOOX-7zXiKhaD0uwz6P8Ipr3zAN1SqnWVy1wbNXowMoVcZQb4dW67tHg/s1600/IMG_1705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOrCFUbdTWZ3ECOQHpJ557kE8fA4xK_q0kn8jShP3STk-KZi3yh_tTP8L9LcQ9Xp94lmxepXtm28nwXXCOOX-7zXiKhaD0uwz6P8Ipr3zAN1SqnWVy1wbNXowMoVcZQb4dW67tHg/s320/IMG_1705.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I had no idea how successful the peanut butter trick
would be. The dog LOVES his daily dose of Zyrtec-infused peanut butter. If he
could unscrew the lid to the peanut butter I think he’d OD on the stuff. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglr7i7b_NXdx27AoC7YraOp2RVngwrJxH2TA82-HFVvHY8ZnWIjfbkIxD2cL0M8uuZ0W8faUGyoDmYdLna6wjpg_1oqxIl63i-ciTFt6_9QIT2o3KuNfGNv-fMz2AfYqA9k0y8xg/s1600/IMG_1707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglr7i7b_NXdx27AoC7YraOp2RVngwrJxH2TA82-HFVvHY8ZnWIjfbkIxD2cL0M8uuZ0W8faUGyoDmYdLna6wjpg_1oqxIl63i-ciTFt6_9QIT2o3KuNfGNv-fMz2AfYqA9k0y8xg/s320/IMG_1707.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Sean takes a Zyrtec daily. Rebecca takes a Zyrtec daily. I take a Zyrtec daily. And now Dakota takes a Zyrtec daily.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
We’re bonding over our shared allergy meds.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGwbQxHSj8WIOvwGEPmRn3jP2CH2zkxzG9GfCpT2Epi6w8c93a6NIJwZMtJUM3y4ztRhg8iGFfhr88yKyhRysX-lA42NLnzh_H8HPLuXVVIPGK3i6zSq-vvisNox6rOE-oRRRGQ/s1600/IMG_1708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGwbQxHSj8WIOvwGEPmRn3jP2CH2zkxzG9GfCpT2Epi6w8c93a6NIJwZMtJUM3y4ztRhg8iGFfhr88yKyhRysX-lA42NLnzh_H8HPLuXVVIPGK3i6zSq-vvisNox6rOE-oRRRGQ/s320/IMG_1708.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If we didn’t love our real-life human third-born as much as we
do, I can promise you we would not be buying an extra dose of Zyrtec for a dog.
Mainly because we wouldn’t have a dog, but you get the point.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The best thing about having Dakota is Rebecca will never
be able to doubt how much we love her!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-42323037880584367232017-10-11T10:23:00.000-04:002017-10-11T10:29:41.196-04:00The future is (almost) now<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I don’t mean to alarm you, but my baby is graduating from
high school this year. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What I meant was I don’t mean to alarm myself… but, too
late! I am officially alarmed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was doing pretty well pretending Rebecca would be
around, oh, forever, because I was too focused on dealing with the desertion of
her older brother and sister. For the past several years, I was consumed with
Michael and Amy’s high school graduations, and then Michael’s college
graduation. My attention was focused like a laser beam on the two older people
who unceremoniously packed up and moved out. Rebecca was my steady Eddie. She
wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. She’s my baby! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But this September I woke to find another high school
senior in the house. And she started talking about where she’s going next year
and all her plans and oddly enough, where she’s going and her plans don’t seem
to include Michigan or me. Which, as you can imagine, has been quite
unsettling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’ve said before that I am keenly aware I am not the
first mother to send her children into the world. But I rarely heard anyone
talk about it. My mom never brought it up, even though for her, each first was
also a last, since she only had me and my twin sister. When we flew the coop to
college within weeks of each other, I don’t recall any talk at all about it. I
imagine my children wish they could say the same…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But this verbal processor is talking about it A LOT, and
as I’ve talked about it I’ve run into other mothers who feel the same. It’s not
that we don’t know it’s coming. It’s that it came a whole pickin’ lot faster
than we could have imagined.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Days are long and years are short. I heard that when I
was a young mom and thought it was complete garbage. Days, weeks, months AND
years were long. I was feeding and cleaning and wiping mouths and bodies and
noses and butts that weren’t mine, and I thought it would never stop.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then one day, it did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have now become that old lady who tells new moms, “Enjoy
it! Time flies!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For those dealing with sleepless nights or picky eaters
or kids who simply will not go poop in the toilet but will gladly do the deed
in a diaper behind the couch, please know I feel your pain. Your days are long.
And seemingly endless. Rest when you can and eat well and do your best to take
care of yourself because you are doing hard, thankless work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And when you can, find glimpses of joy. Maybe the picky
eater eats a meal without complaint. Maybe Mr. Diaper finally uses the
facilities. Maybe Miss Never-Naps actually sleeps more than 15 minutes. Write
them down, with dates. That way next week, when you think nothing is going
well, you can recall that something has gone well. And that can give you hope
that more will go well in the future.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And the future is a whole lot closer than you can
possibly imagine!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-3081945937669013742017-09-28T11:08:00.000-04:002017-09-28T11:15:30.150-04:0025 down, 25+ to go<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What do Barney the Dinosaur and my marriage have in
common? We’re both 25 years old this year!<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XRNeax-XKAsJopTpJeyeu-BX4crHfVMssV80iemk-N9ewfvWCrDUHzYpR36KGfcmkxvjEgUpSV3itHRyOphUSOJpSTJkEOgix4qQk0fM4_6FvoeLBPH5H1R7bBE_wmS2to7beQ/s1600/church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1136" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XRNeax-XKAsJopTpJeyeu-BX4crHfVMssV80iemk-N9ewfvWCrDUHzYpR36KGfcmkxvjEgUpSV3itHRyOphUSOJpSTJkEOgix4qQk0fM4_6FvoeLBPH5H1R7bBE_wmS2to7beQ/s200/church.jpg" width="141" /></a><br />
Barney appears to have, mercifully, gone extinct but Sean
and I remain just as young as we were two and a half decades ago. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Hahahahaha! Nope. We’re a creaky, achy, grey-headed duo.
(Yes, yes, technically I’m grey but I prefer to delay that look, oh, forever.)
I had no idea my knees could be their own percussion section or that bodily
functions we took for granted would begin to betray us. And we had no idea the
children we lovingly brought into this world would just dip out and have their
own lives, causing us to re-evaluate who we are and what we’re going to do with
the next 25 years. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On our anniversary weekend we took a quick trip back to
where it all started. Hurricane Irma had just dragged herself through Atlanta
and much of Stone Mountain was still out of power. When we pulled into the
church where Sean and his family attended for years and where we took our vows,
the secretary told us they were working off auxiliary power but she let us in
and gave us free reign to tour the building. Amazingly, the pipe organ was on
the aux power, so Sean got to play a few hymns.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJsjcQN4MHn2IuHgup3LMFcFQFayAkdOx4eoLRU6RUp573r_INR1DkRRYgkczthN-RR759Je0BIA22P5EesqzlSoJ_Tq4ItoAEfh_mSBSi9awZbNfddMPz7FDzo3-bjLqjobAOw/s1600/organ.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJsjcQN4MHn2IuHgup3LMFcFQFayAkdOx4eoLRU6RUp573r_INR1DkRRYgkczthN-RR759Je0BIA22P5EesqzlSoJ_Tq4ItoAEfh_mSBSi9awZbNfddMPz7FDzo3-bjLqjobAOw/s320/organ.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
We visited with family all weekend and on Sunday, went to
the church we attended when we were first married – we were a part of that
church and her daughter churches for the 13 years of our pre-Michigan married
life. Perimeter Church was celebrating its 40<sup>th</sup> anniversary, so a
celebratory attitude was in the air. We ran into Brenda, who played French horn
at our wedding, and she enjoyed recalling this little gem: “Do you know how
lost we got going to your wedding? Remember, this was before MapQuest and cell
phones! We had to stop and use a <i>payphone</i>
to call for directions!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg037cVwmJqZQmY91vpTINd_gjJIXwQcm3RXgzEwver05O8fVk86SCtjaMDVrv4Kb1QD0itHDMsPvc7VwK54Dvgcf-ahWQ4pogtLWF7WP1vi2cOAgnPGxhlJb2Bongu1dbnVtA4lg/s1600/brenda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="1600" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg037cVwmJqZQmY91vpTINd_gjJIXwQcm3RXgzEwver05O8fVk86SCtjaMDVrv4Kb1QD0itHDMsPvc7VwK54Dvgcf-ahWQ4pogtLWF7WP1vi2cOAgnPGxhlJb2Bongu1dbnVtA4lg/s320/brenda.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We also saw our dear friend Jennifer. She and her
husband, Wade were a part of so many important aspects of our early married
life. The two of them impacted our lives in ways few others have. It was lovely
to see Jennifer and my goodness, how we miss Wade.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Brdp0mAIyJKNxYLtvRYkyvnfgbXPi97H0VBUVVU1-inJEjCQhTYHWXhZ0CiM86F81IpZrrH3UMiwu0xWeqofHiIlBbzl9OY8bcN9PvmxAb3jAiyUYxqMTqcuyc4LPPfvYNHPYA/s1600/jennifer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Brdp0mAIyJKNxYLtvRYkyvnfgbXPi97H0VBUVVU1-inJEjCQhTYHWXhZ0CiM86F81IpZrrH3UMiwu0xWeqofHiIlBbzl9OY8bcN9PvmxAb3jAiyUYxqMTqcuyc4LPPfvYNHPYA/s320/jennifer.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
As we settled into our seats for the flight back to
Michigan, and the dulcet tones of our Atlanta-based flight crew rang over the
intercom, we talked about the people we were leaving behind and those we were
heading towards. Twenty-five years ago, no one could have convinced me I’d live
in Michigan. I wouldn’t have believed I’d have a 23-year-old son and two daughters
hot on his heels. And 22-year-old Christy would never believe she’d write 500
words reminiscing on years’ past! Only old people do that… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Barney may be a thing of the past, but his song lives on.
As annoying as it was then, it seems like a pretty good earworm for today: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I love you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
You love me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We’re a happy family<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With a great big hug <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And a kiss from me to you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Won’t you say you love me too<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Happy 25<sup>th</sup> to Sean and me!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XwLLH9EZiqc" width="560"></iframe>Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-25169310990702097082017-09-19T10:17:00.000-04:002017-09-19T10:17:04.098-04:00(Tap, tap, tap… is this thing still on?)<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s been just over 10 months since I checked in to my
little corner of the internet. Those 10 months followed a few more that were,
let’s just say, less than stellar. Between family ordeals both immediate and extended
and friend issues (the kind where you find out who your real friends are), I
found myself not finding joy in much of anything. Which meant I found little fun or
humorous to write about.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After the first few days of no writing turned to a month,
then two, then two more, I figured I was done. “Most blogs don’t last anyway,” I
told myself. And I settled in to a comfortable denial of my once-strong urge to
get everything down on paper. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And I found myself thinking, “I was a writer.” Totally
past-tense.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But then my sweet third-born asked what happened to the
blog. “I really miss your posts,” she said. “They were about our life. Like a photo album.” She
didn’t just say it once. She said it multiple times. And between her asking me
to write again and my dear mother-in-law saying she missed my posts, I decided
to try to get back in the game. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Don’t get me wrong; much of the junk that caused me to hang up
the keyboard is still there. And more bad stuff will happen. But good stuff is
happening, too. Somewhere. Sometimes it’s harder to find than others, but it is
out there. And often, it’s a lot closer than I think:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Like the fact that I just took a motorcycle training
class with Michael. We’re both endorsed to ride!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or that Rebecca is honing her teaching skills by teaching
science, piano and ballet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or that Amy is helping to choreograph a show that Sean,
Rebecca and I are working on with two other dear friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or that today is my 25<sup>th</sup> wedding anniversary!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or that the sun rose this morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Now that I’m waking from my self-imposed stupor, I can
see the many, many wonderful things going on that I would happily chronicle in
a blog post.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Besides, my baby is graduating from high school this year
and I definitely need a place to talk about how totally impossible that is. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s not just impossible. It’s downright crazy.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Here’s to a new start on <i>Where I Am</i>. And hopefully where I’ll be will be right here for many
years to come.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenH4aITz_ZnjEQHBGDgrR2K13YXVH8wUwoNrYo3vtG5t9JkYHVDjUpdJOkmUVFp3ZJ9A26SwgB-t37BB_nXk46InmwWct_Khms0SnaY0-hwaRv50rtxB1s9Y7ZoxxQxZslIcJsg/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1037" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenH4aITz_ZnjEQHBGDgrR2K13YXVH8wUwoNrYo3vtG5t9JkYHVDjUpdJOkmUVFp3ZJ9A26SwgB-t37BB_nXk46InmwWct_Khms0SnaY0-hwaRv50rtxB1s9Y7ZoxxQxZslIcJsg/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<i>The first day of 12<sup>th</sup> grade...who let this happen? I blame her father.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvGXkiga-xNeFcWSfTcFR79k08RT6gGnlCS1jV6VeUWiF4sWwf4KBJtAIYHr65NsGo4UNN5xyifIQatraiDptpLXnBPoQ28eznMDQaXXWtgDctP19buqRRQg9hOYf_BWMeUq93g/s1600/motorcycle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvGXkiga-xNeFcWSfTcFR79k08RT6gGnlCS1jV6VeUWiF4sWwf4KBJtAIYHr65NsGo4UNN5xyifIQatraiDptpLXnBPoQ28eznMDQaXXWtgDctP19buqRRQg9hOYf_BWMeUq93g/s400/motorcycle.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Many thanks to our friends Barry P. and Dr. D for loaning us helmets!</i></div>
<i><br /></i></div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-8618081049903032352016-11-10T09:00:00.000-05:002016-11-10T09:00:03.432-05:00It's the end of the world as we know it<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, y’all, I never saw this coming. All these years,
living like this day wouldn’t come and yet, here we are. I can only imagine it
signals the end. The end of the world surely must be nigh. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What? Do you think I’m talking about the election? Oh no.
Something much more insane than a little election has occurred at our house
and I know it must mean the end. Here it is:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2lg6JY2E4_c7WPiQ9zrqjDIlWRCxIAJywP2US1V3tzIia7FWAx_gdDJhPhvlR7dz01R_1Yg1FI3_IrlGn1BWxfrLvgkIto601uvjN-mMSEe2FSohKg2Bx5RISoK84OWyriZAVg/s1600/IMG_9165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2lg6JY2E4_c7WPiQ9zrqjDIlWRCxIAJywP2US1V3tzIia7FWAx_gdDJhPhvlR7dz01R_1Yg1FI3_IrlGn1BWxfrLvgkIto601uvjN-mMSEe2FSohKg2Bx5RISoK84OWyriZAVg/s320/IMG_9165.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did you see it? Look again:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOIf3sXGcN-Mz03FOUNKxqahuCWpihVYbUwg5WhB_ewy7scvTeQsQV19uaWWm-E1I9eFPjT49DZjp1SNMfvSh1YfADIBEavk3qk6_jR5CRebvQC9iGeeL5y3GsuzjhPlsad4ysA/s1600/IMG_9164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOIf3sXGcN-Mz03FOUNKxqahuCWpihVYbUwg5WhB_ewy7scvTeQsQV19uaWWm-E1I9eFPjT49DZjp1SNMfvSh1YfADIBEavk3qk6_jR5CRebvQC9iGeeL5y3GsuzjhPlsad4ysA/s320/IMG_9164.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
See it now? Do you see that empty pudding cup with a spoon
in it? It’s an empty pudding cup with a spoon in it! It was left on the coffee
table overnight. Left out. On the coffee table. All night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What? That doesn’t seem like a big deal to you? Well, it
will seem earth-shattering when I tell you the only person who eats pudding
cups at this house is Sean. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That’s right, people. Sean Duffy left a pudding cup and
spoon on the coffee table! I'm waiting for the earthquakes, crashes of thunder
and bolts of lightning to begin any moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Rebecca and I came home from a rehearsal to a quiet house, so we assumed Sean had gone to bed. When we entered the family room and saw the pudding cup (and
spoon!), we both gasped. I don’t think either of us has ever – EVER – known him
to leave out anything like that. Ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We were afraid he’d been abducted because in our minds,
that’s the only way this scene made sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He’s the one who sweeps through the house, dumping out
glasses he finds without hands around them, not aware (or caring) that we might
still be using them. He puts things away using the touch-it-once rule: if you
handle something, put it where it belongs the first time. He has never left his
socks or underwear on the floor. In 24 years of marriage I can honestly say I
have never seen him leave anything out of place like this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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(I realize those of you with messy husbands must be jealous right about now, but it makes this person, who's fond of piles, just a little insane. You have no idea the pressure I live under to keep my piles neat and managed. Which doesn't usually happen unless company is coming over and then I sweep all my piles into a laundry basket to be dealt with at a later date. Look, we all have our filing systems...)</div>
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Once Rebecca and I recovered from the shock of seeing the
trash on the coffee table, we both cracked up and said, “Picture! We must take
a picture!” Because Rebecca knew her siblings would not believe this story
without photographic evidence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I guess it’s finally happened. My clear inability to
handle-it-once has rubbed off on him. (Notice the barrette, single earring, bracelet
and ring on the table.) Goodness. I wonder if tomorrow there will be socks on
the bathroom floor or worse – a glass that isn’t whisked away from the family
room to the kitchen sink.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My word. It seems I hardly know my husband any more. Maybe the real Sean Duffy WAS abducted and a fake was left in his place... If this were a movie, the pudding cup would be a clue that something was horribly amiss. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Assuming that the real one is still among us, I must admit nothing will shock me any more. Nothing is as nuts as Sean Duffy leaving out a pudding cup and spoon. Not even an election season as crazy as 2016's.</div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-22953257525080403602016-10-13T10:25:00.000-04:002016-10-13T10:25:43.473-04:00My pleasure!<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Eleven years. Eleven long years. More than 4000 days. That’s
how long I’ve lived without quick access to Chick-fil-A’s chickeny goodness. But
as of 6 am this morning, that has all changed.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Lansing’s first Chick-fil-A opened for business.<o:p></o:p></div>
<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/AVvXsEhJW6r4pvwupd6ca50W2-tXq4jciyiyLGR3jHtgE7SGI5bpSJwmaZ1Ao14Ayz38rDWpclkSl42Y4vTNaTpC7Myf2md2b1qXAWer1It28KSA1rr0werGFYwFKJQYLfv75Hgu09376Q/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJW6r4pvwupd6ca50W2-tXq4jciyiyLGR3jHtgE7SGI5bpSJwmaZ1Ao14Ayz38rDWpclkSl42Y4vTNaTpC7Myf2md2b1qXAWer1It28KSA1rr0werGFYwFKJQYLfv75Hgu09376Q/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo by RHD)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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(I’m just letting that sink in…)</div>
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The new CFA is 8 miles from my house. Takes about 15
minutes to get there. A 2 ½ hour trek to the closest original chicken sandwich
was my reality yesterday. But today. Today! A 15-minute drive is but a hop, skip and a jump!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw several friends as Rebecca and I had breakfast there this
morning. I may have to go back for
lunch. And if we weren’t having company for dinner, I’d be tempted to make it a
three-fer kind of day…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m going to have to make a new budget category.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Chick-fil-A, thank you for coming to Lansing! This
Georgia girl is thankful for the taste of home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiDb4NF4LEQsomNZXGBt4hYt3JUshZ0gphyphenhyphentMhdNL3Gs4frEQ576yjK1RFPvdJ3wJHUpd4XNayE7fQ3B7z2DojNA5TrK5wV0fhHL3LCYKQvNgyZMU8fcwcbSCSxUgeMkG7SST_g/s1600/IMG_9074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiDb4NF4LEQsomNZXGBt4hYt3JUshZ0gphyphenhyphentMhdNL3Gs4frEQ576yjK1RFPvdJ3wJHUpd4XNayE7fQ3B7z2DojNA5TrK5wV0fhHL3LCYKQvNgyZMU8fcwcbSCSxUgeMkG7SST_g/s320/IMG_9074.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-52490264561256624592016-10-05T09:30:00.000-04:002016-10-05T09:30:03.279-04:00This will be hard to beat<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We’ll celebrate our 25<sup>th</sup> anniversary next
September. We’ve thought lots about what we’ll do – but after our celebration
of #24 two weeks ago, I’m thinking we should just hang up the celebration shoes
and count it good for the rest of our anniversaries.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes. It was that good.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We went to the Big Apple and saw all the major sites –
The Statue of Liberty, the Freedom Tower, 9/11 Museum, Rockefeller Center, The
Empire State Building. We walked the Chelsea High Line and miles and miles and
miles of the city’s sidewalks. We rode the subway from north to south and back
again. We packed in so much in three days that we needed a break from our
break. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And did I mention we saw this show – maybe you’ve heard
of it:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDeV1Q75bH-BOrY9e2_5AhHwBogGB4ifbBCKRERRK8PVnUatjttk8xDBaQ5rp17KOp0tI-se-cenwsDyvFj9I7GtFpHKvC1UYUvIl96vrwKN2aYKsDTQVJNq2BjtwuZMna2IcwQ/s1600/IMG_8923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDeV1Q75bH-BOrY9e2_5AhHwBogGB4ifbBCKRERRK8PVnUatjttk8xDBaQ5rp17KOp0tI-se-cenwsDyvFj9I7GtFpHKvC1UYUvIl96vrwKN2aYKsDTQVJNq2BjtwuZMna2IcwQ/s320/IMG_8923.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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OH MY WORD WE SAW <i>HAMILTON</i>
AND I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I ACTUALLY SAW IT WITH MY VERY OWN TWO EYES.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Okay, y’all. I am not one to jump on bandwagons. Usually,
if I know something is popular I will be less inclined to like it. When my mom
took me shopping as a kid, the kiss of death to whatever clothing she was
trying to get me to buy was saying, “This is so in!” Back to the rack.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I say that because there is nothing so popular, so hot,
so on-freaking-fire right now as <i>Hamilton.</i> This does bother me a little, but I console myself by remembering
that I fell in love with the show long before tickets cost a kidney.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thankfully, Sean got our tickets months ago, before they
were as obscenely expensive as they are today. But you know what: that show is
worth whatever pretty penny you pay. The choreography, the score, the costumes,
the staging – this show is going to revolutionize musicals. Revolutionize. Don’t
want to take my word for it? How about Andrew Lloyd Webber’s – you know, the
guy who did this little show called <i>Phantom
of the Opera</i>: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Just seen #Hamilton; it raises & changes the bar for
musicals. Brilliant lyrics, staging, cast. Creator/lead @Lin_Manuel is special.
ALW.*</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, y’all. So, so good. And I got to see two of my
favorites from the Broadway cast recording, Okieriete "Oak" Onaodowan
(Hercules Mulligan/James Madison) and Thayne Jasperson (Samuel Seabury/ Ensemble).
<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s been two weeks and I can’t stop thinking about how
amazing that show was… <o:p></o:p></div>
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So that was three hours of our three days. Here’s a look
at what we did the rest of the time;<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-ZYOCakgJ65VLjwQpsiFGto3q0JbEuUzeEMFNksHI5xGEYe_Y8r9wOsZ-qgcu7Y7autUCdGKACsQRq2JNqsR-fkzq7ZpM6c8ixzz_fg9neYWD53owzVvxIy3xa1KbCUeQ475fw/s1600/IMG_8867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-ZYOCakgJ65VLjwQpsiFGto3q0JbEuUzeEMFNksHI5xGEYe_Y8r9wOsZ-qgcu7Y7autUCdGKACsQRq2JNqsR-fkzq7ZpM6c8ixzz_fg9neYWD53owzVvxIy3xa1KbCUeQ475fw/s320/IMG_8867.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxP-1hJuqXhw1yiVzkb1HilWnLdgEPNNa6ojgeOVrP1R7HTraXx9iPSlYD69VEjU582MtEL2TDX0ynnp3HUVtVEDkt_cxW8JFD82KEjjdww5gBsXmPaPV5kiE0jQQJ8X_QBwkkuA/s1600/IMG_8880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxP-1hJuqXhw1yiVzkb1HilWnLdgEPNNa6ojgeOVrP1R7HTraXx9iPSlYD69VEjU582MtEL2TDX0ynnp3HUVtVEDkt_cxW8JFD82KEjjdww5gBsXmPaPV5kiE0jQQJ8X_QBwkkuA/s320/IMG_8880.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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What would a Duffy vacation be without a visit with some shiny sheet metal? Cadillac recently moved their marketing headquarters to Manhattan. Sean has a friend there so we visited the offices and got a look at the cars on display in the lobby.</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">A trip to Trinity Church was a must for this Hamilton devotee (the man this time). Right next to Hamilton's grave was this one, which Sean thought was wonderful:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM4dbb3YFHeI-nO7_-Q-P3BQ4JALvyKcYD5l1SEKPRcBIs6jeZDsZm6j1K_uTBp62gp7TvrPGGrpJFEDSmQ-WWAPFSfvaZq3v-D2VehW17QL4dmDk6vY-GO6FwERyjlYPny58aYQ/s1600/IMG_8888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM4dbb3YFHeI-nO7_-Q-P3BQ4JALvyKcYD5l1SEKPRcBIs6jeZDsZm6j1K_uTBp62gp7TvrPGGrpJFEDSmQ-WWAPFSfvaZq3v-D2VehW17QL4dmDk6vY-GO6FwERyjlYPny58aYQ/s320/IMG_8888.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Robert Fulton. His memorial was erected by the American Society of Mechanical Engineers.</div>
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And here's Hamilton's and his wife Eliza's:</div>
:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRa2s6Eey-iB-Bzmh9eTDnTmGlgKeyTSEvEXL9ltN4E5WKops03OCfj2qyPNiVQrHofRGzmqTYJ7F7gqrlJ2Ii56wY0-IYnKgsK_jfdO2SbcMF-K4DfHSgQhYl8JupOHvd0CCcnA/s1600/IMG_8890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRa2s6Eey-iB-Bzmh9eTDnTmGlgKeyTSEvEXL9ltN4E5WKops03OCfj2qyPNiVQrHofRGzmqTYJ7F7gqrlJ2Ii56wY0-IYnKgsK_jfdO2SbcMF-K4DfHSgQhYl8JupOHvd0CCcnA/s320/IMG_8890.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9GpD9izhD1-9vuw24uas_AqB23dLDiQU-x3N7w5EVr4VzrjcEHI91-VLdpdkbmPKB1n_lR_2QADdxof2qmRC-95fTlZYOgWMMxd2UJBM0dF1lXnh-bzWaZ5op5FyzkBVBTJRWQ/s1600/IMG_8889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9GpD9izhD1-9vuw24uas_AqB23dLDiQU-x3N7w5EVr4VzrjcEHI91-VLdpdkbmPKB1n_lR_2QADdxof2qmRC-95fTlZYOgWMMxd2UJBM0dF1lXnh-bzWaZ5op5FyzkBVBTJRWQ/s320/IMG_8889.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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We had a celebrity sighting - Steve Higgins of Jimmy Fallon's The Tonight Show fame:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQgB4Lr45CFMklEvojCtbMRmFvncn7ro37KKY5QQoZb6JxUy5qNW0GkIKpxMitglWqTCmif8AsaFrgLxM-1W1aA9gqEzV9wvhhfPkC4RWKfjyojbfoBOJuQQvTltKgbQhJG1VFw/s1600/IMG_8901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQgB4Lr45CFMklEvojCtbMRmFvncn7ro37KKY5QQoZb6JxUy5qNW0GkIKpxMitglWqTCmif8AsaFrgLxM-1W1aA9gqEzV9wvhhfPkC4RWKfjyojbfoBOJuQQvTltKgbQhJG1VFw/s320/IMG_8901.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwXJKZFIBOJz8AAGhFb7hw4bwyhrzXEDtUHRJooABbqeTJQvj61H8gV2KPOdnIHkCLbuwJnMcgr5WZpjp4ZoV0Ti2CAYB2CfpxVJMP5ZyLV-K9s-2Fcg_mhNWUYLxfnrj4i8j1Q/s1600/IMG_8899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwXJKZFIBOJz8AAGhFb7hw4bwyhrzXEDtUHRJooABbqeTJQvj61H8gV2KPOdnIHkCLbuwJnMcgr5WZpjp4ZoV0Ti2CAYB2CfpxVJMP5ZyLV-K9s-2Fcg_mhNWUYLxfnrj4i8j1Q/s320/IMG_8899.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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We visited NYC's first Chick-fil-A!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPj1L77kg1uFEJ6E6ruGWO6TZ9a5v509fLQVd7WhLk3qnRdFB1TaBCQQqNtakCf651Xdie-uIybiNtuzwFNRexkpMtIBmbwbUHTfIDTfeau1ISCgy9VE9k3_dkMOMLKPG04v828w/s1600/IMG_8909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPj1L77kg1uFEJ6E6ruGWO6TZ9a5v509fLQVd7WhLk3qnRdFB1TaBCQQqNtakCf651Xdie-uIybiNtuzwFNRexkpMtIBmbwbUHTfIDTfeau1ISCgy9VE9k3_dkMOMLKPG04v828w/s320/IMG_8909.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We struggled to get this selfie. We are not good at the selfie.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN6HHexQGU_bx68Cp-tgsxtooYWyAjoU90O5e3lWgT4EA7ovjfa-t5HImulTWQ1y6G-fPcJJ684j8EZLFUjLyk3tSeRA9LTaNYdSIu4XfOQ_tmzeQzAzDcemthmp6jYE8e0N4wA/s1600/IMG_8915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN6HHexQGU_bx68Cp-tgsxtooYWyAjoU90O5e3lWgT4EA7ovjfa-t5HImulTWQ1y6G-fPcJJ684j8EZLFUjLyk3tSeRA9LTaNYdSIu4XfOQ_tmzeQzAzDcemthmp6jYE8e0N4wA/s320/IMG_8915.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">I got to catch up with my first college friend, Scott!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnvEuYWEz3CxqkWL7yTpTyeSqNERkK54MlNR9b75P9NOQL8ApKfTmrS7c-NQVPgZFAdR8BiiBEpz5HWq8Q0NTGBEzyXOUf4_qH8MkBQVC4AL__tW4yMnNVNysDsPYbiiFR3c_iw/s1600/IMG_8938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnvEuYWEz3CxqkWL7yTpTyeSqNERkK54MlNR9b75P9NOQL8ApKfTmrS7c-NQVPgZFAdR8BiiBEpz5HWq8Q0NTGBEzyXOUf4_qH8MkBQVC4AL__tW4yMnNVNysDsPYbiiFR3c_iw/s320/IMG_8938.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Empire State Building at dusk - gorgeous! (We did better with this selfie.)</div>
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At the Grange, the house Hamilton built for his wife.</div>
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Our step-counter for Day Three:</div>
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A few final shots of the stage at the Richard Rodgers Theater:</div>
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GO SEE THIS SHOW! </div>
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<i>*The grammatical mistake in this tweet makes me a little crazy, but I guess even the best of writers can be grammatically challenged after seeing Hamilton. It is that good. </i></div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-4089927881310392662016-09-27T10:29:00.003-04:002016-09-27T10:29:56.133-04:00This Hilary I want to see<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There are so many people in New York City. So. Many. People.
Running into anyone you know is a one in a million shot. Running into the
person who gave you tickets you used on your first date, which led to you being
in NYC to celebrate your 24<sup>th</sup> anniversary – now, that’s got to be
one in a bazillion.<br />
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My first date with Sean was June 21, 1989. (Yes, I’m aware
that’s a long time ago.) And that date was made possible
by Sean’s brand-new boss, Scott, who gave Sean tickets to a symphony pops
concert that Scott and several other co-workers were attending with their
spouses. Sean had just graduated from GMI (now Kettering) and had hired on with
GM full-time. I’m the lucky girl who got to go along as his plus 1 for the
outdoor concert. In Atlanta. In June. Did I mention it was outdoors?<o:p></o:p></div>
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The fact that I said yes to another date was a miracle. Thankfully
date #2 was indoors…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott and Sean</td></tr>
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Since that first date we've had many opportunities to
interact with Scott and his lovely wife, Hilary. They hosted numerous work
parties at their beautiful home and Sean worked for Scott for many years in Atlanta. He’s
the boss I remember hearing the most about, the boss who helped shepherd
Sean through his early years at GM. And he’s the man I always think of with
great fondness for giving Sean the tickets that led to our first date.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So when we saw Scott and Hilary in NYC last week as we
were celebrating anniversary #24, it just felt amazingly, wonderfully right. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Unfortunately, we ran into them as we were leaving the
city and they were coming. But we had 30 minutes to catch up before our car
picked us up to take us to the airport. And in those 30 minutes, Sean and Scott
got caught up on their friends from Doraville and Hilary filled me in on the
many volunteer projects she’s working on. And we had a few good laughs remembering
that concert at Chastain Park Amphitheatre when we were all babies, 27 years
ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thanks for giving Sean those tickets, Scott!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih78Oxx4PtiMWgoZWIOX01KgX3x9x7E6oSR5ZIe48TV6jx1s328bnRVYdkQ2fvQiz2P9q-NOWwqr1jvVuUmmw088LP7datVu1yDuvhKCCqJDbwXUnmv_AZZEo7oDtGYRc1YcWOyA/s640/blogger-image--533905734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih78Oxx4PtiMWgoZWIOX01KgX3x9x7E6oSR5ZIe48TV6jx1s328bnRVYdkQ2fvQiz2P9q-NOWwqr1jvVuUmmw088LP7datVu1yDuvhKCCqJDbwXUnmv_AZZEo7oDtGYRc1YcWOyA/s320/blogger-image--533905734.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with Hilary (yep - just one "l").<br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-31556082293593118552016-09-14T09:30:00.000-04:002016-09-14T09:30:00.206-04:00Starting early with the last<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Just to clear up any confusion: Rebecca is not a senior.
She just started her junior year. She has two more years at home before she
flies the coop like her brother and sister before her.</div>
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Because there’s been a slight misunderstanding about her age. Several people
have asked about any impending college plans. Others have asked her how it
feels to be a senior. These questions caught her off-guard, understandably so.
And when she asked me why so many people thought she should be shopping for
dorm room decorations, I had to admit that it was all my fault. </div>
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My darn watery
eyes got me good.</div>
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There was no clue it was coming. I was telling the
parents at our church’s homeschool co-op meeting about a new year-end
celebration. It will be a special night where we’ll see student artwork, selected readers’ theater scenes, hear
kids perform memorized passages, hand out yearbooks. In addition, I said, it will be a
great opportunity for us to recognize any seniors. That, my friends, is all
it took. Caught me completely off-guard. In front of all those parents
(friends, thankfully) I teared up. And I couldn’t get it together. I had to
stop talking before I’d finished telling the parents the particulars of the new
night, tossing out, “I’ll send y’all an email,” as I left the front of the
room.</div>
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Normally I cry at the beginning of the senior year. Which
makes sense – I’m gearing up for the fact that one of my children will be
leaving. Getting used to the new normal and all that. (For what it’s worth, I
must say, the new normal never feels normal. Do you get used to cooking for one
less or the quiet house? Yes. Does it ever feel normal? Well, not yet.) Crying
at the beginning of the junior year… that does not bode well for dear Rebecca
or my tear ducts.</div>
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Sorry, Rebecca. I’ll do my best to keep it together. At
least until your senior year, when the tears will make just a bit more sense. </div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-72682889865651552462016-09-07T10:43:00.000-04:002016-09-07T10:43:11.529-04:00My new best lunch buddies<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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students was a crock pot full of pulled pork?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, actually, everyone knows free food will get college
kids’ attention. And I used that knowledge to my advantage this summer to get
to know the college students performing with Amy in the summer theater program
in Mt. Pleasant.</div>
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Not knowing my college-kid’s friends is a bummer. One of
my favorite parts of being a mom has been knowing my kids’ friends. So when my
oldest two unceremoniously up and left for college, I realized how much I hated
not knowing who they would talk about when we’d chat.</div>
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Well, thankfully, Amy’s school is only an hour from us
and I have been able to get to know a few of her friends as we've visited or
seen shows, but I don’t know them well. So when Amy told us she would be
staying at school and working with 11 of her friends this summer I realized
this was my chance to really get to know some of her people. All I had to do
was show up armed with a crock pot, chips and cookies.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, cooking for college kids once a week this summer was
not on my to-do list. (Cooking for my own family once a week isn't exactly on
my to-do list.) But once Amy and I talked about me bringing dinner to the CMU
Summer Theater students once a week, I realized the upside to getting to know
her friends far outweighed the downside of grocery shopping. And cooking. Man,
I am over cooking…</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH_CXCUPBA9KSL0B75ATXYQRGnUTgDN9FxqpvP_VexYfFFREo8lZSUb6XqHk5mxJFUBofoT_5sdfYbJLnSmwNe26lrm1TbtFqOLtKh0FOo8RQowDI9AKa34wN0NWI21avp54R3w/s1600/IMG_8766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH_CXCUPBA9KSL0B75ATXYQRGnUTgDN9FxqpvP_VexYfFFREo8lZSUb6XqHk5mxJFUBofoT_5sdfYbJLnSmwNe26lrm1TbtFqOLtKh0FOo8RQowDI9AKa34wN0NWI21avp54R3w/s320/IMG_8766.JPG" width="320" /></a>Anyway, once a week for five weeks this summer, I hauled
up food from DeWitt to Mt. Pleasant. The first week I did a sandwich platter.
Not. Enough. Food. It was crock pot city after that.</div>
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Five lunches. In hindsight, it’s really not that much.
But during those five lunches I got to know each of the students by name and a
little about them. Once I saw a little too much of Zach G., because he came to
lunch in his costume, which was boxer shorts, but I was in the green room so
what did I expect? <br />
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It seemed only fitting that we’d spend the last day of
summer with our favorite group of new friends. Sean, Rebecca and I took up
pulled pork, chips, carrots, grapes, cupcakes and brownies. We had dinner with
them this time and it was really fun to see them again. We’d spent time with
them in Mt. Pleasant, on Beaver Island, and in Whitehall. But we finished like
we started, in the green room on CMU’s campus.</div>
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To <b>Amy, Katie, Tyler, Zach, Allie, Anthony, Will, Emily,
Dani, Claire, Zach and Lainey</b>, thanks for sharing part of your lunch breaks
with me. You are totally worth cooking for. Love y’all! </div>
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<i style="text-align: start;">We love because He first loved us. </i><i style="text-align: start;">I John 4:19</i></div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-38976334778015301762016-08-30T09:30:00.000-04:002016-08-30T09:30:09.689-04:00Seventh time’s the charm?<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDrqERvl75AQoNBY5X_FQaB3fbtjw0Poxh8JFsSfwOhDMkyCoE_48OmpgTW46bUlR1kGCbZ0c9vAp687qP97_bgMHefmCndLSN9f8cBcWF43tuCw4ICYpfQJvGY2NqoJ-n3tgrA/s1600/IMG_8726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGDrqERvl75AQoNBY5X_FQaB3fbtjw0Poxh8JFsSfwOhDMkyCoE_48OmpgTW46bUlR1kGCbZ0c9vAp687qP97_bgMHefmCndLSN9f8cBcWF43tuCw4ICYpfQJvGY2NqoJ-n3tgrA/s320/IMG_8726.JPG" width="320" /></a>Seven drop-offs. We've done seven college drop-offs. Four
for Michael, three for Amy. And while I didn't end up nearly comatose at Wendy’s
this past Saturday after drop-off #7, which is what happened after drop-off #1,
I must say it was no barrel of monkeys.</div>
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But it’s hard to be sad when the girl is doing so well.
We left her in her new place with wonderful friends (hey Midge!). She’s
enjoying her studies and is looking forward to the various extra-curricular activities
that come with being a musical theater major. I mean, how selfish would I have
to be to want her back home. With me, her mom, who’s loved her all the days of
her life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Okay, I’m a little selfish…</div>
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We've got one more Amy drop-off and then four for Rebecca. Maybe by the 12<sup>th</sup> I'll have this “new normal”
thing down.</div>
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Here’s to the girl’s junior year. And a belated happy 20<sup>th
</sup>birthday. Amy-girl, you’re a joy! </div>
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We celebrated an early birthday with everyone at a Lansing Lugnuts game. </div>
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Junior year - new room. </div>
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I forget that it's impossible to get them to just smile at the camera.</div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-52147667277016705612016-08-09T09:12:00.003-04:002016-08-09T09:12:54.613-04:00Summer Olympics Random Thoughts<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Seems like this is a really, really good time for an Olympics – our country
could stand to rally around something. We’re so divided… Thankfully, I think we
can agree that cheering for world-class athletes is a good thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Is “world-class politicians” an oxymoron? But I digress...<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m playing a little game with myself as I watch the
gymnasts – how far into their routines can I actually see myself doing what
they’re doing? For the floor routine, I’m generally done at first pose. For the
uneven bars, as soon as they grab on, I’m out. For the vault, I’m pretty sure I
could run up to it and jump on the trampoline-thingy and that’s it. But for the
beam I’ve got nothing. That looks like the hardest thing in the entire
Olympics, if not the world. How do those people walk on that thing, much less
jump around and flip on it?<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not a participation trophy proponent, but I think
anyone who finishes the beam routine should get a giant trophy, bouquet of
flowers and a lifetime supply of chiropractic treatment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s a 41-year-old woman competing in the gymnastics
events. Forty-one. She’s only five years younger than I am! Which led me to
wonder what could I do now, at 46? Is there something I could train for and
compete at such a level? Race Walking? Badminton? Table Tennis? Nope. Nothing. But it’s fun to dream!</div>
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(That’s the thing about the Olympics – they feed dreams.
Sometimes dumb dreams, but dreams nonetheless.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJqa0oLtIoK5o_r2f_ThBCCv2gCf4k-dKi1lCPNIwxq8MRuCRtz4-uvGwAozgXQrmFAYbzNMvLNvipLsY_Clh65JPpEMDwsaMbSAOnigBla25aQg-639TXat1zoWnoDCylt6AUw/s1600/olympics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJqa0oLtIoK5o_r2f_ThBCCv2gCf4k-dKi1lCPNIwxq8MRuCRtz4-uvGwAozgXQrmFAYbzNMvLNvipLsY_Clh65JPpEMDwsaMbSAOnigBla25aQg-639TXat1zoWnoDCylt6AUw/s400/olympics.jpg" width="400" /></a>The Summer Olympics bring back such great memories of the
time the Games were in Atlanta. It was blazing hot and I was a million months
pregnant with Amy but we soaked up the international vibes and felt so proud
that our city was hosting such an amazing event.</div>
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That summer our TV was tuned to the Olympics non-stop.
Michael was 2 and loved watching all the events, but was especially fond of Bob
Costas. We didn’t realize the connection he had with Costas until we took him
to Centennial Olympic Park, where there were giant screens broadcasting the TV
feed. When they switched to Costas, his giant head appeared much larger than
life and Michael screamed, “It's BOB!”</div>
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Now we yell, “BOB!” every time we see Costas. Every. Time.</div>
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Here's to twelve more days of Olympic madness. And just for kicks, yell, "BOB!" when you see him. Trust me; it's fun.</div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13370428.post-90137607558080316882016-07-26T09:44:00.000-04:002016-07-26T09:44:01.110-04:00Random Thoughts: Summer Style<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uz-1Be3cQuvuTYVuA_SxGS58ze9lup0YHvm8EBMnVZPr8-A8JTcOPGPMMhFL4ojsmU5eqqC0Rnr8Mc-gaeYMO18LocJdjiTVuwfDmXALur3QDHn2nJQTxA2HWOp6mEVEC3IzZQ/s1600/abby.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uz-1Be3cQuvuTYVuA_SxGS58ze9lup0YHvm8EBMnVZPr8-A8JTcOPGPMMhFL4ojsmU5eqqC0Rnr8Mc-gaeYMO18LocJdjiTVuwfDmXALur3QDHn2nJQTxA2HWOp6mEVEC3IzZQ/s400/abby.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy drove with me to get Rebecca and we got to see<br />Abby, too! Great morning all around.</td></tr>
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Rebecca is home from camp! No more couch for me - I slept
like a rock last night <a href="http://oneduffy.blogspot.com/2016/07/dakota-and-my-sleepless-nights-true.html">in my own little bed!</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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We haven’t told her yet that she’s not allowed to leave
again. Ever.</div>
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Dakota was very happy to see her. He followed her around
yesterday, apparently forgetting the LAST THREE WEEKS when I fed him and threw
his duck for him and slept on the couch for him.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Having a dog is not terribly unlike having a baby…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I find myself telling Rebecca what we did with the dog. I
feel like a babysitter checking back in with the parent. So far it does not
appear that we did anything terribly wrong.</div>
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Amy is also home after her time in CMU’s touring company.
It’s good to have her home. And by, “have her home,” I mean, “sleep here.” She
is one busy girl.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But now that she's home, I'm getting after-dinner concerts as Sean accompanies her while she sings. I'm happy to clean the kitchen with that kind of entertainment happening in the next room!</div>
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She's working on a particular song and she's told me the show it's from, oh, a million times. And even as I sit here typing I cannot remember what it is! I'm sure she'll love being asked again.</div>
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Michael is off on a business trip. My baby is on a
business trip with a rental car and hotel room and expense account. Dang.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The most important part of the trip for him is, of
course, the car rental. He and Sean spent a good deal of time talking about what he
should try to rent. And if he ends up with a non-GM product, Sean said, “We’ll
call it Competitive Vehicle Evaluation.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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As soon as he got the car yesterday, he sent these pictures:</div>
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I experienced Duffy Shame when I called it the wrong car.
Oh my word. After 28 years with this family, how could I possible get this
wrong? But just like his Dad has modeled over the years, Michael was gracious in my car-naming defeat:</div>
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In my defense, it looks a little like the Countryman... </div>
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I was going to post a picture of the Countryman, but I just looked at it again and can see it barely resembles it. My shame grows.</div>
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I'm sure Sean and Michael will see this as a perfect opportunity to say we need to spend more time in dealerships. </div>
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Guess I know what I'm doing the rest of my summer.</div>
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Christy Duffyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13192519166354022489noreply@blogger.com0