Damn Husband

vade retro atrum pars

2009-12-31T13:33:00.001-08:00

(Latin, “go back, Dark Side”), to repel evil or bad luck.

The deliverance ceremony will begin tonight at midnight and is expected to last until the early hours of the New Year. I have tried many other times to coax her out with logical thinking and compassion and now I have no choice but to resort to drastic measures. Sometimes nonviolent communication just doesn’t work. Most of the time she is annoying but under control. Since she has become increasingly unruly of late I have decided that serious action is necessary.

Enough is enough. She must leave; I will no longer tolerate her.

The dark side of me, my evil twin, the Hungry Ghost, the one that is at times painfully obsequious and driven by other’s approval, the one who wakes up in the middle of the night stressed about changing friendships and obscure thoughts of impending doom, the one who second guesses everything and reads way too much into other peoples actions; this troublesome, tormented spirit is being violently exorcised from my body in a sacred ceremony at midnight tonight. With her will go the feelings of powerlessness, relatively innocuous addictions and victimhood and all traces of my mother. I believe DS is also responsible for most of the disorder and clutter around my house, but I can’t be sure. Time will tell on that one. I will miss the excuse she gave me for not reaching my true potential but this thought too should be gone by tomorrow morning.

The need for an exorcism is nothing to be ashamed of. It can happen to the best of us. To quote Wikipedia:

“Mother Teresa allegedly underwent an exorcism late in life under the direction of the Archbishop of Calcutta, Henry D'Souza, after he noticed she seemed to be extremely agitated in her sleep and feared she "might be under the attack of the evil one."^[35]

I look forward to a long and restful sleep.

A home puja will be set up to ensure that DS (Dark Side) will not be able to return. DS is already wild and frantic and suspecting the worse so I would not recommend any visitations at this heightened emotional time.

Already prepared and collected for tonight’s event are the Atharva Veda, containing the secrets related to magic and medicine,the Bhagavata Purana, a large collection of mantras from various traditions along with amulets and talismans, sage and other cleansing herbs, the Zen Daibutchô-ju spell, holy water, incense and blowing conches used in puja and the Garuda Purana just in case although I highly doubt it will be necessary and of course all Catholic exorcism necessities near and dear to my heart including, the document Of Exorcisms and Certain Supplications. Mix it all together with a strong will to change and I hope it will be a New Year to remember.

By Friday I should be lighter, visibly calmer and more centered with a possible glow about me. Without DS holding me back and taking up so much space in my mind, I can not wait to see where my creativity, my wild sense of adventure and my strong will, my compassion for myself and others will take me. 2010 will be the best year ever.

My best to all my friends. May the new year bring out your best side and may all your dreams come true.

2009-12-18T04:18:00.001-08:00

Mikaela’s World

“Mommy, wouldn’t it be great if there was a pause button on the wall and we could push it and make the day stand still? Then we could just stay in bed and snuggle and the sun wouldn’t come up yet.”

I would be pushing that pause button today!

Still relishing the memory of date night…

2009-12-14T18:56:00.001-08:00

There were people who saw us who didn’t even know we were parents.

A kid-free 18 hours.

An hour late, much crying (the kids not me) and finally we were on our way.

oh, I needed that cocktail.

The work party was at the Curtis Center

Date night with a work party thrown in. For me, it was not the reason for the date, but what I had to go through to get the date. You never know what you will learn. We were in the dessert line with a couple who were married in a corn maze. I was trying to chat and be friendly but I had to turn around after I heard about the matching t-shirts that said “bride” and “groom”. I tried to plaster my happy smile to my face but I really didn’t trust my facial features to be able to keep it up. A corn maze. Did the guests have to try to find their way to the wedding or out of it? I decided I really like my husband’s boss when her comment was, “oh, corn maze, isn’t that redundant?”

Looking up was quite a sight

A little entertainment

Such a beautiful dress

Dueling photographers. I wonder what his shot looks like.

I wanted to take the wheatgrass home after the party for juicing.

Mr Karaoke. My Damn Husband really should be a lounge singer. He’s got it down.

He’s really working those eyebrows

Finally, off to the Omni

Damn Husband: “Put the camera away”

He recovers from too many gin and tonics

Breakfast at FARMiCiA was so yummy. Their homemade granola is worth a trip into the city.

Chemical Heritage. This is worth another trip into Philly.

Philly is a really sweet city

18 hours over too soon.

Photo Workshop #4: Portraits

2009-12-11T14:13:00.001-08:00

For the full photo assignment description go to Rose Note’s fabulous blog.

I think I covered all areas. Everyone in the family is angry with me. I should be “dressing to impress” right now since we are late for my husband’s work party and instead I am half-dressed and trying to post this before I leave. We are staying over in the city and the kids are sleeping over at their grandparents. This is my first date sleep over with my husband since…forever. I can’t remember the last time and here I am unpacked, and not exactly looking like I am trying to impress anyone. What I wish I could do is continue working on the tons of ideas I have for this assignment. Below is a mix of new shots and revamped shots for this assignment. Impressive that I managed this much in between working, nursing kids with chicken pox and “dressing to impress.” Too bad I don’t have time to take the pre-work party photos for this assignment but I know I won’t get to put on makeup until we are in the car. Should look great attempting this in the dark with only the small mirror on the car visor. At least I won’t be the one driving. I will look forward to everyone else’s photos when I get back on Saturday night.

No Face Assignment:

Create five telling portraits of five different people, without including the face of the subject.

This was fun. I just kept working on this to avoid doing the self portraits.

The local Christmas parade came in handy.

A teen homeschool prom

my sweet girl

Nigel, surprisingly color coordinated

friends

ah, could anything be harder than self-portraits? Not for me. I hate having my picture taken almost as much as I hate dressing up and going to my husband’s office party. Ugh. I am so bad at dressing up. The only look I am good at now is sloppy motherhood, stains and all.

I started by playing with Photoshop. I think I look good in green and black. It sort of accentuates my evil side. Love that liquefy feature.

Joking with my signature black turtleneck that is like my Linus blanket. I am good at hiding and it was freezing. I love this picture. I like that it doesn’t look like my arm is stretched out holding a camera.

Mikaela drew this portrait of me and I photographed it hanging on the mirror.

My daughter took this picture for me when I was at work. The deer photos in the background were taken by a brilliant nature photographer, Barbara Kidder. I love her work (and her)

Well, I didn’t put on makeup but I did set up the room lighting. The teens at our homeschooling resource center were having a prom and I set up the library as a photo studio. I wish I could post all the great pics. The teens are so beautiful and they looked so sweet dressed up. (see, I would much rather be taking photos of other people) The two headless dressy shots above are from the same set up. I made the Damn Husband join me, It looks like I am about to knock him over. I didn’t have time to pose this way and that, I just jumped in had someone click and jumped out to continue taking the pictures of the teens who were much more fun.

So, surprising additions. I didn’t think I would get to post any more tonight but, the Damn Husband is snoring away on our king size bed in the Omni Hotel. He wore himself out singing Karaoke tonight and I pacified myself by taking pictures. A good time had by all. I still never managed to take a good dressed up Martha Stuart/ Good Morning America shot that was part of the assignment. Oh well, there is always next year’s Christmas party…

It is freezing out. The big puff coat ruins the dressed up look hiding underneath but a girl has to stay warm. This was taken in the elevator of the Omni.

more fun with mirrors

A Little Photography Fun

2009-12-07T06:33:00.001-08:00

I heard about these photography assignments from Lisa at Earth Mama. Thanks Lisa. I missed the deadlines for the first three but that didn’t stop me from putting something together this weekend. Maybe I will be on time for assignment #4. Maybe not.

The assignments were created by Bloom and Rose Note’s and were inspired by Chris Orwig’s book, Visual Poetry.

The first assignment was to create a color quilt. Or in my case, several photo quilts. (I was making up for being late) For more assignment details check this out.

Assignment #1: Quilts of Color

Assignment #2: Environmental Portraits

Last night I was ready to download all my assignments when I reread this assignment and saw that I was suppose to include a self-portrait. I found all my inspiration for this one in the living room after midnight. I threw it together really fast and I like the result. Sometimes it works when I don’t over-think things too much.

Mikaela was fun to do.

My sweet boy, Nigel.

I am going to have to think a bit more before creating one for the Damn Husband.

Assignment #3: Select a Theme

The weather was on my side for this assignment. My themes altered with my mood. For me it was a fun progression. I will let you decide what themes resonate with you when you look at them.

Thank you Bloom and Rose Note’s for a wonderful and creative weekend.

why blog?

2009-12-03T04:22:00.001-08:00

I spent the last week blog searching. I started with blogs that I like and followed the links for the blogs they like and the other people who follow them. Hundreds of blogs. I found blogs on crafting, living simple, Buddhism, depression, mommy bloggers, daddy bloggers. I found angry bloggers and total optimists; sometimes they were friends, halves that complete each other. I read art blogs, photo blogs, adoption blogs, food blogs, dog blogs, homeschooling blogs and geeky blogs.

Some depress me. There are many teen angst blogs that suddenly stop after months of wailing about how bad their lives are. Did their lives get better so they stopped writing or worse so they couldn’t? Where do they go after they stop writing? Their thoughts still linger on the internet, captured sadness floating in cyber space. And then there are the perfect blogs. The ones who have organic gardens and perfect children and craft all day in total bliss. Nothing ever goes wrong with their blog lives. Sometimes it is fun to escape and read about their fairy tale lives. If I spend too long on them I start to get that uncomfortable feeling I get when I read too many fashion magazines- I start feeling like Quasimodo reading about an unattainable world that leaves me lacking. (of course, I secretly want to be them)

Thirty two people read my blog today and left no comments. I have no idea what they were looking for and I do not know if they found it. Looking over so many blogs I wonder, why blog? Why not just keep a diary? Why write at all? According to research done in 2008:

133 million – The number of blogs on the Internet (as tracked by Technorati).
900,000 – The number of new blog posts in a day.
329 million – The number of blog posts in 2008.

I can only imagine how much those numbers have increased in the past year.

When I can’t sleep like tonight I wander through blogs. I read the blogger whose husband went out for a bike ride and returned to her a paraplegic. She writes honestly about how they are slowly putting the shattered pieces of their lives back together a year later. I have never met her but I know more about her life than I know about many of my friends I see weekly. When sadness overtakes me I read her blog because I know she understands. Grief comes in all forms and has a mutual understanding.

Sunday was the year anniversary for our referral for our Ethiopian daughter. Although she is ‘legally’ our daughter we will probably never see her again. I can’t believe how much pain I am feeling. It closes in on me and I can hardly breath. I tried to spend Thanksgiving being grateful for the many blessings in my life but my heart was grieving. How do we get over the things that happen to us in our life? We get by with the help of our friends and by facing the little pieces everyday. On Monday, still unable to see my way through this I read Pain, Pain Go Away written by Elissa Elliott, a guest blogger at Cheerio Road and I found the community I needed. I spent the morning with her and the others that commented about her post and shared similar experience.

Heart,
I implore you,
it’s time to come back
from the dark,

(thank you, Mary Oliver)

I feel very grateful for the bloggers that share their lives with me. My life is enriched because of it.

Right now my son Nigel keeps peaking his head out from under my desk and pulling on my pant leg. “Hello mommy.” He makes me laugh. So, kids first, then blogging. This will always be my order which is why I can not manage to post everyday and I still don’t know what all the tags are that so many bloggers have on their sites: Digg Thiis, Save to del.icio.us, Tweet This. I don’t tell people to follow me on Facebook (follow me where?) because I haven’t been on Facebook for weeks. (And can someone please explain the give aways?)

Why do I blog? Because it helps me sort through things, because I like to find words for my life. I like connecting with others. Life is often messy. It helps to have friends.

I will leave you with a random group of other bloggers that are worth checking out. Stop and have a cup of tea with them. Thanks for coming to see me.

How are you? Really?

http://cadernobranco.wordpress.com/

http://tinyhouseblog.com/

http://www.doodlersanonymous.com/

http://www.photographyblogger.net/

http://madebyanmarie.blogspot.com/

http://angrychicken.typepad.com/angry_chicken/

http://vintagesimplehome.blogspot.com/

http://orangette.blogspot.com/

http://www.artistswhoblog.blogspot.com/

http://hulaseventy.blogspot.com/

http://www.fatjuicyoyster.com/

http://myamericanmeltingpot.blogspot.com/

enjoy

Hair Inspiration

2009-11-24T12:40:00.001-08:00

I was wandering through some hair blogs again and came across some advice for boys (finally!) at Happy Girl Hair. Although I haven’t decide that I want to go with locs yet, I love the look of twists so I decided to give it a try. She offers links to two sites for more information-Notty Boy and Cool Men’s Hair. Neither of the links worked so I tried to google Notty Boys but ended up at a scary site about two knotty boys and the women they tie up (some really beautiful looking knots but ewww! so not what I was looking for).

I explored a few You Tube videos and gave it a try. I wet and conditioned his hair, combed it out and twisted groups of hair, added shea butter to the tips. It was fun to do and I love the look. It took quite a while and was challenging considering Nigel was never still. He was a trouper because I let him play with the water in the sink the whole time. By the end we were soaked but it was worth it.

Happy Girl Hair also has a post about Nadia Sleep Caps which seem like a good idea to keep his hair in order when he sleeps. The hair on the sides and back of his head is much shorter than the hair on top so when he sleeps it usually knots up or frizzes from moving around in the bed. What can I do to keep all his twists in order until I get a sleep cap in the mail? The sleep caps are made from swim suit material…

When the Damn Husband comes home he noticed Nigel’s new ‘do’ right away, which is unusually observant for him.

DH: Wow, His hair looks awesome. Did Gete (my Ethiopian friend) come over and do his hair?

Me: (trying not to sound indignant) No. I did his hair.

DH: Really?

Me: Yes. Really.

DH: It looks really cool.

Me: It took a long time and I really want to have it stay in. They recommend using a sleep cap which they describe as a cap made from swim suit material. I thought we could improvise until I order one. There is a bathing suit bottom on the changing table that was Mikaela’s when she was a toddler. Put that on him before you put him to bed. (I was going out with a girlfriend– highly unusual for me)

DH: Put that on him?

Me: Yes, on his head.

DH starts to laugh.

Me: Michael, you can’t laugh when you put it on him. Try to be subtle and put it on him casually after you turn out the lights.

More laughter.

Me: Michael.

DH: Okay. Where is it? What does it look like.

Mikaela: Daddy,I know where it is; I’ll show you. It is pink polka dots.

More laughter. DH squishes up his eyes and his shoulders are shaking.

Me: No one is going to see him in it.

DH: How do I put it on him?

Me: You put the waistband over his head and the leg holes just sort of stick up in the air, but that won’t matter.

The conversation ends there because he is laughing so hard he is crying.

I wasn’t surprised to find the pseudo-cap at the bottom of the bed when I got home. I had more twisting practice this morning.

Getting Priorities Straight

2009-11-18T04:21:00.001-08:00

I have found that when things get busy and I am behind in everything, the best thing I can do is play. Especially if the day is beautiful, sunny, and warm. Today I was so grateful that we are homeschoolers. My kids were outside enjoying the world instead of sitting inside a building. It is what works for us. We spent the afternoon at Tyler Arboretum exploring their tree houses.

Playing inside a giant guitar. How cool is that?

This is my favorite. Ropes hang down that are attached to bells all over the tree. I have the perfect spot for this in my yard. Now I just have to get the Damn Husband to help me build it.

I was inspired by this outside musical wonderland. I want to recreate this in my yard. Neighbors beware.

For Nigel this was a fun tunnel to climb through, for Mikaela it was a horse (Of course!), and I enjoyed making it sing.

And by the end of the day, I had my priorities in place and all those things I felt behind in, didn’t feel as important anymore. After writing this I read Karen Maezen Miller’s post about exhalation and I realized, yes, that is what I did. I remembered to exhale.

Carrots, Coconut, Celery and Love

2009-11-17T04:51:00.001-08:00

After a very long night trying to meet a deadline I was hoping to sleep in until Michael left for work. Mikaela woke up early and started to tell me about all the plans she had for the day.

That’s great baby, but mommy needs a little more sleep.

It felt like only seconds later that she came back announcing my breakfast in bed was ready.

(photograph by Mikaela)

“Mommy did you know that carrots and coconut are quite good together?”

Love and breakfast can be much better than sleep.

The Ultimate MeMe Award

2009-11-14T16:35:00.001-08:00

You never know where inspiration will come from. The Official Seal of the Ultimate Meme Award was given to me by Earthmama. Thank you I feel honored to be one of your five chosen. It was fun to follow the blogger who sent it to you and the other bloggers they sent it to, etc. I found so many new fun blogs in many different areas of the world. When I first read about the MeMe I thought, oh a chain letter in blog form. First impressions can be deceiving. Most people write a short list of things for each category they pick but somehow mine turned into a much longer post. Once you get me started it is hard to get me to stop. I will quote my design mentor, Douglas Marmee: “What is worth doing is worth overdoing”. That' seems to be my style. Sometimes I took myself too seriously and a few times I sat at the computer crying but I also had fun coming up with the categories and hopefully the bloggers I send it to will also. Anything can be a starting point for inspiration. My categories brought up things I hadn’t thought of in years. I allowed my choices to be a bit gnarly. One might wonder if they all truly fall into the category of favorite things. Some of my responses aren’t standard happy. Happiness for me isn’t always puppies and kisses. Sometimes it is writing and capturing the bad feeling just right.

Here are the fabulous five blogs I am passing it on to. I love what you have to say and I hope you have fun with this if you feel inspired and remember, most people just write a list. I pass the award to:

http://www.thesparklingmartins.blogspot.com/

http://www.honeysmoke.com/

http://www.mommazen.blogspot.com/

http://lydiaslifeofserendipity.blogspot.com/

http://backwoodsboogie.blogspot.com/

To accept the award, post a post on your blog, and link it to the person who gave it to you (me).

Pass it on to five other people (if you want to) by posting links to their blogs and leaving a comment in their comments. The meme that goes with this award is to think of five random categories and tell us in a post five favorite things about each category. I think the challenge and the fun comes from thinking outside the box although there is nothing wrong with listing your favorite songs or foods and as E says, there is nothing more serious or important than food.

OK now for my meme

(What is worth doing is worth overdoing.)

1. contradictions

I want to like myself more and I keep doing unlikeable things.

II.

I want chickens and land and a vegetable garden and a NYC apartment with a sushi restaurant across the street that I can go to in my slippers (I used to have that). I want the smell of Indian food in the courtyard and Latin music playing in the street; I want it to be so dark the only light is stars and the only sound is crickets.

III.

I want to travel and nest. I want solitude and more children.

IV.

I want an organized home and I don’t want to clean. I want to collect odd things at garage sales and I want a house clear of clutter.

I want to be thin and in shape and I love to eat and hate to exercise.

2. Love

Sometimes I am amazed at all the love I feel, how the same word can feel so different and the same.

I. daddy love

I aspire everyday of my life to be like my father but I know how I fall short. Daddy, how did you manage to always be so kind and loving? I haven’t been spending time with you lately and I feel so bad about that. Several times I have started to drive to your house and on the way I start crying so hard I turn around and go back home. Daddy, I miss you so much. How can you be right in front of me and not be there? Alzheimer's is such a cruel disease. Please come back. I am like a young child bargaining with god. I want to say please god, I will be good, give more, I will give up ______ in penance for my sins if you please bring my daddy back. I am humbled by how much it hurts everyday. Love is messy. Every day of my life, even when he was unhappy with me about something I knew shining through it all was a love for me that never wavered. Thanks you dad, for teaching me what love is.

II. mama Love

I wake up in the middle of the night and am soothed just listening to the sounds of their sweet breath. I love being sandwiched between my children. They smell deliciously different. Mikaela smells like sweet grass and clover; Nigel smells like dew and coconut. My love for them is fierce and imperfect and grows more each day even when I think it is not possible. I could move mountains for my kids. I look at them with wonder. Who will they grow up to be? Where will their lives lead them? I am honored to be their first guide through their miraculous journey to the rest of their lives.

III. hubby love

He makes me so crazy and what he thinks matters so much to me, my Damn Husband. He creates a boiling pot inside me. I try to remember what date nights used to be like. I remember going to Lincoln Center to hear Carmina Burana. I started walking up the subway that led directly into Lincoln Center and there he was, standing at the top of the stairs, shockingly handsome in his Hugo Boss suit. As he smiled down at me I felt dizzy walking up the rest of the stairs. I knew that we would be walking together from this point forward and I knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. It would be oil and water, fire and ice.

I remember going to Herban Kitchen (NYC) on Valentine’s Day. After our five course meal with organic wine I felt so light and happy holding his hand. It was such a shock to leave the warm restaurant and be outside where the cold wind was whipping down Hudson Street. It felt as though we glided back to my apartment laughing the whole way. That night we made Mikaela.

Things have changes so much; our days are filled with work, kids, finance troubles, obligation after obligation. We just keep putting out fires and in the process we seem to have put out our fire by mistake. He is a lumbering beast that comes and goes. I wonder at times if I even know him anymore. Where did our soul connection go? It is like searching inside a dark caldron for something delicate and tiny that we forgot to nurture. For now we get by knowing it is still there, somewhere, and we make due with sloppy kisses and morning mini conversations over the kids’ giggles and squeals. Love sometimes hides and lies dormant.

IV. quiet love

When I look up at the sky and feel small and full of wonder and gratitude at being alive, at being a small piece of this world.

When I take a photograph and succeed at capturing a feeling.

When I read a poem and it gives me chills, when I listen to a song (the Tinderstix) and I feel a raw knowing, a connection in my solar plexus. (I love the song, Trouble Every Day but not the movie. A friend who knows me well warned me not to see the movie and I listened to her.)

When I stop at a red light and look at the person next to me and they really look at me and see me and smile and I smile back; this small moment of connection with a stranger I will never see again.

When the balance of ordinary objects causes a startling beauty that makes me appreciate the day, my life: Mikaela’s little wooden chair, a tossed sweater and an open book; the sun creating a glow through the glass kombucha jar and casting light on an acorn and a shell; Nigel’s chubby fingers holding onto Michael’s t-shirt just above rumpled covers, two sleep faces nearly meeting.

V. self love

Neglected, boisterous, roiled, formidable. It prevails. Here I am.

3. Dreams

I. exposed

I am naked. My teeth have fallen out and I am searching the ground trying to find them.

The curtain opens and I find myself on stage. I do not know the play, it isn’t even in English. I try to act casual, I try not to be noticed, I try not to be distracting as I walk off the stage.

II. inquiry

I go to bed with a question foremost in my mind and I dream the answer.

I see my father walking through the forest. He is taking his time, strolling and stopping to look around. I have never seen him so happy, so relaxed. A few times I see him laugh out loud to himself.

I hear a baby crying. I can’t tell where it is coming from. I am frantic to find him. I follow the sounds through strange dark rooms and finally I see a small bundle. I kneel and pick him up. He quiets and stares at me.

III. lucid dreaming

Guns are going off all around me. I am angry. People are hurt and lying in the street. I am very frightened but I realize I am dreaming. To make sure I put my hand through a wall. When it melts through the wall like air I know for sure. I walk out into the gunfire. My heart is pounding. I hold up my hand and watch the bullets tear through my flesh without pain. I pick up a little girl and carry her off the street. She becomes a bird and flies away. I raise my arms and fly after her.

I see a lion off in the distance. I know I should run but I am mesmerized by the power and beauty of him. He sees me and starts to run towards me. Still, I can’t run. I watch his powerful muscles contract with each leap towards me. I know there are no lions near where I live. It takes all the strength I have to stand my ground and not run. He leaps at me and I sense that he is only wanting to play. His huge paws hit my shoulders and he knocks me over. I grab his mane with both my fists. His claws leave long blood lines down my chest. I stare into his eyes and he disappears. I stand up. I am stronger and larger than I have ever been. His power is inside of me.

IV. parallel universe

I can not sleep and I get out of bed. My house is small and I live alone. It is so quiet. I open the back door and breathe in the cold early morning air. I put on boots and head towards the mountains.

She is staring at me and screaming. Her pain is boundless. I have never seen skin so black, a body so thin, an anger so deep. I am staring at my reflection.

V. Nightmare

I have become a hideous monster. The seven deadly thrive inside me. I am an outsider, too much in my head to stay connected. Friends turn on me. I tell them a secret. You are not what we thought, they say, and back away. I am awake.

4. What I do not want to live without.

Books. Wherever I go I have at least two books. Always prepared in case the doctor’s office wait is long or the car breaks down and I am waiting for a tow truck. Sometimes I am sad not to wait because it is a missed opportunity to read. I will take books to purgatory. I love to find a dog-eared, underlined book and read it thinking about the person before me reading it. It is like reading with a friend.

II.

A journal so I won’t have to write notes on small scraps of paper, along the edges of junk mail envelopes and find that an important thought got washed away in the laundry. I hate post its. They give the illusion that they are trustworthy and will stick where you leave them but they will only let you down. You will find them on the floor, stuck to your sweater, lost in the wind. I liked lined journals with soft leather covers. I have kept journals for as long as I can remember. I write my thoughts, my dreams, overheard conversations; what happened and what I wish had happened with no differentiation between them. When I am tired of being where I am I trade in for a new journal so I can start fresh with a new attitude. Sometimes I just grab any old journal and write in the empty pages. I rarely date my entries. A turn of a page could span ten years. if someone were ever to pick up my journal they might be very confused. But probably they won’t be able to read a word because my handwriting is so bad.

III.

My imagination, often the out of control troublemaker, the black sheep, the one who takes a simple list of favorite things and turns it into this. My imagination, my best friend.

IV.

Choices. I have so much trouble making them sometimes but I don’t want to loose them. This or that. One or two. Big or small. Now or later. I’ll take the remorse about making the wrong choice over not having a choice at all. Sometimes when I feel unsure I become more adamant in my decision making to compensate. Absolutely not. I will not do that. Yes, I am taking that.

Should I stay or should I go?

My camera. I love taking pictures. I am a novice. My camera is much smarter than I am. I love to see a moment and capture it. The mood, the light, a second in time that will never come again. I look for secrets.

5. Secrets

I saw something nasty in the woodshed, a movie line that reminds me that we all have our pain to contend with. Jane Hirschfield’s poem, For What Binds Us, talks about proud flesh:

“And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There’s a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,…”

I hide my proud flesh and in doing so I have hidden myself, created a hindrance to becoming, that I have never recovered from.

II.

I long to take things, but I never do. When I was young I saw a Mary Tyler Moore episode where she was hired by a department store to test their security. She was to go into the store each day and steal whatever she could and bring it back to a undisclosed location. She loved the job. The trouble was the man who hired her was a fake and she was caught in a crime ring. Of course it ended happily after she told her story and the security men shook their heads at her naiveté. (When no one was home I used to sing the Mary Tyler Moore theme song out loud and throw my hat up into the air.)

I loved the idea of being able to steal without thinking of going to jail, without really sinning. Just seeing what I could get away with. I want to take little things that can fit in my pocket so when I feel like it I can reach my hand in and roll the trinkets around in my fingertips. I don’t remember ever taking anything. Not even as a child. I was always worried about getting a black spot on my soul, something the nuns assured me would happen if I ever committed a sin against god, which stealing surely is. In my life I have committed other sins against god according to the Catholic church but because I am no longer in good standing I can not go to confession to absolve them. Funny, although I no longer believe in confession, I can still feel the black spots arrive on my soul, black tar residue sticking to my good intentions, but I have no way to make them go away. Sometimes this helps.

III.

Don’t tell anyone. I am sometimes not very confident in my abilities. I lack assertiveness and look to others for approval. What? You knew that? Who told you?

IV.

I really like doing dishes. Strange but true. I don’t admit this to the Damn Husband because as far as household chores go, he abhors doing dishes. So as a favor to him, I have taken over that chore on a permanent basis. I never expect him to do the dishes. But I like him thinking I am doing him a big favor out of the kindness of my heart. I tend to be a very lax housekeeper. (I love the Robert Hass translation of Kobayashi Issa’s haiku: Don’t worry spiders, I keep house casually) When I need to start cleaning I always start with the dishes. (and sometimes end there) It is generally very satisfying with quick results. There is a pile of dishes. Fill the sink with warm water, wash, complete. It is my daily water meditation with a lavender scent of the dish soap. I am not so in love with doing dishes that I would turn down a dishwasher if one came my way. Until then I will enjoy my wet meditation.

No. Not this one. Some secrets are meant to be kept. Forever. Remember the quote from the last line of Catcher in the Rye? “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do you will start missing everyone.”

Variety is the Spice of Life (also known as The Balls that Got Away)

2009-11-11T11:47:00.001-08:00

I have been posting everyday and then well, I didn’t. It looks bad that the lull started right after my angry post. It makes it seem like I am still in some mood too fierce to reckon with, which actually isn’t true. I just got busy. When I read a recent post by Fierce and Nerdy I could relate:

filed in Fierce and Nerdy on Nov.06, 2009

I sometimes find that the answer to feeling insanely overwhelmed with juggling everything is to let all the balls drop, so that you can reconfigure and juggle even better when you pick up the balls again.

I responded in her comment section with:

I did more than drop my balls, I flung them all around and they are now collecting dust in various corners of the room. I often try to put on my Superwoman cape and try to keep it all together but it never works. I only manage to do a bad job at a lot of things. I am trying to mend my evil ways. On today's to-do list is only to try to discover ways to have my life feel more manageable and joyful.

And since then, I just keep thinking about what this all means, the balls, the lack of time, the anger. Is it related? I was lamenting my harried life to a friend and I asked her how she manages to keep her house clean and get everything done? She shrugged and said, “well, I don’t do anything else. I take care of the kids and when they go to bed I clean. I don’t do any other jobs." Hmm.

She doesn’t do anything else. I don’t really believe her.

What would it be like if I just took care of my kids? If I didn’t also work for the Green Burial Council and Natural Undertakings, if I didn’t also aspire to do something with my writing and keep this blog. If I didn’t have a deadline that requires me to work elsewhere after the children go to bed (why are buildings so noisy- creaks and squeaks and bumps- late at night when you are by yourself?). If I didn’t have proofreading work that is waiting in my inbox. If my parents didn’t need so much attention, if I didn’t have so many things I wanted to do. My house is filled with potential projects- a half finished knitted shawl, a started woven rug, books waiting to be read in every nook. I want a garden and chickens, I want to travel and go hiking. I would like to take up yoga and learn about medicinal herbs. I want to improve my photography skills and learn Amharic. I want to help women in Ethiopia find a way to support their children, I would love to go back to school for a long list of things. I am envious of people who just know what they want to do and they just do it. Is it a sign of a troubled mind to have so many interests, to have so many yearnings?

I am suddenly reminded of the happy dry cleaner. When I worked for a theatre company in New Jersey I used to take costumes each week to the dry cleaner in town. He was always so happy. I went to him for several years and I never saw him anything but happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. I would ask him why he was so happy. He claimed to just enjoy life. Happy also claimed to watch TV each night and love his work. He collected dirty, smelly, stained clothes and returned them to their owners less so. He didn’t aspire to do anything else. (Believe me over the years I grilled him.)

I used to send my friends to him so I could get a report back to see if he was happy with everyone, not just putting on the show to meet my expectations. He was always happy. 'Isn’t his happiness amazing?', I would ask my friends. They didn’t seem to develop the same obsession about him as I did. Happy was perhaps manically happy. To make me even crazier, I met his wife and she was, well, a b_ _ _ _. He worked 12 hour days six days a week and he had that wife. Happy had no good reason to be happy.

Maybe it was the dry cleaning chemicals causing unlikely happy hormones to overdevelop in his system. They left him content to toil by day and TV by night without other interests getting in the way and mucking things up. He had discovered the Zen of dry cleaning and required nothing more. Maybe he just saw the glass as huge and always full even if it wasn’t. Someone should do some doctorate research on Happy.

I am not unhappy. I am just perpetually seeking new anything and everything with an insatiable curiosity for it all which is where the inevitable juggling comes in.The part that gets me is that he can be so satisfied with working at the dry cleaners, watching TV and being with that wife. Repeat. Repeat again. And again.

For me, variety is indeed the spice of life. So, while my kids and I decide to investigate the uses of levers and build a lever in the backyard with a two by eight and try to pick each other up, I can’t help but be distracted by gardening plans while my kids turn the lever into a seesaw. And when we go to the Chester County Historical Museum to see the quilt exhibit it is only natural that I come home and dig out that half finished quilt out of the attic and start planning the rest of it and then I come across a box of my old writing, start reading, and become inspired to finish writing a short story that I started. And then it is dinner and I haven’t planned anything yet so I look on the internet for a good recipe and run across a web site about raw food and follow links to other raw food sites and then I realize that I still have to go print out photos for another job with a deadline that is quickly approaching. Dinner is pulled together in a flash, only partially raw. I go to OC and print the photos and long to do each activcity I see the young people doing. While the photos are printing I start to wonder how the concepts of open education, flexible thinking and natural learning could be applied to attachment therapy for newly adopted children. The only support I can find on attachment disorders relies heavily on parenting techniques I try to avoid like overly praising and reward-based training. I realize it is 2 am and I need to get home. I am babysitting all day tomorrow and having a dinner party for my husband’s birthday. Wouldn’t it be nice if the kids created large canvas paintings to hang in my husband’s office?

Hey, what are those balls doing all over the floor?

When Anger Reigns

2009-11-05T10:51:00.001-08:00

It is often a surprise for me, this anger that suddenly comes from nowhere and boils inside me. When everything is going wrong I do well maintaining my equilibrium. Through the gas leak, through the purchase of a new stove we can’t afford, when Nigel and Mikaela are at each other about everything and the Damn Husband is stomping around late for work, when my health goes haywire again, when my parents are sick and need attention- I manage to keep my cool through it all. But when things seem calm, it is then I feel a rage in me building at little things, at the computer mouse that won’t work, at Wanda barking, at the overflowing laundry pile. Here I am trying to hold my own beach ball underwater. Everything irritates.

I grab Thich Nhat Hahh’s book Anger, Wisdom for Cooling the Flames. I randomly open the book. The first sentence I read reminds me that I need to embrace this feeling instead of fighting it. Embrace it. I remember reading at another time how he suggests holding your anger the way you would hold a crying baby.

“Breathing in, I know that anger has manifested in me. Hello, my little anger. And breathing out, I will take good care of you.”

I realize in trying to meet everyone else's needs I have forgotten to tend to my own anger. I close the book and open it again to a chapter entitled Making Your Unwanted Guests Feel at Home.

“When you remove the embargo and the blocks of pain come up you will have to suffer a bit. There is no way to avoid it. And that is why the Buddha said that you have to learn how to embrace this pain. It is for this reason that the practice of mindfulness is so important. You generate a strong source of energy so that you can recognize, embrace, and take care of those negative energies.”

The facing page gives the Buddha’s practice of the Five Remembrances:

* I am of the nature to grow old. I cannot escape old age.

* I am of the nature to have ill health. I cannot escape ill health.

* I am of the nature to die. I cannot escape dying.

* All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them. I cannot keep anything. I came here empty-handed, and I go empty-handed.

* My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground on which I stand.

I breathe in.

I breathe out.

Amazing how ten minutes can tame a tiger.

Thank you, Thich Nhat Hanh.

A Letter For Mikaela

2009-11-04T03:58:00.001-08:00

After E saw my post about the plaque , she wrote this wonderful letter to Mikaela.

Dear Mikaela:

I want to thank you for finishing the other side of the plaque I gave your Mom. It really needed to have your message on it.

You are one smart pony. Every day is specially made for each of us. Every day is meant to be a good day. Every day brings with it gifts we accept and lessons we learn. To be grateful for both the gifts and the lessons - even when the lessons are hard ones - makes it a good day, not just for us but for everyone our life touches.

One of those hard to learn lessons is the lesson of waiting. Sometimes if we have to wait while someone else gets what they want, it begins to feel not at all good. We begin to think, "Whoa, maybe it's not my day after all." That's when it helps to remember that, thanks to you, there are two sides of the plaque I gave your Mom. One side - the one that came with it - says "I can only please one person at a time and this isn't your time." The other, that you wrote, says, "This is your day. Have a good day."

Both are part of the same plaque now. They go together. But how is it possible to have a good day when it isn't our time to be pleased? It's possible because we know that the people, like your Mom and Dad, who love us really want to please us. So we can wait, even if it isn't easy, for our time to come. It will. And because we're sure that it will - very wise people have called that sureness, grace - we're free to go ahead and enjoy our good day - even with all the bumps in it.

Take good care. Love,

Elizabeth

We are so lucky to have such wonderful friends. What a good day it is!

Hair

2009-11-03T07:20:00.001-08:00

When I read the articles and the blog posts condemning Angelina Jolie for taking very bad care of her daughter, Zahara’s hair my stomach tightened. I am grateful I am far from famous so no one writes stories about me.They just occasionally glare at me when I am out with my children. Now that I have a son from Ethiopia, I can never again casually neglect hair. I do so only after weighing the risks and there are several for me.

Pre-Nigel, hair occupied very little of my attention, although that was not the case when I was younger. Growing up, my hair was always wrong according to the popular style of the day. It was too wavy to ever be straightened into the perfect Marsha Brady hair although lord knows I tried. Now, I am beyond caring. I cut my own hair. The last haircut I got was from a hairdresser my friends recommended. I really liked the guy. We had a great time talking about music and local town events. There is a great Italian specialty food store next to his salon so I was drinking a cappuccino as I got my hair cut. It was reasonably priced too. The only problem was I didn’t like my cut. I spent a long time (too long?) explaining what I wanted but the results were not what I wanted. I held myself accountable due to poor hair communication skills. I went back, because I really liked him; I really wanted to get my hair cut there. Three days later I cut it again myself into the style I wanted and there has been no turning back. Any hairdresser who inspects it would roll his/her eyes for sure because the truth is I know nothing about cutting hair. Finally there is an advantage to having wavy hair- it hides uneven cuts. When my hair color was looking shabby I again took matters into my own hands. How would it look to go back to get a color at the salon when I was cutting my own hair? I was at the dollar store and saw hair coloring for sale. (For a dollar!) It looked good on the box. Well, how bad could it be?

Even my husband was worried. “Are you sure you want to do this? It could be pretty bad.”

I took the plunge and loved the results. It cracks me up that I have gotten stopped three times by people asking where I get my hair done. I love telling them the truth.

I wash my hair every three or four days, more than that and it looks like straw. Same with my daughter and I wash my son's hair even less. Thanks to Honeysmoke, I now wash my hair with Dr. Bronner’s. On her blog she shared that she uses it for her daughters' hair. I can’t believe I never thought of washing our hair with it. It is the only soap we use in our house but we have never used it as a shampoo. The lavender fragrance is wonderful and I love the no chemical clean especially for my kids. Now I am thrilled to only have one bottle on the edge of my tub instead of several different shampoo bottles.

Mikaela, the budding photographer took this picture of my hair while we were in the car.

I now cut my husband’s hair too. His mass of curls also hides a multitude of mistakes and Michael loves the convenience and the financial savings.

My daughter’s hair is long. Very long. She loves the length because it is like a horse’s mane and she spends the majority of her time either being a horse or reading about horses. She has strong opinions about her hair. Sometimes she wants it pulled back in a ponytail because for her it is indeed going to be a part of a pony. Other times she wants me to French braid it at night so when we take it out in the morning it is full and wavy ‘fairy’ hair. And then there are the days when she has better things to do and will not sit for a hair styling. She has plans and ideas; she doesn’t have time to sit still. I let her have it her way. Once when heading to my mother’s she did not want her hair being brushed. I knew the comments I would get so I tried to push the issue. “Mikaela, I need to brush your hair. It looks like a bird’s nest.” She ran to the mirror. “Cool. Maybe a bird will try to land in it.” And she skipped off in an imaginary world that included plumbed creatures snuggling into her unkempt tresses and I laughed and let it go. Of course, later at my mother’s I heard the expected comment: “Don’t you own a brush?” My daughter laughed and shrugged and so did I. “Today, I want my hair to be a bird’s nest”, she said, and I was proud of her for thinking for herself, for not caring what other people think. I am an unschooler precisely because I want my children to grow up as independent free thinkers.

And then, there is my son’s hair.

Most of the time now I don’t leave the house without paying special attention to my son’s hair even if it will make us late. How crazy is that? Maybe not crazy at all. I can’t decide. I love my son’s curls. They are so soft and springy. I don’t want to cut them. When I spend time on them everyday they do not get dangled so it is easier on both of us to keep this daily ritual. I have to be honest, this daily ritual has more to do with other people than it does about tangles. As a white woman raising a black child I often feel scrutinized wherever I go. Take the other day for example. I was at the library and an African American woman was watching my son and I read books.

She smiled. “She’s beautiful”, she said. “How old is she?” I felt the knot of fear grow in my stomach. I didn’t think Nigel looked particularly girly in his cargo pants but he was wearing a purple sweater and purple crocs. With babies and toddlers it is often hard to tell and I have been mistaken many times with other people’s children.

“Thanks”, I said smiling back. “This is my son, Nigel. He is 18 months”

Her smile faded immediately and she looked at me in disgust. “Cut his hair.” She stormed off before I could respond.

My Ethiopian friend, Gete has the same response without the anger when I ask her about how I can better maintain Nigel’s curls. “I’ll shave him for you”, she says even when I say I like his curls and want to keep them. All three of her boys have very close cut hair.

I try not to lead my life according to what others think. Do I have to do that with my son’s hair. Can I keep his curls because I like them, is that reason enough? Or do I have to cut it short so as not to cause any more attention? I don’t want to be culturally insensitive. But I really love his curls. I wet his hair every morning in the sink, something that always makes him laugh. He loves to play with the water stream as I add conditioning oil to his hair and finger through the curls.

The truth is, I believe in equal neglect. If I am late for homeschooling co-op (like I am now because I am writing this post instead of getting dressed) both my children and I might leave the house without hair care. No one at the co-op will judge me for my son’s hair, although there are probably a few people who have judgments about the fact that I use a chemical color product on my hair. Wherever you go, there will be critics. Hopefully I will find a place that feels right for me and right for family that will not cause me undue stress in public. Is there such a thing?

For now my son loves to have his hair done. What will happen when he no longer enjoys it? I let my daughter chose if she wants her hair braided or let it fly free. Will I do the same for him? Or will I tell him that what others think matters more than his own feelings? I hope I make the right choice.

Sugartown Family Fall Fest

2009-11-02T04:03:00.001-08:00

Green Partners sponsored a wonderful event yesterday at the Willistown Township’s Sugartown Exploration Garden. We had so much fun.

Mikaela has been loving the cider from our CSA and wanted to know how it was made. Our friend Amy told us about this event and we were able to watch a cider press in action.

I just learned from listening to You Bet Your Garden that a deer fence must be 8 feet. Unfortunately the restrictions at Willistown only allow fences up to 6 feet which is a hazard for deer. They think they can jump it but often end up hurt. Green Partners came up with a very clever, and attractive solution for this. The depth of this fence scares off the deer.

Mikaela tries her hand at leatherwork.

The Local Halloween Parade

2009-11-01T03:43:00.001-08:00

I am a sucker for little town parades. I love them. Here is part of what we saw.

Nigel loved his first Halloween parade

My sweet little bear

Wanda, the possessed ladybug

My little Mimosa Fairy. Mikaela designed her costume herself. She drew what she wanted and then we spent hours in the fabric store where she walked around feeling all the fabrics until she found what she wanted. As a former costume designer I had to really hold myself back and let her make her own decisions. I was the crafter on this project. I had to redo the skirt because it wasn’t quite what she wanted. It was so fun to be a part of her process.

The Un-Damn Husband

2009-10-31T07:38:00.001-07:00

“Can you write a post about the un-damned husband? The one that is going to Home Depot for the second time in one day?”

The Un-damned Husband. The one that didn’t yell when he came home to find that Nigel had broken off the release valve to the toilet and made it rain in the living room. The one that got the more expensive all nature flea spray on line instead of the chemical warfare one and has shaved the dog’s butt and taken out the trash and paid the bills and agreed to go out for trick or treat in the rain…

The one who never has time any more to write music and follow his dreams and and and…

Yes I can. Here it is my mighty man, my Mister Fix-it, my sunshine boy.

You make me crazy.

And I love you.

It is a beautiful Thing…

2009-10-30T17:45:00.001-07:00

Fall in PA

Today is Your Day

2009-10-29T14:50:00.001-07:00

On Tuesday a friend brought over this sign for me. It really made me laugh.

E and I were laughing about it but Mikaela just kept looking at it very seriously. Later she asked me, “ so how do you know today what it will be like tomorrow?" I try to explain that the sign was just meant to be funny but is not meant to be taken literally; it isn’t true. She still failed to see the humor. Later when we were playing in bed before we turned out the lights, she pointed out, “look mommy, you are making Nigel and I both happy.” This afternoon she asked me if she could write something on the other side of the sign. I said sure.

I am one lucky mama.

The Hobby House

2009-10-28T05:15:00.001-07:00

Hobbies are great. Some people knit, some participate in extreme sports, others collect. We have our house.

“Gee honey, what would you like to do this weekend?”

“Uhm, I don’t know, do you want to fix the rotting porch before one of the kids falls through the floor boards or should we try to fill the huge gaps in between the wide plank wood boards in the kitchen so we eliminate the icy breeze?”

“I was thinking we could reglaze the windows before they fall out over the winter and replace the glass in the ones that have already fallen out.”

“I think the porch wins.”

For another weekend our Netflix movies sat in their little paper sleeves collecting dust.

“If I pretend to know what I am doing perhaps these boards will pretend to be a porch.”

The little helper

NotSoBoringLife.com lists the 50 most popular hobbies. Number 2 is watching TV. Are you kidding? Watching TV is not a hobby. Number 15 is shopping. Shopping? I guess spending money is a very popular American hobby. Housework is number 24. Who made this list? Gee, if only I had more free time for my favorite hobby, housework. Wait, do they mean housework like cleaning the house or work on the house like my foot just fell through the back porch we better fix this?

According to dictionary.com a hobby is defined as “an activity or interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation and not as a main occupation: Her hobbies include stamp-collecting and woodcarving.”

Okay, so I am a snob. TV is a hobby by this definition. And what about my house? Are we pursuing pleasure and relaxation? I’ll go ask the Damn Husband.

Dictionary.com also gives an added definition: “ride a hobby, to concern oneself excessively with a favorite notion or activity. Also, ride a hobbyhorse.”

Oh yeah, we are riding our hobby alright. Giddy-up you old crooked house.

Boo

2009-10-27T05:09:00.001-07:00

My house is always ready for Halloween- cobwebs hiding in corners, a spooky dirt floor basement and creaky floor boards. What was that noise? Oh, that was just the snores of the Damn Husband.

Let the wild rumpus begin!

The Great Pumpkin Event at Chadds Ford

Where The Wild Things Are was a popular theme.

Later when Megan took home this pumpkin it was really where the wild things were. Ouch, stop eating my face.

Marshallton Family Fun Night

Back in time at Martin’s Tavern.

Mikaeala: “Why are they wearing those funny clothes?”

I loved the woman in drag (far left). She was the one in charge of setting off the canon and there was no messing with her. She took her job very seriously. Good for her! It reminded me of growing up in Gettysburg and participating in the reenactment battles. (different war) I wanted to wear a uniform and run on the battlefield with a sword instead of having to sit on the sidelines in a big puffy skirt waiting to help the wounded. The Civil War reenactors take themselves far too seriously. I did get to wield some power:

soldier: bandage my arm.

me: no. You’re dead, be still.

Soldier: I am not dead. I just got shot in the arm.

me: You got hit with a cannonball, you are definitely dead.

Soldier: Am not.

me: Are to.

Nigel exploring the fire truck. The boys loved the trucks. Mikaela, not so much.

Mikaela proudly showing off that her horse shirt glows in the dark. Thanks Aunt Kris. She loves it.

When Mikaela got home she drew a face, a saddle, a star and a snip marking on her horse and named her Glory.

We ended the night back at Martin’s Tavern.

Morning Workout

2009-10-26T05:31:00.001-07:00

I want one of these in my house. Nigel, Mikaela and I would have so much fun. This is my idea of exercise.

It Just Wouldn’t be Sunday

2009-10-25T10:27:00.001-07:00

without the snores of the Damn Husband wafting throughout the house. And why does he have to sleep on the couch instead of in the bedroom with the door shut? Because he is not going to go to sleep. He is just resting for a few minutes… just like every Sunday.

She thought he needed a corrective lens on his third eye.

Just like every Sunday Mikaela wants him to wake up.

Success. But alas, only temporarily.

At least he is fun to decorate.

Philly Here We Come!

2009-10-25T06:33:00.001-07:00

Mikaela in the little city.

When I was 8 plus months pregnant with Mikaela I moved back to the burbs outside Philadelphia. It was painful for me to leave New York. (three bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side, the most fabulous place to live) The culture shock was enormous. I was resentful of Philadelphia. Okay, and also a bit resentful of the Damn Husband who wanted to live here. (Note to the Damn Husband: don’t get started, yes there were many reasons why this move was practical for us but I am not getting into this right now because that is not what this post is about so don’t get your boxers in a bundle. And yes, I like it here now, but once in a while I get a little home sick for my old stomping grounds. xo)) I wanted to be in the Big City. Not the little city. To make matters worse, I don’t know my way around Philly. I can find anything in NY (or at least I could seven years ago…) and I can’t find anything in Philly. Mostly because I never tried. I have not given Philly a chance. Somehow I got caught up with my life and I haven’t taken the time to explore. I am trying to mend my ways. I took Mikaela to see Bodyvox at the Zellerbach Theatre. Considering how many years I spent creating costume designs for modern dance in NYC it is crazy that this was the first modern dance performance I have seen since I left NY. I have been living in a cultural vacuum.

“Look, Mommy”, Mikaela says, “Take a picture of this. All those different looking buildings all together. There is a castle hiding behind there.”

The courtyard outside the Zellerbach.

A beautiful fall day.

Why don’t I ever come into this city? I was lucky to run into my friends. They were great tour guides.

Why so many bikes? Because we are at The Divine Bike Church at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, a bike co-op where they help you repair your own bike. I should bring my unicycle here some day. it could use some TLC.

Thank you Mr. Falafel man for your incredible kindness. When it was my turn to order he said, “What can I get for you, beautiful.” It caught me so off guard it took me a minute to remember what I was ordering. It has been a long time since I have been greeted that way by a stranger. It has been a long time since I have been greeted that way by anyone. I could move into this neighborhood just to order from you everyday. And your food was good too. My falafel sandwich was delicious and I am having hummus leftovers today.

Okay, Philly, we’ll be back!

Mikaela’s World

2009-10-24T06:12:00.001-07:00

We were in the car and Mikaela was calling out facts from her handbook on dog breeds: Chihuahuas can live up to 20 years or more, a Scottish Deerhound is for experienced dog handlers only, Irish Wolfhounds only live for 6 or 7 years. It was quiet in the car for a while. When she began speaking again I thought she was still talking about dogs.

“Six is the perfect age.”

“The perfect age for what?”

“Mommy, for everything!”

She is about to turn seven so I am wondering if this is a problem.

“So, six is the perfect age?”

“Yes. Six to nine.”

“Hmm. Can you tell me more about that.”

She sighs in a way that says, it is so obvious but I will explain it to you.

“You are old enough so that you don’t have to hold your mom’s hand all the time and you can do lots of things on your own but you still get snuggles and stuff.”

“ Cool. Six to nine.”

“Yeah. Kayla just turned nine and she’s happy.”

off and running in her own little world. Sometimes out of focus shots just work.

If I were Queen of the Universe…

2009-10-23T04:44:00.001-07:00

it would be illegal to call your company Eating Right when your breakfast cereal has 19 grams of sugar per serving (2/3 cup). Come on! I sent the Damn Husband to the grocery store and this is what he comes home with.

“Hey, what do you want, it was in the health section.”

What's a poor guy to do?

And then my favorite- after dinner he pours himself a big bowl. (ah, much bigger than 2/3 of a cup) and then tells Mikaela:

“No, you can’t have any, this is Daddy’s cereal.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I finished all my dinner that’s why I can have it”

Ugh!!!!

5am

2009-10-22T10:10:00.001-07:00

When I heard her feet padding along the hall I felt myself cringe. I had planned to shower and spend some desperately needed time alone working on some writing. That plan ended as she came around the corner.

“Mommy, I had a bad dream.”

I offer her my cure-all, knowing some day soon it will not be the answer:

“Let’s snuggle together.” She allows me to lead her back to bed.

“Mommy, I was in the desert all alone and lost.”

We curl up under the warm comforter. When I hear her sleep breath begin I start to plan my escape again. Before I can move I hear Nigel stir and chatter. He crawls over Mikaela, onto me and slides off the bed. Then surprisingly, he turns around and climbs back on top of me. He snuggles his face into my neck, grabs hold of my ear, sighs and falls back to sleep with his body sprawled across mine. I feel the quick beat of his heart like a baby bird’s. I give into it all and relax, surrounded by the warmth of my children. Nigel has never snuggled with me like this before. It is a new stage for us and I concentrate on my breath to keep from crying. Thank you Mikaela, for making this moment possible.

From the second Mikaela came out of my body I snuggled her, caressed her, kissed her, smelled her and I have never stopped. Nigel met me for the first time when he was ten months old. For him that would have been too much too fast. We had to grow our feelings towards each other slowly. Love takes time. He always wants to be held but often he is not discerning about who holds him and he is far too busy to relax and seek snuggles. Raised by many caretakers, he must learn the concept of mommy. One mommy. Me.

Breath in

you are my son.

Breath out

I love you.

I spend the next hour dozing on and off and meditating on the sweet smells of my children and the sound of their breath. Mikaela rolls and flops her arm across both of us.

Nigel’s butterfly kisses land on my cheek as his eyelashes brushed against me. What are his dreams about?

When they wake up we giggle and tumble and tickle around in bed. Michael hears us and returns to bed also and joins the fun. Within moments it is a full ruckus. Nigel barks, Mikaela whinnies, Michael groans that he is late for work.

Over breakfast Mikaela relays the rest of her dreams. Like me she dreams epics with many twists and turns and seemingly unrelated subplots. She stops in mid-telling, crunches up her face and folds her arms.

“I’m thinking” she says

“You're thinking?”

“Yes. I am trying to decide if I should tell it the way I remember it or add some stuff so it is more interesting.”

I can’t help smiling. “ You are trying to decide if you would like to be a reporter or a story teller.”

Nigel whinnies and rears up, pawing the air with toast still in his clenched fists.

I remember a quote I read just yesterday.

"When I was a little boy, they called me a liar, but now that I am grown up, they call me a writer. "
— Isaac Bashevis Singer

A Friday Night Family Event

2009-10-10T08:17:00.001-07:00

I came home from Open Connections and heard the screams before the front door was even open. Blood covered towels were strewn about the kitchen, the Damn Husband was flopped on the couch looking done in and poor Nigel was inconsolable. His chin was swollen and scraped raw and his mouth was bloody. With a closer inspection I saw that his tongue had an inch and a half jagged cut with two flapping edges. My stomach tightened and I went into full mommy mode – tried to get ice on the wound, called my pediatrician’s off-hours number, called Colleen while waiting for them to call back. Colleen has been there several times with her boys, she is my voice of reason. You can’t sew a tongue was Colleen’s input. It heals better on its own because kids just spend their energy picking at the stitches and making things worse. When the office nurse finally called me back and I described his tongue she told me I must take him to the ER for stitches. He can have no food or drink because they will need to sedate him to stitch the tongue. I keep thinking of Colleen. You can’t stitch a tongue. I call my sister Barb, a charge nurse at the local hospital who is unfortunately in New Mexico on vacation. Barb gives appropriate long distance sympathy. I call Amy, a friend and ER nurse but she is not home. Michael and I look at each other, both seeing dollar signs due to our lousy insurance plan. We can’t take the chance and we pile into the car.

A bored, unhappy Nigel walks the hospital halls with daddy.

waiting and waiting

Nigel fell because he was standing on a chair and dove off landing his chin on the nearby kitchen stair. What was he trying to do? Fly? Only Nigel knows. I think of the hundreds of times I have said Nigel, chairs aren’t for standing. I have tried quick responses, no standing, lengthy diatribes explaining the dangers (you could fall and split your tongue in half!) My husband is fond of loudly toning Nigel, NO, which is equally ineffective. In the time it takes me to walk to the living room to get something for Mikaela, Nigel has pulled a chair over to the sink and sat in dishwater. For about a week it worked to lay the chairs down after we ate but he quickly learned to upright them again. My boy loves climbing. We go to the park often for climbing and set up safe climbing zones throughout the house but Nigel prefers the riskier climbs- walking along the top of the couch, climbing up dresser handles, climbing up shelves, swinging on refrigerator doors, balancing on stacked trucks with slippery wheels.

He looks pretty good here, doesn’t he? For a boy with a bloody split tongue who hasn’t eaten for hours and is up way passed his bedtime and bored to death in a hospital waiting room. I think he is trying to say, Mommy, call someone, get us out of here.

After three hours of waiting the PA sees us. Verdict: you can’t sew a tongue. Apparently the tongue, being the amazing muscle that it is, will eventually rejoin its gaping edges and heal on its own. She gives us a cleaning protocol, food restrictions and a scary list of warning signs to look for that signify an infection and sent us on our way. Next time my only call will be to Colleen.

At 10:30 my tired tribe finally head upstairs to bed. I go to sleep thinking about the Continuum Concept and how it relates to my son. I count out the list of positive experiences I have been able to give him starting at ten months and lament the ones I could not offer him. Will it be enough?

Spreading the love

2009-10-02T12:57:00.000-07:00

Cough, cough, cough
cough, mommy, cough
yes sweetie
cough, can you snuggle me? cough
sure, baby

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger."

2009-10-02T00:50:00.000-07:00

It is 3 am and I am quoting Nietzsche. I am so weary of not being able to sleep. The rest of my family is sleeping so quietly. I stayed in bed listening to the rhythm of their breathing and finally got up.

Monday night Mikaela noticed that our chrysalis had turned black. The next morning we could see the orange color of the wings showing through. An hour later the monarch emerged, wet and crumbled. Over the next few hours we watched as its wings slowly expanded and dried. We released him on a butterfly bush near where we found him.

The two black dots on the lower wings tell us it is a male.

Really, how did that butterfly make its transformation? How did four inch wings unfold out of a one inch chrysalis?

I have the flu and everything hurts. Somehow it feels fitting to have my body hurt as much as my heart hurts. Last Sunday our agency called and told us to cancel our plane tickets. Although Yaebsira is legally our daughter, there are more complications and I do not know if I will ever see her again. I can’t believe I am having to write this. If any one told me a year ago what I would be facing this year, I would have said there is no way I could handle all that. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

Metamorphosis

2009-09-19T05:50:00.001-07:00

Mikaela and I leave in 14 days for Ethiopia to pick up Yaebsira. Once again I am staring big change in the face and once again a caterpillar is my inspiration. On September 10th we plucked a monarch caterpillar from its happy home at Kathy’s pond and brought it to our house on a large stem of milkweed. Debbie donated a large pretzel container as a temporary home and Mikaela and I watched as it doubled in size every couple of days. Mikaela named her Milkweed. Every day she ate and ate and grew and grew.

This part of the change I would be very good at. It is the second part that I have trouble with. After a week of nonstop eating and a lot of frass production, she stopped. She spent the day crawling all over the container, trying out different locations. Finally she settled on the netting at the top of the pretzel jar and hung upside down in perfect ‘J’ formation ten minutes before Mikaela, Nigel and I were walking out the door for the day. We contemplated taking her with us. (We had already taken her vacationing in Ocean City) We were worried that she might not yet be anchored securely enough to travel. When we returned home we were happy to see her still hanging in her ‘J’ and not yet a chrysalis. We stayed up as late as we could watching her. In the morning she had transformed into a florescent green chrysalis. I guess change of this magnitude is a very private thing.

Here is a video that managed to capture this remarkable change.

This morning I got up and stared at Milkweed’s chrysalis. What is going on in there? I want to make a magnificent transformation in one week. I can’t help but think of Disney images. I want to be transformed into a princess. Okay, not really, but there is a part of me that would love to know what it feels like to be beautiful. I imagine stopping everything and only working on myself. Just the idea of curling up into a cocoon sounds wonderful, even if I came out the same after a few days of peace and quite. Is it like that or is it contained violence that is going on inside that chrysalis? The caterpillar’s mouth must change from one that is made to chomp on milkweed to one that has a delicate tongue for sipping sweet nectar. Just picturing those dental changes alone makes me cringe without even thinking about what would be required to create wings from a fat striped belly. I don’t think it is peaceful in there. Once, many years ago I stopped everything and did a Seshin at Zen Mountain Monastery in Mt. Tremper, New York. For seven days we made no eye contact with anyone, did not speak or read. For seven days we meditated in the zendo except for the few hours we slept each night. Although to an outsider, a room filled with meditating people might look peaceful our minds were anything but peaceful. It was scary in there at times! Imagine seven days inside your head with no escape or distraction. That turns into some serious monkey mind activity. It is wonderful to remember this. I haven’t thought about this in years. When Seshin was over, I was transformed in many ways. Watching Milkweed I am wondering how I can have a similar transformation while cleaning the house, packing for Ethiopia, working…

It is time to be very present.

Fire and Attitudes

2009-09-15T06:03:00.001-07:00

Mikaela and I are lucky we have good noses. We were packing to head down to the shore for two days, a gift from my mother. This is our only family vacation for the year. I smell something burning. Something plastic, the bad scent of an electrical burn. I tell Michael. A few minutes later Mikaela tells me that something smells wrong. All packing stops. Michael heads down to the basement and Mikaela and I sniff around upstairs. In a 200 year old house it could be coming from anywhere. I imagine smoldering wiring in between the walls. Michael couldn’t find the problem and the smell was getting worse. I think we should call the fire department and Michael heads back down the basement where he finally finds the problem: melting wires inside the hot water heater. What causes a hot water heater to suddenly have a melt down? Michael turns off the circuit breaker and we begin to air out the house and eventually start packing again. We are so lucky this happened before we left. I imagine coming back from our mini vacation to find a smoldering ash pile.

We do eventually leave, many hours later than planned. I ask Michael countless times, Are you sure the circuit breaker is off? Driving down to the shore I keep thinking about fire and attitudes. M had a fire in her house, also caused by a faulty hot water heater. It was a traumatic fire. Everything in the laundry room and hallway burned and the thick smoke from the melted fiberglass washtub covered everything else in the house with a layer of plastic soot that could not be removed. It looked like someone poured black strap molasses over the whole house.The clean up took months but no one was hurt. For years afterwards (still to this day) M broke up her life into before the fire, and after the fire and would still make comments about inane things like gravy spoons- I lost that in the fire. Every holiday there were reminders of things lost. About the same time J also had a fire. We had plans to spend the day at Longwood Gardens. When I called her house to confirm the time she said she had lost her address book and was glad I had called so she could get my number. We spent a nice day at Longwood and it wasn’t until the end of the day, while relaying a story about something else, that she mentioned the fire that had destroyed her entire house less than two weeks before. Two people with very different outlooks.

At times my imagination can be the enemy. Mine is vivid and well used. I can imagine all sorts of catastrophes with lightening speed. It runs in the family. B can imagine impending storms ruining plans weeks before a weather report is available. There could be a cold front moving in… Lately, my imagination has needed to be tamed. Without warning I can suddenly travel down a path that sees continued health crises, financial doom, travel nightmares trying to bring my daughter home from Ethiopia and now fires that ignite without warning.

It is all a matter of attitude and outlook. The glass full or empty. We were lucky we were home when the melting started. We had a wonderful two days away, even though half of the time the weather was uncooperative. I love the beach. Nigel loved exploring the sand and the water. We ran into fellow OCers on the boardwalk and got to hang out together. We are so very lucky.

Now that we are home, the adventure continues. Michael is upstairs taking a very cold shower. I am sure he will be quite awake by the time he comes down. I put a pot of water on the stove for doing dishes. It feels a bit like Little House on the Prairie. A great history opportunity for Mikaela and me. Maybe we will turn out the lights too.

What Does the Future Hold?

2009-09-11T12:23:00.000-07:00

I just deleted over 4000 emails. It is shocking that I received 4000 emails let alone had that many pile up in my email in box. I deleted thousands of emails prior to this so I am now curious about the number of emails I actually received in the past few years. Many of them I saved because they deserved more than a two second response. I thought I would have time to get back to them later. The time I imagine having later never arrives and more things pile up: work responsibilities, homeschooling commitments, emails, laundry, weeds, projects. Everything is moving so fast. How do I prepare myself for the future? How do I start preparing my children? What kind of pressures will they face at my age? What will the world look like? It is beyond my imagination. Sometimes I am so happy to be alive at this time in history, amazed that I can wonder about something and in two minutes time find the answer on the Internet, even with my slow outdated computer. (Debbie had told me the name for caterpillar poop and I couldn’t remember. A quick google search revealed the answer: frass.) As the world speeds up, everyday I dream of slowing down. I dream of chickens and gardening and craft projects- a simpler life. I downsize more and more. I buy less and less.

Today is the 8th anniversary of 9-11. I marvel that so much time has passed since I wore a hard hat in ground zero for months on end, stopping everything in my life except for the things that existed in the dusty world below Canal Street. The life I lead now bears no relation to the life I lived in Manhattan, before or after 9-11. As I prepare to leave for Ethiopia again I wonder, what will the next decade bring? Will I remain healthy enough to experience it? Today I went to the doctor hoping for the best, collected supplies to take with me for orphans in Ethiopia, watched Kipper (I love his voice), made another batch of Kombucha and watched a monarch caterpillar munch on milkweed. Mikaela built another steeplechase in the playroom and I watched the riders go neck and neck at the finish line as I held Nigel to keep him from stepping on all the spectators.

I thought about how much I love my children and my husband and how I want the best for all of us. I am humbled by the realization that I don’t know what the best is. Do I prepare my children for the technical world or shelter them from it? I am reading The Global Achievement Gap: Why Even Our Best Schools Don't Teach the New Survival Skills Our Children Need--And What We Can Do About It by Tony Wagner. This book is an Open Connections staff recommendation. So how do we prepare for a world we know nothing about? Critical thinking, creativity, self-reliance and flexible thinking: the skills that will make a difference. And I will add, a sense of humor and a love for spontaneity.
Take a deep breath.
Here comes the future.

Cake, Birthdays and Memories

2009-09-06T02:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my mother’s 79th birthday. My sister and my family went to my mother’s to celebrate with Chinese food and homemade chocolate cake. Celebrations at my parent’s house don’t come easily these days; there is too much sadness around my father’s health. All in all we had a nice day. My friend, Elizabeth, got this recipe from her nutritionist. When I googled the title I came up with many similar recipes. Here is the one I made for my mother’s birthday. It was amazing. It made my mother smile.

Flourless, Chocolate Truffle Cake

This cake literally melts in your mouth. It has intense, full chocolate flavor without all the fat of the traditional chocolate cake. Serve with a dollop of organic cream and fresh ripe raspberries.

Ingredients:

3/4 cup finely chopped chocolate that is 60-70% cacao. (This can be from chopped chocolate chips or hand chipped from a bar of chocolate)
1 large egg white
1/8 tsp cream of tartar
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
3/4 cup of whole milk yogurt (cream layer mixed into the low fat layer)

1 cup of turbinate sugar
1 cup egg whites (approximately 6 eggs)

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Oil a 9-inch spring form pan. Place chopped chocolate chips in a large bowl; set aside. In a small bowl, beat 1 egg white with cream of tartar until stiff peaks form; set aside.

In a medium saucepan, heat cocoa, sugar, and yogurt with a double boiler, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and pour over chocolate chips. Whisk in 1 cup egg whites, and then fold in beaten egg white.

Pour batter into prepared pan and set in another pan at least 2 inches wider and deeper. Add enough water to bottom pan to come two-thirds up the side of the cake pan. (This is so edges won't burn.) Bake 30 minutes. Chill in refrigerator 8 hours before serving.

Yield: Makes 10 to 12 servings

Getting my groove back

2009-09-02T17:51:00.000-07:00

I didn't think about shooting this dish until I was about to eat it so I didn't style it. The pictures aren't great but it was too good not to share.

I just had three days of staff training where I didn't eat breakfast and barely had time for even a small bite of lunch after wrangling Nigel. I was ready for a really good meal. I am finally feeling better so I actually had enough energy to cook tonight. And I made a feast! Mikaela turned up her nose at it and the damn husband said the salmon was cooked well but shrugged off any other comments. Nigel and I loved it. I made miso-crusted salmon with fennel salad from Donna Hay's book, Cooking Off the Shelf and I partnered it with Double Broccoli Quinoa from Heidi's 101 Cookbook. I improvised on both a bit. On the quinoa I skipped the lemon juice and used a dash of milk instead of heavy cream. I topped it with fresh basil. The fennel salad called for fish oil which I was out of so I used a bit of hoisin sauce instead. They both came out great and I served them with mashed sweet potatoes. I can't wait to have the leftovers tomorrow. All this and I am up past 10pm too. Wow, I must be getting my groove back. It will be a long time before I take my health for granted.

My First Brew

2009-08-31T18:12:00.000-07:00

My first batch of kombucha is done. I am very proud.. I made it with half ginger tea and it is delicious. Now I have two more batches fermenting.

Can't Get Enough Contrast

2009-08-26T05:36:00.000-07:00

Reading the New York Times this weekend, I was reminded in a very obvious way of the contrasts that exist in this world: a page spread showed bomb victims in Kabul and a model lounging in cashmere. (She just can't get enough cashmere)

It started me thinking about contrast in many manifestations.
The financial stress I feel compared to the poverty level in Ethiopia.
The calm graceful energy of Mikaela and the nonstop exuberance of Nigel.
The way I want to be and the way I actually am.
The joy I feel about Yaebsira and the fear I have about Yaebsira.
The organization I dream about in my mind and the chaos of my household.
All the things I want to do compared to the tiny amount of time I have to do them.
My cancer scare compared to my friend's recurrence.
The health I want and the way I am feeling.

Life is filled with contrast and today I am grateful for the wonderful things I have in my life and the awareness that the pain of contrast is mostly created in my own mind.

Kombucha

2009-08-25T03:30:00.001-07:00

Two cheer for Kombucha, the health elixir. (oh please, let it be my health cure!)
I am waiting for my first brew to ferment. Thanks Laura for giving me the scoby. (symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeasts)

Ask me how many children I have

2009-08-20T10:34:00.000-07:00

Today for the first time, I can say, I have three children. Yaebsira Temesgen is legally our daughter. I am in shock. After ten months I really thought this would never happen. Nigel’s adoption was smooth, but all along the way Yaebsira’s situation was complicated. When I felt like giving up, I would remember her sweet laugh, her Ethiopian pout face and the feel of her arms wrapped around my neck. It has been ten months since her referral, eight months since I have seen her and it will be at least two more months before we see her again. We do not have our US embassy date which determines travel. So much to take in so fast! I better start feeling better FAST. I might need a miracle. One miracle has already happened: she is ours. Now we just need two more: one for health and one for finances. I have never been one to take the path of least resistance.

So, introducing the latest member of our family. Yaebsira Temesgen. Finally I can say, that our family is complete.

My beautiful, sweet girl

Do you think she is giving him a face massage?

Wish Mikaela could have been in this picture. I can't wait to have a picture of my girls together.

Yaebsira getting her hair done. Wow, Something else I have to learn to do!! Her hair is so beautiful.

The sunglasses are from a little care package we gave her.

This is my new T-shirt. I think I deserve it.

Dinner Time Improvization

2009-08-17T19:19:00.000-07:00

I brewed up a little spontaneous chili today. I was remembering the great chili Marie Goodwin made for me when we had just gotten home with Nigel. It was so good and of course, like most good cooks, she couldn’t give me the recipe because she just threw it together. Is this really true? Or do the good cooks just say this so they can keep their fabulous recipes a secret. Come on Marie, fess up! With Marie’s chili in mind and ground turkey in the frig, I came up with this. It includes things I happen to have on hand.

Turkey Chili

(All ingredient amounts are improvisational)

1 onion, chopped
garlic, lots, chopped
olive oil
ground turkey
tomato sauce
a couple of fresh tomatoes from the garden, chopped
2 cans Trader Joe’s Cuban black beans (with the liquid- it includes some yummy spices)
2 T almond butter
1 T cocoa
1 green pepper, chopped
2 large carrots, chopped
chili powder (and berbere if you dare)
fresh cilantro
Himalayan salt, if needed
Ground almonds to sprinkle on top

Heat up the onion and garlic in a large pot until onions are soft and everything smells good. Add the turkey and cook on low. When the turkey is almost cooked add some tomato sauce, the fresh tomatoes, the black beans with juice and some water. Stir in the almond butter and cocoa when everything is nice and hot. Add the green pepper and carrots. Sprinkle in chili powder, as much as you dare. We are used to spicy Ethiopia food now so I use berbere and chili powder. Yum. Add fresh cilantro and serve. Sprinkle with ground almonds. Even better the second day.

Tomorrow is my CSA pick up so we have very little greens left. I wanted something raw so this is what I came up with. I am in the middle of an elimination diet so I can’t have dairy. The avocado mayo was listed on the elimination work sheet my doctor gave me. I thought it would be a good coleslaw alternative to regular mayo. I was right. The color is so pretty and the taste is good too.

Beet Coleslaw

½ red cabbage
4 or five radishes
one large beet or several small beets
salt and pepper
avocado mayonnaise

Grate the first three ingredients. Add salt and pepper to taste and add a few tablespoons of avocado mayo. Love that color.

Avocado Mayonnaise

1 avocado
½ cup olive oil *
2 garlic cloves
1 t chopped onion
1 t curry powder
¼ cup water

Blend all ingredients in a food processor at high speed until smooth. Chill.
* the original recipe called for 1 cup of olive oil. I changed it to ½ cup olive oil plus ¼ cup of water. Add more water if it seems too thick.

My nana was famous for her coleslaw. Whenever my mother tried to make her recipe she always lamented that it was never as good as Nana's. One day my mom saw her secretly adding sugar to the coleslaw. Imagine, holding out on your own daughter! If you want a little boost to this recipe, try adding a little sugar or honey. (but don't tell anyone!)

When I was dying

2009-08-17T03:18:00.000-07:00

This is my kidney.
This is what I thought was my kidney on cancer.
This is my kidney with a renal deformity, cause unknown.

I love thunderstorms- the heavy boom of thunder that vibrates in my chest. The storm is directly overhead. Lightening illuminates the room the same time the thunder crashes. Nature mirroring my feelings. 5 am, the rare time when I am alone, a time for me to check in with myself. Here I am.

This is my summer of dying.
I had not been feeling well for a long time. It was a slow progression that I tried to ignore. Finally, it had gotten so bad I couldn't ignore it. I went to the doctor and the circus began. During staff training in June I had the first ultrasound, which led to a CAT scan and an unexpected diagnosis: urothelial neoplasm of the left kidney-a rare and deadly form of cancer. It felt surreal. My kidneys were not part of my health complaint. Everyone seemed to feel that this cancer was an accidental finding and not related to my symptoms. When I tried to discuss my symptoms again with my doctor his response was “the cancer trumps everything else” Great. So, feeling horrible and adding a 10 to 20% survival rate for this type of cancer to the mix, I begin proactive treatments prescribe by my doctor: IV vitamin drips, home injections and mega-doses of vitamins and herbs and I start shopping around for the best surgeon.

Things slowed down, even before I cleared my schedule. There was a heightened state of awareness with everything I did. I frantically reached out to some friends for help in the beginning and then stopped. I kept thinking of the line from J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, “Don’t ever tell anyone anything. If you do, you will start missing everyone.“ Instead I cocooned myself with my children. I realized I have been missing myself for a long time. When did this start to happen? I see another doctor, I have another test. This doc says he is ‘under whelmed’ but still talks about the surgery procedure. When the kids are sleeping I read Love, Medicine and Miracles by Dr. Bernie Segal and Ken Wilber’s Grace and Grit. During my low moments I imagine others who could mother my children and think perhaps they would do a better job. I eat raw; I buy wheatgrass. I contemplate a surgery that will remove my left kidney and ureter. I question everything in my life. I mull over Siegel’s list of characteristics of cancer survivors and know I am missing many of them and wonder how to obtain them quickly. I have an MRI and head to Jefferson hospital to see one of the countries best kidney surgeons. His diagnosis: Renal deformity, not cancer.

“You have a new lease on life”, my family and doctors tell me. I stare at my shelf of megavitamins; I continue reading Grace and Grit. I am greatly relieved yet, I can’t come out of this quiet place. I still feel as bad physically as when this circus started weeks ago and I am surviving without the characteristics of a survivor. What does that mean for how I am living and for what I am teaching my children? How do I get back to where I need to be? So now, round two starts- trying to make it through each day and trying to find out what is going so wrong in my body. I start each day feeling like I just took two sleeping pills (and I haven’t!).

Every illness is a gift, an opportunity to recognize a wrong path taken, and energy lost. I spend the rest of the summer following the trajectory of my life and trying to heal my body and comfort my mind. I spend most days alone with my children. We create our own world and although I didn’t think it was possible, my love for them grows. I investigate my paths taken and not, my jobs, my relationships, my dreams, my achievements; I dissect my short comings, my fears. I tune into my body and try to remember who I am. Somehow I have gotten lost, which is okay because it is reminding me where I need to be. I am learning to listen to myself again. I start reading random old journals for clues. I find my old notes from Joseph Aldo, the medical intuitive I worked with in NYC and have a reawakening. Slowly, slowly, I start to come out of this. I start to feel a little better. My doctor appointments are now secondary to my own intuition for what my body needs. I work on cleansing my body and quieting my mind. I revive my daily meditation practice. I start to take back my life.

The Past Four Months, continued

2009-08-16T10:41:00.001-07:00

Updating my blog has been very cathartic for me. This has been a very unusual summer. Thinking back over the last few months, it felt as though I never left the house except for doctor’s appointments. It was fun to go through the photos, post them and relive the fun we have had together. I am so blessed to have this great family. Cocooning at home with my family was the best choice I could have made this summer.

The photos aren't in any particular order. The following two posts cover events from April to August.

My sister Barb was washing our parent's porch furniture. Nigel couldn't resist helping.

I hate shopping. I used to shop for a living when I was a photographic stylist in NYC. Whenever I have to shop I still feel like I am working. We ran into Old Navy to get shoes for Nigel. He is growing so fast! Mikaela said, "mom, take my picture." So I did. Thanks for making shopping fun, Mikaela.

My dad's 80th birthday August 5th
Happy Birthday daddy. We love you.

My sister Kris and her daughter, Kaitlyn

Cousin Dylan and Mikaela

my mom and Mikaela

Nigel getting some Aunt Barbara love

Motherhood 101: don't let your children put plastic bags over their heads. I took it right off after I took the picture, I swear.

Let me in!

Nigel hides under the pole bean tepee

Mikaela teaches Nigel to ride.

Nigel loves to ride and eat

Such good friends

Park Time

Ribbit!

Michael instructs Mikaela about the physics of siphoning as he attempts to empty the pool. In the process he learns that life would be easier with a smaller hose.

Our Fruit Fest
When my sister Kris heard I was sick she sent fruit flowers. Yum. We all felt better after that.

Father's Day when the damn husband gets to be king (for the day)

My pop. He has always been the king in my life. Never could I have wished for a better father. I miss his funny sense of humor, I miss our chats, I miss our political disagreements. I miss everything about him. Alzheimers is a cruel disease.

June Balloon Fest

Mikaela tried hula hooping with her necklace

Prize Duck

Happy Siblings

Anyone who knows Mikaela knows she is horse crazy. Loves, loves her horses!! She has taught Nigel well. He makes an excellent owner and he also knows how to whinny and canter. Quite funny to see. Who knew I would be raising equines more than I would be raising children. Thanks to Aunt Kris, Mikaela was able to spend a week at horse camp. What a blast! Her friend Maya was also at camp which made it even better.

Swimming in the backyard

Mikaela works on making clay out of ashes.

Gotta love a guy that can sweat a heart

One cool dude

He loves phones!

Always on the move, my beautiful, happy boy

The Past Four Months

2009-08-16T04:06:00.000-07:00

Four months have gone by since I have posted. What has happened in that time? Even with the medical maize I found myself in and canceling most plans for the summer, still, a lot of fun things happened.

We released our Isabella moth. Mikaela made a little comfort spot to ease its adjustment back into the world. We watched it for almost an hour waiting for it to fly off. Mikaela talked to it and offered words of encouragement. We watched and waited. When we turned our backs, it flew away.

Nigel celebrated his first birthday on April 9th.

Mikaela and Nigel, wild explorers of the garden.

Loving our backyard swing!

Harry, the mouse in our rodent relocation program had his own relocation plans. We enjoyed his company during the late winter. I could make a clicking sound and he would pop up from under his nest and wait for me to feed him. One morning I walked by his cage very early in the morning (I have many sleepless nights) to see him sitting in front of his cage instead of inside his cage. I stood very still and watched his antics. He ran around his cage several times and scratched his head against the plastic edge of it. He then climbed up the glass I kept next to his cage to refill his water. He splayed his legs out across the rim and splashed each foot in the water and slid back down the glass. He climbed up again and slid back down. He had created his own playground. After spending time with Harry it will be hard for me to deny that rodents have personalities, wants and desires and play. (Watching Ratatouille has also perhaps influences me recently) Mice have very poor eyesight but he must have know I was there or sensed something because he would run back and forth along the edge of the shelf and then lean out over the edge so far with his nose twitching and his front feet pawing the air, that I thought he was going to jump onto me. I then discovered that Harry had created a second home nearby in my Tibetan singing bowl. It was filled with fluff from tissues and one of Mikaela’s socks. I opened the door to his cage, put food inside and he hopped right in. I removed the singing bowl and never saw Harry out of his cage again. It was curious. Had we left the door open once? Could he really come and go whenever he wanted through some mysterious opening? It is pretty unbelievable, if that were true, that he actually chose to live in and around the cage I put him in instead of taking off to wherever he used to live. When it came time to release Harry back into the wild I choose Ridley Creek State Park. Michael refused to get out of the car saying this was highly illegal. Michael, it is only a mouse! Carrying Harry’s cage, Mikaela and I went into the woods near a picnic area (food for Harry). Here comes a car, Michael yelled. I suddenly felt I was on a secret SWAT mission and should have worn camouflage. Mikaela and I created a little spot near a hollow log, left a pile of his favorite food (sunflower seeds) and some of his bedding. When we opened the cage and uncovered his little bed, we discovered he was NOT THERE. We drove all the way to Ridley Creek with an empty cage. Damn mouse! He was snuggled in his bed a half hour before we left. He was either still in the house or… in Michael’s car. Although I left food in the spot where Harry’s cage had been in our house, it was never eaten and he was never seen again. If we catch another mouse in our Have-a-Heart trap it goes straight to Chester with Michael. I can’t believe how much time I have spent writing about a rodent!

Chester County Hospital Fair

I love people watching

Lots of time for reading.

It has been ten months since we received the referral for Yaebsira. Eight months since I held her in Addis and promised her I would be back soon to pick her up. We continue waiting and hoping, sometimes feeling like dreamers, sometimes feeling like crusaders.

This update only covers May. Sometimes it is amazing all that happens when you feel as though nothing is going on.

Change

2009-04-08T04:31:00.000-07:00

From now on, when I lament that change is hard I will think of the woolly bear caterpillar. If in a week’s time a little creature can go from this

To this

What change am I capable of if I set my mind to it? What wild transformation am I capable of?
In early November Mikaela and I saw a woolly bear climbing up the side of our house. We brought him inside and looked up woolly bears on the web and found a site that gave a very brief explanation of how to bring them inside for the winter and then watch them make a cocoon in the spring. We decided to try it. We made a container and fed our caterpillar grass until he curled up into a ball on the bottom. Hibernation and death look a lot alike. Over the winter we would look at him unmoving and curled up in the bottom of our container. Had we cared for him correctly? Was he protected enough from the winter? We would forget about him and then remember and brush the snow off the container and observe his curled body. Frankly, I wasn’t holding out much hope. And then at the end of March, he was climbing up the stick again! We were so pleased! Mikaela started feeding him grass again. We fed him for almost a week when we saw he was at the top of the stick and not moving again. Overnight a thin web covered his body. The next day the covering was brownish orange like his little body. It looks as if all his woolly fur came off him and transformed into a blanket to cover him. When you hold the cocoon up to the light you can see his shrinking body. It feels truly miraculous. In a little more than a week’s time he will be an Isabella Tiger Moth. What an accomplishment!
How does it know it is ready for change?
Did it resist climbing up the stick telling itself, well maybe tomorrow, tomorrow I will change?
Did it curl up in its cocoon saying, oh god, I can’t do this? This is too hard and scary.
How will I change today?

Waiting

2009-03-30T04:20:00.000-07:00

Waiting

Our second court date for Yaebsira is today. We are waiting for a phone call or an email from our agency. Waiting to find out if I legally have one daughter or two. Waiting to find out if I am a mother of two children or three. It is afternoon in Ethiopia. In my heart I am her mother. I want to be able to post pictures of her. Oh please call me and say, yes, yes, she passed court. Yes we can fly to Ethiopia to bring her home. How do you wait for such news? So far I have done the dishes, stared at unimportant emails and tried to write an article for the OC news about Temesgen’s adoption. I was unable to write anything. I am good at staring off into space. While waiting I will post some recent pictures of Nigel Temesgen and Mikaela and hope that I can follow them with pictures of Yaebsira. I can not legally post any pictures of her until she passes court. With Ethiopian adoption you first get a referral for a child and you accept it. Which we did, of course. Then MOWA (Ministry of Women’s Affairs) has a court date to check that all paperwork is in order. Having Nigel home is proof that our paperwork is in order. He passed on the first court date. Yaebsira’s first court date failed. We were told by our agency that there was one missing signature and she will surly pass the second time. So here we are on the day of the second court date waiting. Waiting. I have met her, played with her, hugged her, kissed her. Her pictures are all around our house. She is already my daughter in my heart.

Life is sweet

snuggles

That after-bath glow!

beautiful dreamers

Sweet little feet

Drool monger

Good friends

My happy boy

Chef Nigel

Always exploring

A girl's best friend

Uhm... maybe this would be a good way to keep him safe... He seems to like it...

Ready for Spring!

Finally, Michael has a hockey fan in the family!! Thanks Meg, for the great jacket.

The Damn Husband and Nigel. I hope I get to post the picture of him kissing Yaebsira.

Happy and carefree at OC

Mikaela preparing for Earth Hour.

A spooky Earth Hour photo. Wish I had a tripod. I had a vision of what a wonderful time we would have during Earth Hour. We were going to have a fire and hang out and have fun as a family. Well, not quite the way we planned... It was too wet and the fire kept going out and was very smoky. Nigel was exhausted and bad tempered. I ended up going inside and putting him to bed. My lantern went out so I changed him in the dark. i was doing pretty well until my chest and neck were suddenly very wet! Thanks buddy!! We both went to bed crabby. Mikaela and Michael ended up having a good time finding tons of earthworms by the glow of their flashlights.

Why is there paper all over the floor? Ah, because my recycling bag has become a mask of course!!

"I have to go outside. I have work to do", Mikaela said. And when I turned around this is what she looked like. Ready for work!

Some days just don't go the way you want them to. This is the email I just received:
Sorry--April 13th, it was reassigned.
I don't know why at this point, just got an email and haven't spoken to anyone yet. May be as simple as power outage which is causing problems already this year. Don't worry, she will come home!
Grace
After trying to get a grip and stop crying I go tell Michael who hugs me and heads out to work. Sorry babe. I tell Mikaela. "That's ok mommy. Now we will have more time to prepare. We don't have enough kitchen chairs. We will have to get another one before she gets here. I have to go feed my horse." She skips away. Why can't I be as resilient? Now what do I do?
wait.

The rodent relocation program

2009-03-14T06:09:00.000-07:00

We have started a rodent relocation program of sorts in our house. We live in southeastern Pennsylvania and our 200-year-old house is a fond nesting spot for many small creatures. I truly can't stand killing anything (okay, not true, ticks are fair game) so we catch them in traps and release them somewhere far away from our house. Our traps are small grey and plastic- they tip when the mouse goes in shutting the door behind them so I have never had a chance to see what we were catching. When we release them, they don't stick around to be observed. Our gerbil died a while back so my daughter and I got the idea of releasing a prisoner into the gerbil cage to see what we caught. Turned out to be a deer mouse. Mikaela immediately named him (her?) Harry. So for a few days we thought we would watch and check out his antics. As unhomeschoolers we can find nature and science everywhere we turn. We were surprised at how brave he is. He comes right up to the edge of the cage and watches us. He will then perform an array of stunts that include running wildly around the cage and hanging upside down from the bars and then comes back to look at us as if to say, so are you impressed? (Of course he could also be saying Let me out of this freaking cage!) My daughter likes to stuff part of a tissue through the bars at night before she goes to bed to see that he has pulled the whole thing in and shredded it to expand on his nest by morning. So, science aside, we have now grown found of this little guy who seems to perform for us. Although we have signs of spring everywhere we turn (the snowbells are out!) we are wondering if we relocate Harry to a park near us if he will be able to survive and find other deer mice buddies when it is still dipping into the thirties at night. I started to research deer mice on the web and found Rob Sandelin’s nature web site. I’m in love with this guy! His writing is wonderful. I want to follow him around for a while so I can experience all the nature he sees that I surely pass by. When I read his 2005 nature notes about putting a vole in his pant pocket I knew I had found the guy to ask. A guy who puts a vole in his pant pocket might understand our dilemma and have some more info. When I read his 2008 notes about how he held a baby deer mouse in his hands to warm it up, I knew I had the right guy. Below I have copied his field notes that pertain to deer mice. We still had a few more questions so I emailed him. We are also curious about how far an average deer mouse can travel and find his way home. You know where I am going with this one! We love Harry but when we set him free we really don’t want to see him again!

From Northwest Natural History by Rob Sanelin

End of September 2005 field notes
As the nights cool off some of the rodents from outside are keen to find a warmer spot and look for ways to squeeze into your house. House mice are quite numerous and can squeeze into cracks only 1/3 of an inch thick, the only limiting factor they have is how wide their little skull is. House mice and deer mice are prolific breeders, both can have 5 or more litters a year, thus one female might produce 35 or more of her kind. Since both species become sexually mature at about a month old, the mouse math quickly goes exponential. Thankfully, mice are sort of the lunchbox of the predator world and mice can only breed in relation to food supply, which varies.

April 2006 field notes
The first annual broods of deer mice are curled up together, their hairless pink bodies huddled in a mousey ball for warmth. These babies will be out of their grass and moss lined nest in about three weeks, providing food for the variety of predators that depend on their prodigious reproductive rates. At six weeks of age a female can become pregnant, and if she should live so long, she could be a great-great grandmother by fall. Populations of tiny rodents can have a large impact on what kinds of plants might grow in an area. Seedling plants offer high nutritional values and are often primary food resources for rodents. If the rodent population is high, and rodents prefer maple seedlings, then maples may not succeed in getting any of its seedlings large enough to where such predation is less effective. In an enclosure study done on the Olympic Peninsula, Deer mice ate every single Cottonwood and Big-leaf maple seedling in the enclosure. The ebb and flow of populations flux from year to year and decade to decade. So perhaps if owls and weasels decline, the mouse population increases, and maple trees might decline. Or, perhaps the very existence of maple trees is an artifact caused by a temporary population bloom of weasels many years ago which repressed the rodents long enough that the trees could grow beyond their reach. The landscape we see today was shaped by forces of several years ago and we can only guess at why things are the way they are.

April 2008 field notes
The deer mice are having babies and I rescued a mouseling that was wet and cold by putting it in my pocket. The warmth of my hands around it brought it back to alert activity so I set the squirmy tyke down at the edge of the wood, said my goodbye and good luck and then walked a few paces to a sunny spot to sit and listen to birds. I walked back uphill and then felt a tickle on my ear which was my mouse, who had climbed up the back of my coat as I sat. The little mouse was quite fearless and I was sorely tempted to keep it as a pet, but it is often no favor to captivate wild animals, and so I placed my mouse into a pile of Douglas fir cones and then strode quickly away, although I spend the day looking over my shoulder. It’s a big dangerous world for young mice and only a few will make it through the summer.

Deer mouse Peromyscus maniculatus

Identifying Features: Distinct boundary between white underside and brown top, tail white underneath, brown on the top.

This is perhaps one of the most numerous animals in our area, yet few people ever see them. They are found in all habitats from the sandy beaches of the ocean to mountain alpine meadows, although they are most numerous in forests. They eat a wide variety of foods including seeds, fungi, berries, and plant material. They also chew fallen bones, antlers and skulls to get the calcium. Deer mice will have their first brood in February, and a female can breed again within days of giving birth and can have up to 5 litters of young in a year. Each litter is typically 4-5 young but if food resources are plentiful she may have up to 9. Her first litters of young can also have litters in that same year and so if food supplies were without limit, one mouse could produce hundreds.

Deer mice make nests of moss, grass or other soft plant material on dry, well-drained areas. Each nest is only used once then abandoned, and these empty nests are sought after by bumblebee queens in the spring who renovate the mouse nest and use it to raise their own young.

This small animal is a prime food item for all the local predators and they are readily consumed by weasels, hawks, owls, coyotes and even crows.

So I am caught up in the sweet world of nature that Rob has offered to me. I am thinking of The Tale of Despereaux, the heroic mouse that reminds me of Harry…
And then I imagine my sister, Barbara, reading this blog entry with eyes wide with the fear of germs, diseases. Am I crazy? Yes I might be. So I type in a google search for Deer Mice and immediately an option comes up for Deer Mice Diseases that I had previously ignored. I was thinking about ticks and how baby ticks feast on mice first and then grow to more ambitious meals of deer and us. This site doesn’t even mention ticks. Suddenly the world Rob has created transforms into a much more ominous vision with none of Rob’s writing flair.

First some mouse facts from Pest Control Canada

Mouse Facts

* Mice travel over their entire territory daily, investigating each change or new object that may be placed there.
* Mice have poor vision, hence their activity patterns rely heavily on smell, taste, touch, and hearing.
* Mice use the long sensitive whiskers near the nose and hairs on the body as tactile sensors. The whiskers and hairs enable the mouse to travel in the dark, adjacent to walls in burrows.
* Mice also have an excellent sense of balance, enabling them to walk along telephone wires, ropes and similar thin objects.
* Mice are excellent jumpers, capable of leaping at least 12 inches vertically.
* Mice can jump against a flat vertical surface using it as a spring board to gain additional height.
* They can run up almost any vertical surface; wood, brick, weathered sheet metal, cables, etc.
* They can easily travel for some distance hanging upside down.
* Although they are good swimmers, mice tend to take to water only if left with no other alternative.
* Mice are basically nocturnal in nature.
* House mice breed throughout the year and can become pregnant within 48 hours of producing a litter.
* There are usually about 6 mice to a litter and females may produce as many as ten litters (about 50 young) per year.
* It takes 18 to 21 days for gestation, and 35 days for a mouse to mature. Most mice live anywhere from 15 to 18 months.
* They make their nests out of the same types of soft materials as rats, and as many as 3 females may use the same nest.
* They commonly nest in insulation in attics, also in stoves and under refrigerators.
* Mice do not travel far from their nest, about 12 to 20 feet.

This would explain how they mange to around in my kitchen.

And then they share the dangers of feeding the birds (Is nothing safe?):

The most common rodent attractant in urban locations is wild bird seed. Once a constant food source has been detected, rodents will leave pheromone trails for their family members to follow. This could result in a large populations being attracted to your home or business. An abundant supply of food will also speed up their reproductive cycle. Most people who feed wild birds don't realize they are probably feeding more rodents than birds. Pet food, grass seed and poorly stored human food are other attractants.

And it gets worse. Ewww:

* In six months, one pair of mice can eat about 4 pounds of food and during that period produce some 18,000 fecal droppings.
* Deer mice are a primary vector of Hantaviral infections which cause hemorrhagic fevers.
* Mice may infect food with their droppings transmitting such organisms as salmonella and the microscopic eggs of tapeworms.
* Mice transmit disease in a number of ways including biting, infecting human food with their droppings or urine, indirectly via the dog or cat and bloodsucking insects.

The most common way mice transmit disease organisms is by contaminating food with their droppings and/or urine. The most threatening organism spread by mice is Salmonella, a cause of food poisoning, spread via droppings. Other transmittable organisms include tapeworms via droppings, rat-bite fever via bites, infectious jaundice/leptospirosis/Weil’s Disease via urine in food or water, a fungus disease (Favus) of the scalp either by direct contact or indirectly via cats, plague and murine typhus via fleas, Rickettsial pox via the mite Liponyssoides sanguineus (Hirst), lymphocytic choriomeningitis via droppings, and possibly poliomyelitis (polio). Another problem is house mouse mite dermatitis which is caused by these mites when they feed on humans.

Harry is not looking as cute as he was before. And now they ruin the happy thoughts I have about our rodent relocation program by sharing that deer mice have an incredible ability to track back to their nest and can travel very large distances to do so. They conducted a large study tracking mice that they captured and released:

50% of deer mice in that study returned to their home sites (a short-grass prairie habitat).

The mice traveled 650 m to 1,980 m (mean 1,500 m) and had to cross a river and pass optimal habitat patches to reach their home sites. Deer mice with previous homing experience were more successful in returning home (100%) than inexperienced mice (60%) and faster in doing so. Teferi and Millar suggest that these deer mice were able to navigate in a direct route to their home sites. We released mice in locations where they had no direct route to the house; they had to follow a winding road, climb over rocky outcroppings nearly 17 m high, or otherwise surmount obstacles and dangers, such as predators.

Perhaps I should have the Damn Husband release Harry in Chester on his way to work. The country mouse visits the urban enclave.
Poor Harry

Signs of Spring

2009-03-13T03:43:00.000-07:00

Mikaela is feeling better and we went out in our yard looking for signs of Spring. They were everywhere! Some sneaking out of remaining patches of snow.

Building Spring fairy houses

For Nigel, it is all new and exciting. This is his first chance to explore outside.

He loves the taste of Spring!

A Thousand Dollars a Day

2009-03-11T03:58:00.000-07:00

Spending virtual money for prosperity. For more info on this see the first A Thousand Dollars a Day blog post.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday

A party for all the people that helped us make our adoption possible. Let's celebrate!

$640.00 airline tickets for Kris and Bill
$300 Temenos day rental
$100 travel gas for Colleen
$2550 catering for 85 people
$410 party favors

Kris and Bill for making it possible
Barb for everything. And everything and more. Mikaela is looking forward to another Vacation Barb week when we return to Ethiopia.
Elizabeth for all her help. Without your Sunday visits I would need a dribble cup. You have done so much for us.
Nigel has a place to play thanks to Lisa D and Megan B. They also created a safe haven for Mikaela on the third floor away from her drooling, crying brother. This was no easy feat! My third floor was scarey!! How did you manage to be so brave? Megan came over to help me pack up the donations a few days before we left. She was patient with me when I stood in the middle of the room and just stared because I couldn't think of what to do next. Why was she cleaning out my refrigerator? Because she invited friends over who arrived with food to freeze and helped me celebrate. Megan, thank you also for romping with Wanda while we were gone and for fixing my high chair. Thanks for the baby gifts and frozen food and friendship Lisa D, Lisa C, Kelly, Megan and Colleen.
Lisa C for the hat and for giving me the great baby clothes from her boys. What would I do without the little leather shoes that he wears every day? The head yurt you knitted Nigel is awesome. He looks so cute in it. And his jumpy swing- he loves it and I love it because it means I can get five minutes in the bathroom without him trying to eat the cat litter.
Thanks for the great food deliveries: Marie (Goodwin), Marie (Gabelburger), Amy, Lydia, Stacey, Lisa H., Nikki G., Debi R., Kristen, Andrea, and Paige
Thanks Bonnie for arranging the food chain.
Colleen, thanks for being there when I needed you and thanks for the baby clothes.
Michele, thanks for the clothes for Nigel to grow into.

Be Careful What You Ask For

2009-03-06T03:37:00.000-08:00

A blur of sick days, one blending into the next.
In one of my last posts I said I wish someone would take away all my needs so I could parent more effectively. My sweet girl is sick, sick, sick, scary sick, can’t keep anything down fever sick…and I got what I wanted but this wasn’t what I meant. My needs have all disappeared except for the need to see her get better. At first we thought she had the flu. She has never been sick for more than 24 hours before. Michael has Nigel and I spent the day snuggled down with Mikaela and lightly rubbing her forehead. For me this is the ultimate in health care. I fault my mother for many things but what she got right was how she cared for us when we were sick. There was something about seeing us down and hurting that softened her heart. I can remember the feel of her cool hand rubbing my forehead and saying, I would take this sickness away if I could. Flat, warm coke with a bendy straw, cinnamon toast cut into triangles and ice chips chopped in great grandma’s yellow aluminum ice grinder. These were the cure-alls of my youth. I rub Mikaela’s forehead. She can’t keep water down so the other remedies are useless.

Sunday
She is on day 7 of being sick. Truly, this is ‘normal’ flu period, it just feels like she has been sick for weeks.
In the morning I take Nigel to Temenos where my friend Elizabeth planned a baby blessing for Nigel. Mikaela was supposed to present him, but they were stuck with just me. It was very sweet. I am always touched with the questions children have about adoption. They are so curious and so honest. Nigel was the model baby for the event. When I arrived he stared at everyone with his big eyes and clutched on to me from the safety of the sling. During the children’s talk he showed them all his tricks- he smiled, stood up on his own, waved and managed to grab a tambourine from under the alter and start banging on it. After that he fell asleep and looked adorable during the rest of the service. Elizabeth’s talk was about personal trajectories and involved the reading of many of my favorite poets. Thank you Elizabeth for giving me a break from the infirmary and reminding me of how much I love poetry.
Back at home things were escalating. Mikaela still could not keep anything down.

Hours pass and I watch her sleep. She is so hot and dry to the touch. Everything stops. I have nothing to do except for Mikaela. Nothing else matters. I don’t want to be sick, she moans. Mikaela, instead of saying what you don’t want, try saying what you do want. Try I want to feel good. She pulls the covers over her head. Later I hear her whisper, I want to feel better. My sister calls and is increasingly nervous about Mikaela and keeps talking about the big snowstorm that is coming, how we will not be able to go to the hospital in the storm. She is encouraging me to take her to the ER right now. I frantically call friends for advice, for homeopathic remedies for something to make this turn around. I try several remedies. I spoon feed her raw honey in water. It comes right back up. I rub her belly. My pink hand on her yellow belly. I cover us both with the comforter and watch her sleep. Please get better. My mind won’t shut off. I haven’t seen my father in a week. I get a call each morning from his private duty nurse telling me how his night was. It is not enough, but there is not enough of me to go around. I have spent almost no time with Nigel. He has gotten only Daddy time, which is probably okay and needed also. My house is in whatever state it is in, extreme disarray, and I don’t care. A young person at OC has died ‘suddenly and accidentally'. I can only think of the precarious balance of life. I rub Mikaela’s forehead and cannot even imagine losing her. The world feels like a dangerous and ominous place. suddenly and accidentally. Tragedy is lurking in every corner and I feel scared and can’t sleep. suddenly and accidentally. I check on everyone. Michael is asleep, Nigel is snoring, Mikaela is hot but sleeping. I let Wanda out and stare at the snow falling. suddenly and accidentally.
In our little world it is just the two of us. Warm bodies meeting. I try to send Mikaela healing love and her little body works to beat this.

Monday
She is worse and weaker. We head to the ER. The snow is not so bad, just enough to make the whole experience feel so surreal. Mikaela begs not to go, cries and falls asleep in the car. I carry her into the ER and Mikaela has Nigel in the Ergo and goes to fill out the paperwork. I am overwhelmed with feeling responsible. As though she can sense this she says, It’s my fault I am sick. I tell her no, no way, this is not your fault. She won’t explain her thinking. Several hours later after IV fluids, she is a new girl. She is hungry for the first time in a week and has half a soft pretzel that my sister brings her. Before we leave she asks if she can walk in circles.

Tuesday
She is back to not eating anything because her tummy hurts. Thankfully she is drinking and keeping it down.
When is my Pony Package EVER going to get here? Mikaela laments at seeing an empty mailbox again. Anyone who knows Mikaela knows she is crazy for horses. Her generous Aunt Kris gave her a monthly subscription for a Pony Package that sends chapter books, horse kitsch and posters. She loves it. Each time she gets it she curls up with the books and doesn’t resurface until they are finished.
It feels like I haven’t been able to gallop for years! she says.
I know baby, it is hard to be sick for so long. My daughter often spends half her day on all fours. Mom, I am a falabella with one white sock and a star on my forehead. Sometimes she is a different horse each hour. Nigel is often her little foal who is 'an hour or a minute old.'

Wednesday
The fever comes and goes. It is a slow recovery. I wish we had Heidi or Mary Poppins, Mikaela tells me. I want to watch something sweet. We settle for the first half of The Sound of Music.

Thursday
She is still sick but today ate breakfast for the first time. We are going uphill now, a little better each day. We are like bears hibernating away from the world. We nap together several times a day, Mikaela, Nigel and I curled up together. This afternoon I wake up to Mikaela gently rubbing her hand across my forehead. I am feeling better she tells me and smiles.

Friday
I hear Mikaela upstairs waking up with Michael and Nigel. She is WHINNYING!! The gallop can't be far away.

A Thousand Dollars a Day

2009-03-01T23:22:00.000-08:00

Friday morning the Damn Husband came down the stairs and was shuffling through the drawers looking for scissors and glue. Are you making me a valentine, I joked. No, he answered I am making you a thousand dollars to spend. It is an Abraham thing, he explained. He had just listened to one of the Abraham CD’s about money. For days now (weeks, months, years..) Michael and I have been discussing money, our thoughts around it, our lack of it and ways we can change our thinking about it and our relationship with it that will hopefully ultimately affect the poverty cycle we find ourselves in. So, the universe gives us what we ask for- the Law of Attraction. So if we are constantly feeling we don’t have enough then that is what we are attracting. And that is definitely what we have been attracting. To turn this around we need to imagine ourselves from a different perspective. The Damn Husband gives me a Xeroxed copy of a thousand dollar bill he has carefully glued together. Spend it any way you like he tells me. So, I am imagining having money, spending money and creating a different reality about money. One that works for me. I am attracting more money into my life everyday. What fun. Here is how I spend my virtual thousand dollars every day.

Friday

$180.00 6 new black turtlenecks from LL Bean
$240.00 6 button down LL Bean shirts (2 white, one blue, one pink, one
striped)
$40.00 IKEA enameled cast iron pot with lid
$10.00 IKEA oiled cast iron frying pan\
$80.00 IKEA white wicker desk chair
$349.00 IKEA wooden wardrobe for the mudroom
$50.00 Takeout sushi deluxe
$50.00 Massage for Barb

Saturday

$900.00 Bosch Dishwasher (I am ready to break this cycle. I have never owned a dishwasher and frankly, it is time. I will soon have three kids. I am tired of fishing through cold dishwater to find a baby spoon because there are no more left in the drawer. I am tired of washing dishes by hand, or not washing dishes by hand and having them pile up in the sink. The Damn Husband does not do dishes. I can convince him of many household chores but not dishes.

$14.00 The Presence Process: A Healing Journey into Present Momement Awareness by Michael Brown recommended by Gina Marks
$86.00 Translation and sending a very special package to Ethiopia

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

$2800.00 17 inch Mac Book Pro with eight hour battery
$1400.00 In Design Suite
$150.00 Office 2008
$200.00 Aperture 2
$200.00 Donation to Children Creating Bridges
$500.00 Donation to OC
$50.00 massage for Barb

When the Dark Side Rules

2009-02-27T12:27:00.000-08:00

I should go climb into a hole and reread Dark Side of the Light Chasers. Tuesday I was Mommy Dearest. It all became a little too much: a sick father who is wasting away, a crazy mother who is torturing us all with her grief, a daughter who has the flu and cries whenever I leave her side and a new baby who still might not love me but freely covers me with bodily fluids of all kinds and can screech at decibels that can cause ear damage. Truly I had forgotten how moist and loud motherhood could be. Perhaps I have also forgotten how hard it can be, how lonely and how thankless at times. The Damn Husband called to tell me he was going to be late from work. Great, no problem, it can’t get worse.
“Are you having a bad day?” He asks with a lot of trepidation. He knew what was coming.

Can someone please remove all of my needs so I can parent more effectively? This will all go much better if you do. How about an instant dose of antidepressants that can turn me into Mary Sunshine for a few hours (or days) until I can find my footing again?

From Amazon.com Review of Dark Side of the Light Chasers:

‘We know the shadow by many names: alter ego, lower self, the dark twin, repressed self, id. Carl Jung once said that the shadow "is the person you would rather not be." But even if you choose to hide your dark side, it will still cast a shadow, according to author Debbie Ford. Rather than reject the seemingly undesirable parts of ourselves, Ford offers advice on how to confront our shadows. Only by owning every aspect of yourself can you achieve harmony and "let your own light shine," she explains. "The purpose of doing shadow work, is to become whole. To end our suffering. To stop hiding ourselves from ourselves. Once we do this we can stop hiding ourselves from the rest of the world."’

I am thinking about the woman who drowned her kids and understanding where her impulse came from.
“How could a mother EVER do that to a poor innocent child” my mother said when she heard the story. She shook her head and patted her chest, “Really, how …could… you… hurt…an innocent…child” said the woman who made welts so deep under my diaper that my older sister said it looked like I had 'OC' for Ocean City, (where we were living) tattooed on my behind. Hello, mom, what is that dark formation lurking behind you? Oh no, you don’t have a shadow. You just have a love for wooden spoon discipline on diaper-aged children.

I see the bad side of me that could so easily go south, but it hasn’t. We are a delicate balance of good and evil. Hello Dark Side, I know you are in there.

I am covered in snot and drool. Nigel screams and uses his hands and feet to push against me so I cannot hold him close. I close my eyes and think of giving him what he wants, of letting go of him- he falls out of my sight and I am free. For a second. Then I open my eyes. Then I softly sing in some obscure tune ‘no mommy won’t be crazy today’ and I place him gentle on the couch and find something to distract him. And it passes and we are all fine. Sometimes a version of this repeats twenty times a day sometimes not at all. I do the same with the damn husband (but I don’t sing him anything afterwards) A thousand times I have pictured smacking him over the head with my heaviest frying pan and watching him bounce around with stars circling him like in an old cartoon, boing boing boing boing boing. The feeling came on yesterday when I asked him to please order a new charger cord for my GPS THAT HE BROKE. The cord connector that joins it to the GPS is bent at a 45-degree angle and will no longer make a connection. He wouldn’t admit that he broke it (for the second time, he already ordered a new one once) and instead argued nonsensically that I broke it by hanging the GPS too high on the car windshield and it had nothing to do with the fact that he shoves it into a small compartment between the seats every time he parks the car because he is constantly paranoid that someone is going to break in and steal it. So, now a day later, I don’t think about the frying pan anymore but I haven’t forgotten that he refused to apologize for making the story up because he was at work and the other guys could hear him talking with me.
Me: You need to admit that this story is BS and you need to apologize.
Him: I will later. (in a casual voice)
ME: You don’t want the guys to hear, do you? Oh yeah, if they were listening I’m sure that story made lots of sense to them. Hanging a GPS cord straight down has often made it spontaneously bend upwards against gravity. I’m sure they've heard other similar stories.
Him: Okay, I will talk to you later.
I groan and push the end button on my cell as hard as I can wishing it made a load sound on the other end. I miss that loud emphatic sound of slamming down a land line phone. So much more satisfying.

I love the story Anne Lamont tells in her book Operating Instruction about not being able to stand her son’s screaming any longer. She thinks about putting him outside on the porch for the night. If he is still there in the morning she will consider it natural selection and bring him inside again. I love that she admits to thinking about this and I laugh because I know she did not do it.

It is when you deny your dark side that the trouble begins:
No, mom, I am not angry with you.
I love every moment of motherhood.
Oh no, I don’t mind, you take it.
I’m sorry I broke the GPS cord, sweetie. I don’t need another one. I’ll use map quest.
It was a big leap in my life when I finally got it about the Buddhist offerings each day to the hungry ghosts. They aren’t wandering around the world; they are inside of us. Here you go guys, a little morsel to keep you at bay, nice little ghosts, stay where you belong.

My mother, wayward priests, the woman who drowned her kids, did they go so far because they felt they were not suppose to have dark feelings and so they denied them? Like a balloon you try to push under the water so no one can see it, it is bound to explode out the moment you get distracted.

I once called a friend after she just had a baby. How is she doing I asked her husband when he answered the phone. Well he replied, she hasn’t held him by one foot and swung him in circles above her head, I think she is doing well. Fifteen years later this story still makes me laugh and the image can instantly change my mood when I become frustrated with my kids.

I don’t hit my children, drown them or swing them above my head. Thinking and doing still remain a world apart. I am doing my best to live my life, feel my feelings, sort out my past and change my current reality. I am imagining my world the way I want it to be and I am walking towards that goal one step at a time with an occasional few steps backwards.

Our answers are always around if we look for them and they come just in time. In an article by Tad Waddington in this month’s Spirituality and Health magazine I am reminded of the story about three bricklayers. The first one was trying to make a buck, the second was building a wall and the third was building a school that would educate children for generations
Same job different perspective. Where have I heard that before?

I am still covered in slime but today I am raising young minds that will change the world.

My Father

2009-02-19T03:50:00.000-08:00

Everything good about me comes from my father. For more than an hour I have sat here and it is all I can say. I can’t bear to write details of his hospital stay, the falls that brought him there or the fact that I will be touring nursing homes in a few hours. Sometimes I feel that for my whole life I have loved him too much and I can’t imagine my life without him.
Two pictures of my father after a recent fall.

Always the comedian, he puts up his dukes.

So many Alzheimer victims become violent in the later stages of the disease. Not my pop. He literally doesn’t have it in him. He is truly the kindest person I have ever met. He has never been religious, although he pretended to be ‘for the children’ to please my mother. He told me once that he just lives by the Golden Rule and that is enough for him. And he does. And it is.
The last few days I spend all the time I can, first in the ER and then in his hospital room, juggling my two children in the small spaces and trying to be cheerful. Mikaela loves Popie and was determined to see him yesterday He always makes her laugh. She tries to kiss him goodbye and he looks in the opposite direction and waves. I kept trying to move his head in her direction and he kept saying, even when he was looking right at her, “where did she go?” This makes Mikaela laugh because she thinks he is playing with her. My father loves Nigel, he always calls her a girl, but what can you expect, he raised four girls! My dad tries to pat Nigel on the head, usually misses and pats the air and laughs and says “beep beep”. Nigel laughs and tried to pull off his glasses.
I want to grab hold of my father and say, please, please don’t leave me.

Catching Up

2009-02-07T06:40:00.000-08:00

It feels impossible to catch up. I really have no time for a blog and it will only get worse. Temesgen has been home for 28 days. I am surprised it has been that long. Sometimes it just feels like one long day. Not a bad day, but a long one.

A quick review
*
Unbelievable diarrhea diapers. The first two weeks home were all about poo: how to control it, survive it, contain it and test it. Every other day I drove to Phoenixville to drop off specimens at my doctor’s office. (I will spare you the trials of collecting it!) On the 20th I dropped off poo in Phoenixville and then headed to Bonnie’s house. Everything took twice as long in the snow. We made it to Bonnie’s house just in time for the inauguration. I was so glad to see it on a TV. I am so hopeful about Obama and what this will mean for my children.

*
Wonderful friends delivered food every other day, all of it delicious. The best part was having visitors. I needed the reality check that life was continuing normally for others although time seemed to have stopped at my house. Some days I felt like calling friends and begging them to come over. Please don’t leave me alone with these kids!

*
I still haven't had time to look at all the pictures I took in Ethiopia. I wish I could post pictures of the children- they are all so beautiful. It is illegal to post pictures of the children due to privacy issues. This makes sense AND I wish I could show them off.

*
The first few days were the hardest. We were recovering from jet lag and not getting much sleep. What were we thinking? Temesgen and I were strangers trying to pretend to be family. We were getting to know each other, which happens at its own speed.

*
Battle ground with the damn husband
Too many changes too fast. We are struggling to acclimate. Michael comes home from work and struggles with wanting to be on the third floor alone recording music or writing. As soon as the kids go to bed he heads upstairs until the wee hours in the morning and then drags himself out of bed late and dashes off to work. And I struggle with feeling isolated, lonely and inept. I try to explain to Temesegen that this wasn’t exactly what I had pictured. He screeches. He doesn’t love me, I am constantly stained and moist from drool, spit up or poo, my house is a mess and no matter how hard I try to keep everything together someone (or everyone) in this house is mad at me. Motherhood is very humbling.

*
A divided heart between my two children, whose needs always seem to be polar opposites making me feel I have to choose between them. Temesgen needs to nap and Mikaela needs to go out on an adventure. Mikaela needs to play a game with me and Temesgen needs to chew up the game pieces. Mikaela wants snuggles and Temesgen is screaming. We nick named him Screech.

*
I take Temesgen to the CHOP adoption clinic. I was worried how they would partner with my holistic doctor to determine his care, but I am pleased with everything. They are wonderful. Temesgen passes with flying colors on all tests except one, which comes as a surprise: attachment. In their words, he shows no signs of attachment to me. I want to cry. I feel a bit betrayed. At home when I put him down, he cries and crawls towards me. Great I thought, he is attaching to me! But no. When the occupational therapist works with him she points out that he never checks back with me at all and when she puts him down he cries for her. He is very social due to great care at the orphanage but is not attached to me. Love me, damn it!

*
Thinking about Yaebsira and hoping she will be here soon. I scour the posted photos of the other adoptive families that have returned from traveling trying to discern how she is doing. Does she look happy? Does she know we are coming to pick her up as soon as we can.?

*
Thinking about Yaebsira and scared to death that she will be here soon. Can we handle more change and upheaval? Can she?

*
I am back facilitating Photography at OC. It feels great to be back and it feels too soon. Temesgen is with me. He does great. He likes watching everything that is going on and is happy to be lugged around in my backpack. The first day back I only had a sling and my back was killing me by the end of the day. My in-laws bought me an Ergo which is wonderful.

*
Falling in love with my little man more each day. Two teeth pop out of his bottom gum. He looks so cute when he smiles.

*
Dreaming of running away from home, working at a gas station in some state out west where the attendant still pumps. I will wear one of those blue jumpsuits that zip up the front and I will have a big lazy dog that follows me around but doesn’t touch me. At the end of the day I return to my very small, self-cleaning cabin that is lined with bookshelves holding all the books I have wanted to read.

*
Two nights ago, lying in bed unable to sleep, I heard a voice whisper “Nigel”. We have been thinking about another name for Temesgen since we received his referral but nothing we thought of felt quite right. We decided to wait until he came home to see what name suited him. Over the past few weeks his African name became natural for us and we stopped focusing on a new name although so many people (especially everyone in my family!) has such a hard time with the pronunciation. Nigel is not a name we had ever discussed. I don’t remember ever hearing the name. I woke up Michael.
“Michael, Michael. Nigel. Do you know anyone named Nigel?“
He groaned and gurgled.
“Michael, I think we need to name him Nigel”
More groans and gurgled.
In the morning Michael remembered the song Making Plans For Nigel by the band XTC and played it for us. That day Mikaela told everyone she saw at OC that his new name was Nigel and Michael told everyone at work. (I told them: “My wife heard a voice in the middle of the night so his name is Nigel. That happens from time to time with her.”

*
Last night Michael went to Lydia’s and picked up her old changing table. NO more diaper changes squatting on the floor. I feel liberated!!!

* This morning Mikaela wakes up like every other morning and is a horse.
“I am chocolate colored horse with a white mark on my forehead shaped like a heart. I am a Welsh Pony named Star.”
She trots off.
Michael is doing the dishes (a miracle, I tell you) . Nigel is babbling next to him in the high chair and I am trying to finish up this post. In this moment I love everyone and think, yes, we are going to make it, all of us together.

Ethiopian Update #4

2009-01-24T12:24:00.000-08:00

Sunday, January 18th
A miracle has happened and Temesgen is sleeping soundly. (Although I will probably pay for this in the middle of the night.) I wanted to try to do one last update for everyone since I left you all hanging in Ethiopia right before Christmas. I wrote an update while I was still there but the internet and phones were down for the rest of our time there so I never sent it and I have not had any computer time since I came home. No surprise there!. I spoke with my sweet friend Elizabeth today and she urged me to forget about the other things on my plate and try to write about what has happened. The updates from our last days in Ethiopia are first followed by whatever I get to type quickly before Temesgen wakes up. Forgive me for choppy writing. I am not going to have any time for edits or revisions so this will be stream-of-whatever-consciousness I have left.

January 8th Thursday night

Contrasts
It is 3am here and I cannot sleep. In the US it is day. I have two African children because the world is unfair to some and fair to others. In the US we are broke, we are struggling to lead the middle class American life and in Africa we are rich. I now have secrets that I can tell no one. I am no longer sure that I am doing the right thing. I am trying to control my own breathing as I listen to the breath of Michael and Temesgen as they sleep.

I am sleepless for many reasons. Thoughts are spinning through my head so fast. I am mostly lost in thoughts about Yaebsira’s mother. Michael says Temesgen’s mother made the same choice as Yaebsira’s and I see this is true, but I never met her. I never held her hand, saw her kiss his picture or hugged her.
I am again facing the same powerlessness I felt as a child when I was told to eat all my food because there are people starving in Ethiopia and there was no way for me to help them. As a child, I remember thinking, how can eating more food help them? And now here I am in Ethiopia. I can’t feed all the people that beg at our car and I cannot save Yaebsira’s mother. At home I am poor and here I am rich and blessed above others and sleepless. Mixed in with my blessings is a sadness that is pulling me apart.

I need a distraction. I will try to tell you about some of the things that have happened. On Tuesday we brought Temesgen back to the hotel with us so we woke up with him on Christmas morning. It was exactly what Mikaela had asked for. Many months ago she said maybe we will get Temesgen for Christmas. She meant our Christmas but we were happy to have him as an Ethiopian Christmas present. I feel blessed beyond belief to have this beautiful, smart baby boy as our son. I can’t stop staring at him and kissing him.

The Christmas celebration at the orphanage was wonderful. I still can’t believe I was lucky enough to be a part of it. We were pretty tired. Every time Temesgen moved, I woke up, since I was not used to being with him and there were Ethiopian prayers and singing from a nearby loud speaker until 4am. Our friends Holly and Kenneth arrived at Hope early enough to witness the demise of our sheep. I have heard they have pictures but I have not seen them. The event happened in the same small court yard where all the children were. In the end nothing was wasted. They use every part of the sheep in some fashion. The Christmas meal consisted of many different forms of mutton. It is best that I did not know what parts I was eating.

When we first arrived at Axum, the new orphanage, it was relatively quiet. Only the babies were there and the staff and friends were busy running around preparing food and decorating.

They gave all the adoptive parents traditional, Ethiopian shirts to wear. Soon a bus arrived with all the older children. Chairs had been set up all around and the children arrived wearing new t-shirts that were color-coordinated to their age group. Yaebsira wore a bright green t-shirt with Amharic words that were translated to me as ‘pride in Ethiopia’. She was clutching an old plastic doll, not the one I had given her yesterday. Instead of sitting with her group she came and sat with Michael and me on the couch. The room became so crowded that it was almost impossible to move. Periodically she would skip away to join her new friends or dance and when she returned she would have a little piece of a cookie or lollipop that she would share with Michael or me. The children sang Ethiopian Christmas music and played various games. One included a string with a bead on it. Two children would stand together with an end of the string in their mouth and try to eat the string. The child to arrive at the bead first won. There was another game where they had to peel and eat a banana without using their hands and another one that was similar to our musical chairs. They moved the toddlers to the porch so that there was some space in the middle for dancing. Ethiopian dancing involves a great deal of shoulder movement back and forth while bobbing. The caretakers and the children danced together. Yaebsira danced with me and laughed as I tried to imitate the rapid shoulder action. We brought out our big suitcase filled with gifts and supplies and started to give them out. They called the teacher over and she cried when she saw all the school posters Barb had gotten for them and was very thankful for the flash cards. Another caregiver hugged the pile of scrubs Barb had collected. I wish you could have been here Barb to see how happy you made everyone with the donations you gave me to deliver. Next they dragged the suitcase into the main area in the middle of the children and we started to give out the beanie babies, necklaces, bracelet’s, balls, stickers and ballerinas. All the children sat and waited patiently until they were handed something. The only time there was any pushing was when we started to blow bubbles in the court yard and all the children tried to catch the bubbles and wanted a turn to try the ridiculous fish bubble blower we had bought in Italy. For the next trip I have to figure out how to bring a lot more bubbles for the children. How do they get forty some children age one to ten to sit in a room without moving, fighting or crying for hours? Finally the children were all served their food. They sat happily with their plates in their laps, eating with their right hands. I never saw any of the children spill anything or get any food on their clothes. Another miraculous feat. When all the children were done eating they served us. First they went around with a plastic bowl and pitcher so we could wash our hands. They delivered injera first, the fermented Ethiopian bread that is the staple of their diet. Next they kept arriving with different dishes to pile on top. I had been so nervous to eat the sheep but all the dishes were spicy and amazing. If you could see the kitchen where they produced all of this food you would not believe it. It was so small. They had to wash the children’s dishes outside in the courtyard at a pump so they could serve us. They started the coffee ceremony afterwards which takes a couple of hours. They roast the beans over a small fire then grind them by hand. The coffee is the best I have ever had with a faint taste of cardamom. We tried to call Mikaela when we got home but the phones were down and so was the internet.
The next day we dropped Temesgen off at Axum and headed to Bethel orphanage for the day. We drove for almost two hours to reach Bethel. Our throats were raw from the diesel fumes. When we finally arrived it was like discovering an oasis. Bethel is tucked into the side of a mountain. The air there is fresh and clean. There are fields and grass for the children to play. I wish all the children could be moved here. When we arrived they were in English class. They sat quietly and stared at me shyly. I delivered the cards and notes I had from some of their adoptive parents and took pictures of them. I felt the sadness of some of the older boys who do not have referrals, as they watched this. There are so many older children waiting for families. We met Esayas the ten year old boy that we sponsor. My heart ached to bring him home also. I gave the caretakers a big suitcase filled with writing supplies, sneakers and clothes. The children raced to the main house with the suitcase and soon all were undressing and trying on all the clothes and sneakers and then a fashion show evolved. Their shyness was completely gone and they modeled for me shouting “mom, take this picture” and they would pose again and again. We played soccer with all the new balls we brought and too soon it was time to go and make it through the diesel fumes again. By the time we made it back to Axum it was too late to go to the Hope and see Yaebsira. I was cursing the moving of the babies. I only have one more day with Yaebsira until sometime in March. I am acutely aware that all of this could change also.

When we returned to Axum there were several new babies. One still had the umbilical cord attached. Several were so tiny it was hard to believe they were alive. Some I know might not make it. The first day we arrived I delivered preemie formula for a baby named Abush. His American mama had shipped it to me to deliver. When I asked about him the caretakers just shrugged. Later that day I learned he had died the day before. Hopefully his formula will be helpful for these babies.

Last night we ate in the restaurant attached to the hotel. Apparently Thursday night is dance night in Addis. The music was so loud I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying at our table. My stomach was tied in knots and I could not eat. Temesgen was sleeping in the sling. How could he sleep through this noise? I recognized many of the songs but they have been altered to have a salsa beat and many couples were dancing. The salsa version of Hotel California was pretty funny. It was so dark they brought us candles when it is time to pay our bill.
Temesgen is crying and I need to go get him something to eat. By the time you read this we will be at the airport getting ready to fly home.
Donna

Traveling Home January 9th and 10th

The trip home was as surreal as the trip there. It takes forever and you feel as though time has stopped. Temesgen was a trooper. The only problem was his excessive diarrhea. We were lucky to have security so tight; otherwise I think our fellow passengers would have impaled us with any sharp object to be found. I can’t even imagine what that plane smelled like by the time we got off. We ran out of diapers before we reached Washington. We had gone through 9 outfits and 17 diapers since we left the hotel. Not pretty. Michael and I became a well-organized diaper changing duo relying on teamwork and large garbage bags across our laps. If you are ever going on a 20 something hour plan ride with an infant, let me know. We will share our much-practiced technique.
This time we made it through all security checks and customs without any problems. It cracks me up how serious and stern all the American customs officials are. In Italy and Ethiopia they were friendly and relaxed. I guess the Americans think if they look and act mean enough you might get nervous and confess. Yes! I got on the plane with a lethal weapon: it was my odorous son who could make a grown man weep with a single bowel movement.
We finally arrived in Philadelphia and were greeted by our beautiful daughter, Mikaela, my sister Barb and my in laws. I cried all the way down the escalator waiting to hug them. The rest you heard about in my father in law’s End Game report. Well, the end game for them is only the beginning for us.
When we arrived home to our very happy dog, we received more surprises. Mikaela’s very messy playroom had been transformed into a baby friendly romping ground complete with a wonderful welcome home banner and the third floor junk room had been changed into a private un-baby area playroom escape for Mikaela. She was so excited. I still can’t believe Lisa and Megan did this. Believe me, this was no easy feat. I am scared to go to our third floor because it is such a crazy insane mess. I can’t believe the bravery of these two incredible organized women. How did you do that? I bow to your power and your kindness. Mikaela loves the third floor space so much!!!

Sunday, January 18th
Is it possible that we have been home one week? It felt like one long day with short naps in between. Temesgen and I are still getting to know each other. I love the way he smiles at me. He pulls himself up, stands and wobbles back and forth and then falls back on his bottom and tries it again. I keep telling him it is too soon to walk but he is not listening. If he is not trying to walk then he wants to be held all the time. As would be expected, he is going through some tremendous stress and grief from all the changes he is going through. I am trying to call forth my super mama powers and split myself between Mikaela’s needs and Temesgen’s needs and stay in the moment. I am trying to remember how to get things done with one hand. We have had some very comical moments. He loves being in the sling but he has an incredible arm reach and grabs things so fast!! I tried to carry him in the sling on my back thinking I could then get more done. Wrong. He picks up things I can’t see. With lightening speed he managed to pick up a pot on the counter behind me and slam me over the head with it. Eh, baby, knock some sense into your mama and make me realize my To-Do list will only consist of being in the moment with my kids. That is really the hardest part, isn’t it? The stress comes from me having a different agenda from them. IF I can just let go of wanting to get something done, everything slows down and becomes easier. Unfortunately I am a doer so this is a hard lesson. Last night I ignored the laundry, the dishes and my messy house; I forgot about working on my plan for OC photography, the stress of trying to balance my obligations with my family’s needs and the 1400 emails that have piled up while I was gone. Mikaela put on a dress that she loves to dance in- it has a full skirt that spins- and we all danced to African music in the living room. Temesgen loved it. I don’t allow myself enough moments like this. Always, I feel behind in what I am ‘suppose’ to do- behind on birthday cards, thank you notes, organizing and laundry is piled so high it is falling off the chair. It is the contrast of what I think my life should be and what it actually is. And into this life came a nine-month-old baby. It is an odd experience to suddenly have a very active crawling, near walking babe in the house. He is my son and also a stranger. When you start with a newborn, you know they will be in the same spot where you put them down and you get a slow progression of activity. Temesgen’s energy level is startling. Mikaela is a great big sister. For the most part she has taken all the changes in stride and really enjoys him. She did have one maxed out episode during our first few sleepless nights. She sat up in bed about 3am and screamed, ”This is ridiculous. I can’t live like this. He is way too loud!!” And I was right there with her!! It was ridiculous!!! It is crazy loud in this house sometimes. On Friday I brought Temesgen into the Open Program when I dropped Mikaela off. Julia invited us to stay for a little bit and have the YP meet Temesgen. It was wonderful. It was a great experience for Mikaela to be able to share our experience with her friends. Thanks Julia. I miss everyone in the Friday Open and am sad to know I won’t be able to be in there again. (Not for a few years anyway.)

So here we are, still trying to sort out all of our Ethiopian experiences and hoping to travel to pick up our daughter sometime in March or April. It will be a big relief to have my family all on one continent. There are some experiences that change you forever. I am in the middle of such an experience and I feel as though my entire spirit is transforming. Sometimes it feels like the worse kind of growing pains and other times I feel as light as air and as strong as a lion. I am grateful for everyone. Your support has made this so much easier for me. I have been blessed with your wonderful meals, your supportive emails and calls. Thank you for being there for me, I couldn’t make it through all this without you.
Love,
Donna

Ethiopian Update #3

2009-01-24T11:31:00.000-08:00

This update is written by the Damn Husband
January 6, Tuesday
It is fairly early in the evening, but it has been a most eventful day and an emotionally draining one - especially for Donna, so she is asleep next to our beautiful baby boy Temesgen and I am writing the daily update tonight. The day started out like day two, with an omelet cooked in clarified Ethiopian butter (like Indian ghee). This gives it a tan color and a ‘cooked too fast’ texture. There are so few of the ostensible fillings that it is more like a plain omelet with a couple of small
cheese and mushroom surprises during the eating, but we try not to be the ‘Ugly Americans’ and avoid complaining about not having enough filling in a country where many in the population would be thrilled to eat what we have available to us. We wash our omelets down with bottled water and coffee, which is the best coffee we’ve had in our lives, strong and fresh and very awakening.
One of our fellow Hope adopters, the general practice physician from near Houston we’ve been so happy to have with us - as he has assuaged our many fears of scabies and other dire illnesses in Temesgen - woke in the throes of violent gastro-intestinal distress and looked very unprepared for the act of standing let alone being aware enough for his and our appointments at the embassy. He had been eating copious quantities of the minted raw beef and other Ethiopian delicacies and assured us that, since one of his parents were Syrian and they had their own raw beef dish which he had eaten on many occasions, that he wouldn’t have a problem. Of course it may have just been that he accidentally wet his toothbrush out of habit in the city water supply like Donna did last night. Anyway, for him this was a major issue, but we were both feeling ok and our adventures were only just beginning.

Adventure #1 Where are our babies?
We went with Dawit our assigned driver to the orphanage as we had done during day one and day two but when we arrived we found the other Hopesters in a state of confusion, having just learned that all of our children had been moved over night to a new orphanage� for the babies. Donna and the rest were pretty much panicked at this point
since we had embassy dates in under an hour and that we had no idea that the children were going to be moved and no idea where they were. I was a less panicked, but only because of a side conversation I had had after our paperwork meeting on Monday in which the manager of the orphanage mentioned to me that he was heading off to make sure the new orphanage nearby was ready to be opened. While the others were commiserating about the lack of communication and the drivers were solidifying directions to the new orphanage (which fortunately was en route to the embassy) I, in my much less panicked state, overheard a conversation in Amharic between the orphanage nurse and our driver and I understood only one word: Yaebsira�. My curiosity peaked, and while the others continued in there conversation about the whereabouts of our children, my eyes followed our driver until he disappeared behind the multitude of drying sheets suspended from the criss-crossing clotheslines in the driveway. My eyes briefly fell on a beautiful round faced Ethiopian woman who was braiding hair from a chair in the far corner of the driveway. Shortly thereafter from behind the sheets came our driver and our daughter-to-be in a bright yellow T-shirt and with beautifully braided hair. Donna had not even begun to notice what had now become clear in my mind, so I placed my hand on her back and said “Donna it’s Yaebsira, right there, thus starting:

Adventure #2
Being totally unprepared to meet one’s future daughter and her mother while being already in the midst of another adventure: Donna said “What?!?” and then caught sight of the diminutive little girl from our photographs (definitely 4 years old) who separated from our driver and walked over to the woman braiding hair in the corner of
the driveway. Donna was very much shocked and Dawit returned to her saying “this is Yaebsira and her mother.� Now we were not expecting to see Yaebsira until the afternoon and even then were not expecting to see her at Hope at all but rather at the larger orphanage where most of the children are first processed. More lack of communication in a process rife with it. Donna was definitely not mentally prepared for this as she had been exhausted the night before and had gone to sleep instead of preparing questions for her mother like she had wanted to. While we stared from
halfway across the driveway, little Yaebsira walked over to Donna and said in a small sweet voice, in English “My name is Yaebsira (pronounced YOB-sih-rah) and I’m 4 years old and you are my mother”. Of course, Donna totally crashed into tears as she hugged and kissed her, but we were running up against our appointments and had to get on the road. We hurriedly walked over to Yaebsira’s mother with Dawit in tow and with him translating, came to understand that she would still be there when we got back. So with Donna’s mind reeling from having to leave in the midst of all of this, we rushed to the new orphanage a couple miles away and took a quick run into the bathroom after we located him. The caretakers (seemingly unknowing that he even had an embassy appointment) rushed around getting him ready. Then we traveled as rapidly as one can while avoiding the odd donkey and many randomly veering taxicabs and the teeming hordes of pedestrians to the embassy and university section of Addis, reached the embassy, left the drivers across the road and on a side street and proceeded into the first security structure on the perimeter of the embassy. Within moments after entering that building we experienced the short, but highly intense:

Adventure #3
“Michael,¦ my passport and my money – they’re gone!!!”
Now this was bad. The passport was REQUIRED to even get into the compound. We could not apply for Temesgen’s visa without both of us inside the compound. Donna had gone to the bathroom back at the orphanage and drove here to this point. Only two options: it was back at the orphanage, or- it had fallen off in the car. If it was the first, we were in deep doo-doo as the embassy was only open for a half day because of the Ethiopian Orthodox Christmas tomorrow and had no time to recover. We would have to stay for the weekend and then
some and rearrange all of our travel plans again. If it was in the car we would be ok. I dashed away from the embassy across the main road. This was probably not a smart thing to do what with Israel attacking Gaza and with embassies on alert in countries with sizable Muslim populations. (As I write this the Muslim call to prayer is echoing from the nearby mosque as if to punctuate this point.) Apparently the guards on the wall decided not to shoot me because I was lily white and running in the opposite direction, so I made it to the other side to find our drivers on the side- gone!
I cannot write what I said at this point, but I walked at a more reasonable pace back to the embassy walls and found Donna again and told her that the drivers were gone. Now we were both panicked. But before we could totally collapse in despair, Donna discovered a lumpy structure way up her torso just under her bra. Apparently, in the
process of attaching Temesgen to herself, the money belt had ridden all the way up under him and she hadn’t noticed it alongside all the new sensations of having a little boy riding her up front. WHEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After that things went well. After a short wait we were called up to a window where an embassy official asked us a couple questions about Temesgen’s case to see if it matched the official records. And then he said “His visa will be ready Friday. Congratulations” and we were done.

Things got emotional for Donna after this as we met with Yaebsira’s mother to get as much information as we could. For both of the children, our bottom line is that, until they are old enough to understand and be at peace with their own birth stories, they will remain private unless and until they choose to reveal them. Please don’t ask us for any more details than we offer and you will not be offended when we refuse to tell more. This is something our social worker told us was standard practice and is also something that we already believe in.
Donna watched carefully while Selamawit (Yaebsira’s mother) braided her hair. She is really good at this and this will take some serious practice for Donna and a PHd’s worth of study and finger exercises for me. We did find out that Yaebsira likes spaghetti and likes eggs (Mikaela will be thrilled!)
After hanging out for a while with Temesgen at the orphanage and taking many photos of Yaebsira with her mother, we headed home, bought some baby cereal and food and let Dawit go home for the holiday. Tomorrow the sheep will be ‘gone’ and many children will have full bellies. After petting the creature, I’m not sure I will try it and
Donna doesn’t like mutton at all so it looks like hotel meals for us before and after the Christmas party at Hope.

Enough of my epic for now. Thanks for keeping us in your thoughts and
prayers. We love you all.

Mike

Ethiopian Update #2

2009-01-19T18:01:00.000-08:00

Monday, January 5

Ah, another wonderful Ethiopian day. We started early at the orphanage going over paperwork and we had a lot of time to snuggle the babies and play with the older children. I still can’t believe what incredible care the children get. They are so happy. We are also lucky to be sharing this experience with two other adopting families. Our boy Temesgen is wonderful.

He gave me a lot of smiles today and I was amazed at the amount of food this Buddha baby can pack away.

He was so skinny in his referral picture- it is amazing to see how round he is now!! He is still giving Michael the “eye” no matter how much Michael tried to get him to smile. We had the adventure today of picking up a sheep for Christmas dinner at the orphanage. For a gal who spent many years as a vegetarian, literally leading the sheep to slaughter was quite the challenge. Our driver took us to one spot- a small dirt road with lots of sheep roaming around and asked about prices. After arguing back and forth with the guy in Amharic, we all got back in the car because the price was too much and the sheep looked too old.

The second place was along the side of a large highway with sheep milling around in the dust.

Again they haggled for a while and then Dawit turned to me and said which one do you want? As if I know how to pick out a good sheep for dinner! They pulled several sheep out of the herd and stood them up on their hind legs (I’m still not sure what I was suppose to be looking for) and showed us their teeth.

It was Dawit who ended up picking out the sheep and within minutes it was in the trunk of his car. Michael paid them and then some men next to the man we paid started asking for more money for some kind of commission.

Dawit and Michael get back into the car and I try to get back into the car but they wouldn’t let me shut my door and continue holding their hand out. Dawit started driving away and we escaped with my heart beating pretty fast and my door flapping.

At Hope they were thrilled to have the sheep. (Dawit had some cleaning up to do in the trunk) Some of the children clapped. In the US the children would have run up to pet the sheep but here they were happy because they saw dinner. When we left the sheep was tied up in the court yard munching on some dry grass.

We went to the Hilton to exchange money and have lunch. It felt like an extravagant culture shock. After passing through a car check point and going through a metal detector and a security pat down, we passed into the land of the rich. Lush green lawns (the first green thing we have seen here),

an enormous pool, cabanas, fancy stores and several restaurants.

I was once again reminded of such inequality in this world. It made seeing the beggars along the side of the road all the more painful when we left. We then headed to the biggest outside market in Addis to complete the contrast. The best way I can describe it is to imagine taking Canal Street in Manhattan, enlarging it ten fold, don’t take the trash out for a year and construct most of the buildings out of various pieces of tin and you might come close to imagining this market. It is not a tourist place. We were traveling in two cars with the other families and they had a policeman bang on their car and look at them like they were crazy and tell them to roll their windows up. We were stopped by an officer and Dawit was asked to produce his license and then told to get moving.
A few shots of the market.

And finally, a quiet dinner in the hotel that took over two hours and cost eight dollars for Michael and me. Service is Ethiopian style: when they get around to it, but the food was good.

Our US Embassy appointment is tomorrow.

Our Ethiopian Adventure

2009-01-18T15:37:00.000-08:00

I could not access my blog in Ethiopia so finally i am uploading the updates from my trip. Here is the first one.

Sunday, January 4th 2009

I don't know how far into this update I will get tonight but I will try. We are very tired and have not had much sleep over the past few days and all that we did have was achieved in an upright position. After a rough start that included a missed flight, a flat tire, a full body search at security that included every item we had with us being pulled out and swiped with bomb sensitive cloths, we were finally on our way to Italy. We tried to make the best of our 16 hour layover in Rome and we explored a bit of the city. It was cold and rainy and we had no coats- hey we thought we were heading to Ethiopia!- but we didn't let that stop us. We toured the Piazza Venezia,

lit candles for our moms at the Basilica dis Maria Sopra Minerva,

This statue was right outside the church. I wish I knew the story about it.

looked with amazement at the Pantheon

and ate a wonderful Italian mean at the M. Agrippa al Pantheon.

This pup waited patiently outside the restaurant.

Then we headed to the Fontana di Trevi where I was thrown back in time. Many years ago, when I was young (carefree and reckless) I swam in that fountain with a friend. I hadn't thought about that in years!

After hours of walking, Michael and I returned to the airport soggy and cold and waited another 7½ hours for our flight. I spoke to Mikaela who is having a great time. When I got off the phone I sobbed into my cappuccino. I can't believe how much I miss her. Thanks Barb,for taking such good care of my baby.
We walked for hours around Rome. Here are some of the things we saw.

These guys had to be ready to flee in a moments notice. Once in a while they would suddenly pick up all their bags and run with the police chasing them. Ten minutes later they would be back doing business.

No Hummers on these streets

Nice advertising. Very subtle...

Getting tired of hoofing it around in the rain for hours.

I wonder how long she has waited for her flight.

The Damn Husband checks out the scenery as we wait for our flight.

Please Miss, help us get to Addis.

When we finally took off on Ethiopian Air to Addis, I slept the whole way. I woke up excited to see my children. Miraculously all our luggage arrived and our driver was waiting for us. On the car ride to the hotel I was relishing all the sights and sounds with pleasure. Once we arrived at the hotel we met two other couples who were heading
to the orphanage to see their children. We thought we would be following after them shortly but we couldn't get hold of our driver or our agency rep who was suppose to meet us to finish up paper work for our Embassy appointment. Michael was extremely jet lagged and I wouldn't let him sleep because I was sure any minute we would get picked up.

He ended up taking a nap and I ended up nearly going insane waiting. When we finally got a driver and arrived at Hope no one knewwe were coming and it was nap time for the babies. The caretakers were so sweet to let us come in. When we walked in they were trying to put a clean outfit on Temesgen and clean up his face.

He is so cute. Temesgen has the sweetest smile. He can stand by himself and crawl anywhere he wants. I can't find the words to describe how it felt to walk into that room and finally see him and kiss his soft feet.

He had a mild curiosity about me and let me hold him for a while but his love was saved for one of the caretakers who doted on him. Whenever he saw her his big eyes lit up and he smiled.

Will this dear sweet babe ever give me that look? I am reminded again that this joyous meeting for me is nothing but grief for him when I eventually take him away from everything he knows and loves. Yes, I am trusting that eventually, he will love his new life but the transition I know will be hard for him.

We were very hungry by the time we made it back to the hotel and we joined the other two couples at an Ethiopian restaurant where they perform traditional dances.

Michael couldn't resist and had to partake in the raw beef, hopefully he won't be sorry later.

When the Damn Husband was almost falling off his chair with exhaustion, I finally agreed to go back to the hotel. He is sleeping as I write this.
I know this update is long and it doesn't even cover a tiny tip of what we have experienced. I was not able to see my daughter, Yaebsira. Someone said she was still down in Nazaret and someone else said she was at a doctor's appointment. I will find out in the morning.

Missed Our Flight Blues

2009-01-02T04:26:00.000-08:00

Look. We were all ready to go. Three huge suitcases of donations, our stuff, baby stuff, the laptop for updates, the camera...
So far we have spent $200 to drag it to the airport and back home again.
I should not be blogging right now. I should be on a plane to Washington and then Ethiopia. The Damn husband had a bit of math trouble in choosing our departure time. I trusted him. The rainbow cab driver (no rainbow in sight)drove 25 miles an hour because he was afraid of deer. The line at the United counter was endless. When we got to the counter they no longer have humans helping you so you book everything through a machine. And just like the grocery store automated checkout, it can’t deal with anything unusual. It booted us out of the system because the ticket said we had an infant to check in for a lap seat. The piece of plastic automation did not care that we do not have our child yet and we only need this on the way home. So we were put in the ‘trouble’ line where only one man was working with a power attitude and by the time we got to him he declared we were too late to check our bags in. Next. We could have made it, but he had the authority to say no and seemed to enjoy it. He couldn’t care less that all I want to do is hold my baby. Such irony that the baby ticket is what did us in.
We woke up our LA travel agent and she is working on finding us another flight. I am going to go find something chocolate to eat.

Here is Michael, in full missed-our-flight-blues, waiting to hear back from the travel agent. No picture of me because no one likes to see a grown woman sobbing in an airport terminal.

I'm just not getting that warm holiday feeling.