tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61732108192277881012024-02-19T11:27:31.074-05:00not an only childAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.comBlogger309125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-37689552509705238022013-03-06T20:17:00.001-05:002013-03-06T20:17:15.008-05:0029<div>
Emmett is bursting with questions this year. He is getting older, wiser and more interested. He knows Uncle Greg through stories and photos and he also had a recent and jarring introduction to the reality of loss when Gram Gram died a month ago today. He knows more, understands more, he misses someone who was a cherished friend and playmate to him.<div>
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He wants to know where she is, and he wants her to come back home. I told him she is with Uncle Greg, now. I told him she is in heaven, and she would celebrate his birthday with him. Emmett asked me where heaven is, and I told him I didn't know. I said it could be anywhere- all around us, or in the sky, or someplace we haven't even dreamed up. He told me it's in the sky. He told me they can come back down here when they are ready.</div>
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I reminded him that they are both gone. We can't ever see them again, here. This means so much more to him, now, because he wants Gram Gram back. He relates this to Uncle Greg and he wants him to come back with her. He wants to see him, hug him, talk to him, really know him. It breaks my heart that he can't.</div>
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We made a birthday cake this morning, Emmett and me. He helped- mixed, cracked the eggs, fetched the ingredients and the measuring spoons. We were a team. He asked me, "How will Uncle Greg have a piece?" </div>
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I said that we would celebrate for him, eat it for him, since he isn't here. Emmett said, "Gram Gram will make him a cake." I said that was a nice thought, and I hoped she would. He asked me what kind it would be. The answer, of course, is chocolate with mocha frosting. We decided Uncle Greg was lucky to have two birthday cakes.</div>
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Emmett happily ate his piece of cake (cut off pre-frosting- Emmett does not like frosting), chatting casually about heaven and the sky and birthdays. </div>
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At bedtime, I thanked him for celebrating Uncle Greg with me today. I told him I am glad I can share this with him and we can remember him together. He asked if we could do it again sometime. I promised we would, every year on his birthday. </div>
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Then he told me he thinks Gram Gram and Uncle Greg don't live in the same place in the sky, "but they visit sometimes."</div>
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"I think that's nice. They can go back and forth where they live and spend time together?"</div>
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"Yes. They can. . . Remember we had snacks at our hotel at Disney? On the shelf?"</div>
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Today has been really tough for me. Greg's birthday has hit me fairly hard, especially right after losing Gram. I am sad and I am struggling, but tomorrow is another day. We made it through the day. And Emmett has been an enthusiastic and curious help and distraction today. We looked at photos, talked about my memories and had friends over for lunch and cake to celebrate. As long as we keep making new memories and treasuring the old ones, we will continue to heal.<div>
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-69830853996299838672012-12-01T09:32:00.001-05:002012-12-01T09:32:56.633-05:00christmas tree day Today is Christmas tree day. We are in the car, Mike, Emmett & me, on our way to a farm upstate where we can cut down our own tree. I insist on this, every year. It is one of the small ways I hang on to my brother. <br /><br />One of my favorite memories of him is the years we went, just the two of us, and chose the perfect tree to cut down and bring home. We would walk circles around every tree, examining them for flaws from all sides. Argue over what attributes mattered most in a tree. Eventually settle on one we both approved of. We both loved doing that, just him and me. <br /><br />I miss that, so much. My heart longs to choose a tree together with him again, even still. Even as I move forward and forge new, happy, family traditions, this one still pulls at me. <br /><br />We are a family, out to joyfully choose our tree and begin the holiday season of celebrations. That we will do, but there will be a moment, out on that tree farm, which I will take just for Greg and me, to remember and reflect, and to ask him to point me toward the very best one. <br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-61152281520680377532012-07-25T16:02:00.000-04:002012-07-25T16:02:00.861-04:00busy summer thingsIt's been so long since I've been here. Blogger has even changed its site - I logged on and it took me a minute to find my blog and figure out how to post something! <br />
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There are big things happening around my house... things I am not quite ready to talk about here just yet. Which is mainly why I've been absent. Soon, I will be ready, but I'll leave it at that for the moment.<br />
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In the meantime, we've had lots of family time lately. We had a big picnic in our backyard in June with about 60 family & friends, which was wonderful despite the stifling heat. We went to a baseball game with Mike's family and Emmett had playtime with Alli & Aaron.<br />
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We went up to Vermont for a family reunion with my Dad's family and had a great time with cousins, playing games, swimming and catching up.<br />
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In the past week, we've had an overnight visit from Katherine, Julia & Sam and then a 2 day visit from Maresi & Maria. These were both so great. I had lots of time to catch up with Kat & Maresi, and Emmett had plenty of cousin time. Both Julia & Maria had sleepovers in his room with him, and they did a great job. It was such a joy to have them!<br />
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Sadly, on Monday we lost Mike's Grandma Violet. She was a really special lady, and we miss her. We'll be driving down to PA tomorrow so that we can celebrate her life with family there on Friday. It is a sad occasion, but we will be glad to see cousins and family there.<br />
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Saturday, we begin our summer vacation with my family. Gram & Grandpa used to own a house on a lake, close to their home. It was their summer house, and my mom & her siblings grew up there, spending summers from the day school closed each year. They sold it many years ago when Grandpa was sick. The current owner of the house invited Gram and her children to come and see the place last summer. It turns out she rents it occasionally - and offered to give members of our family first option for renting it. We'll be there next week with my parents and Gram and Grandfather. It is a special place and I am really looking forward to spending the week there. Mike will unfortunately have to work during the week next week but is going to join us as much as he can.<br />
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It's a busy summer, as usual!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-53009639261831895532012-04-10T22:40:00.000-04:002012-04-10T22:40:30.500-04:00six years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicCigZorHBvX3pG8HHv2PP6jZCTFOuwV8I6qTotxaKCHysvLqiomql5BSbr7xSFG02J8FU0Tvu8EV5bg6vHdwtwCpuIJq9hlQKFgbtSocuwThjzGZMHhWALLEk6T9aJifxbOVgU-Dcowt/s1600/2012-04-10+TTT.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicCigZorHBvX3pG8HHv2PP6jZCTFOuwV8I6qTotxaKCHysvLqiomql5BSbr7xSFG02J8FU0Tvu8EV5bg6vHdwtwCpuIJq9hlQKFgbtSocuwThjzGZMHhWALLEk6T9aJifxbOVgU-Dcowt/s320/2012-04-10+TTT.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Six years, as of yesterday. Six years. It feels a moment and a lifetime. A fresh, angry, gaping wound and a dull, ever-fading scar. I didn't really mark the day yesterday. I acknowledged it briefly and then I tamped it down, powered through and pretended it wasn't happening. I survived the day. It is an ugly, ugly day and it is just a day like any other. As I'm sure I've said in past years, my little brother is just as dead today as he was yesterday. The anniversary technically makes the number of years he's been gone continue to tally up, but it's arbitrary, really. <br />
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And you know what? I was fine yesterday. By evening, I felt I'd been bottling up the feelings of the day, and I was afraid I wouldn't fall asleep easily. I knew if I didn't settle to sleep, the flood gates would open and I'd probably end up crying late into the night. I did, though. I fell asleep and I slept fairly well. For the first time since Greg died, I marked the anniversary without falling apart AND without feeling guilty about not falling apart. Being okay doesn't mean I miss him any less. It doesn't mean I am less sad or less hurt. It doesn't mean I won't still have bad days, sad days - I definitely do - but it does mean I'm healing. It means I am making my active, conscious decision, <i>every single day</i>, to live life and to move forward.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-32944186869001007882012-04-03T22:47:00.000-04:002012-04-03T22:47:20.549-04:00trumpet recital<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gTuQ7BzkC786KtVtba2fW3_YOGG5C0sbcaAQwpjVEUC5fm3BWA_t13qu26-HLY9NoCdgrS7o4-t0201CJuy-UXo7rXeAoCXMnrvZI73W-EV50hfZpEvRxhd27RKfQkxrtCWnkWPUB-a6/s1600/photo-13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gTuQ7BzkC786KtVtba2fW3_YOGG5C0sbcaAQwpjVEUC5fm3BWA_t13qu26-HLY9NoCdgrS7o4-t0201CJuy-UXo7rXeAoCXMnrvZI73W-EV50hfZpEvRxhd27RKfQkxrtCWnkWPUB-a6/s320/photo-13.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
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My senior recital was nine years ago last week. It's hard for me, now, to imagine this time in my life when I was so focused on music, and so prepared, skilled and confident that I could stand on stage and totally kick ass. It was an honor for me to share the stage time with my friend and recital partner, Courtney, and every year around the end of March I think of the hard work and the laughs that went into preparing for our big day. I am taking this as inspiration now, as I struggle to regain my skill and confidence as a trumpet player.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-60279128566042885022012-03-29T21:35:00.000-04:002012-03-29T21:35:50.131-04:00winter carrotAfter we moved into our house last May, one of the first things I did was dig up a section of flower garden to plant seeds for a small vegetable garden. Homegrown veggies make me so happy. I put in six tomato plants, which grew beautifully and gave tomatoes until a couple of storms did some damage and then the hurricane knocked them flat. I planted about 4 zucchini plants, which, all together, produced one zucchini all summer. One jalapeño plant, with loads of peppers, none of which were spicy even a tiny bit. A whole bunch of asparagus, which did well but was too young to produce edible asparagus -- it'll hopefully produce this year. And two rows of carrots, about which I was so excited, watching the tops grow and grow. I couldn't wait to harvest and eat some of the carrots under them. When I eventually started trying to dig up a couple, there was nothing there. Greens on top, and no carrots underneath. None! What a disappointment. <br />
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At the end of the season, we cleared out the garden and readied it for winter. <br />
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Last week, Mike was outside doing a little yard work since we've had all this unseasonably warm weather. He was in the garden fertilizing and watering the asparagus, and when he came back inside, he handed this to me:<br />
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I was going to give up on growing carrots, but perhaps I'll try again this year!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-37051744524046009192012-03-20T21:09:00.000-04:002012-03-20T21:09:53.507-04:00connecticut gothic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTn91t34Nvv1vG0AYB4H1IqurEjz5VNGpIoIRyfyTi2PC0GbU99tmLm435k-5fcaqEHXfVmCaZ4duY9LM92877TeS0CyqmVekz2W6IZGrPwS6zis7P3zIx-OgHgcZFT5jfvjlh_ufQ0qQZ/s1600/photo-11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTn91t34Nvv1vG0AYB4H1IqurEjz5VNGpIoIRyfyTi2PC0GbU99tmLm435k-5fcaqEHXfVmCaZ4duY9LM92877TeS0CyqmVekz2W6IZGrPwS6zis7P3zIx-OgHgcZFT5jfvjlh_ufQ0qQZ/s320/photo-11.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
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From a day of fun and taking silly pictures with just the four of us, circa 2000, which resulted in some of my favorite pics of Greg and the rest of us. I unearthed this one from a box of old photos this morning and it made me laugh.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-41594039399841923462012-03-06T22:47:00.000-05:002012-03-06T22:47:59.639-05:0028<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Q5y0nVGQxhGWr08O1BwDCYviAnAzf_cHwyd7QxnonhA-8_MIPTCcAyzkCwFLMAPkYYgItoe6kQdhPm1PBNi7QCVAmpn9aAdQlxwqCQSLVDHsMIvId-AH8v5OMZ_2wtAZcrb8D-JIXyPd/s1600/photo-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Q5y0nVGQxhGWr08O1BwDCYviAnAzf_cHwyd7QxnonhA-8_MIPTCcAyzkCwFLMAPkYYgItoe6kQdhPm1PBNi7QCVAmpn9aAdQlxwqCQSLVDHsMIvId-AH8v5OMZ_2wtAZcrb8D-JIXyPd/s320/photo-10.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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March 2000: Greg's sixteenth birthday.<br />
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Today, Emmett and I celebrated Greg's twenty-eighth birthday. Emmett wanted to sing Happy Birthday to Uncle Greg. I told him if we sing, he will hear us. In the end, he chickened out and didn't want to sing. He asked if we could go to Uncle Greg's house and see him. I had trouble finding the right words, but did my best to explain the truth as I know it, on the level of a two year old. Then we had cupcakes to celebrate Uncle Greg's birthday.<br />
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I have been fairly weepy today, but I am handling it okay. My friend Sandra and her daughter Julia came for a while this afternoon, which was a great distraction. The kids had fun and I was very grateful for their company. I am glad to be through Greg's birthday for the year, but on the other hand, it means time is ticking away another year without him.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-62059581928747815372012-02-28T22:49:00.000-05:002012-02-28T22:49:46.396-05:00happy birthday, gram<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM8VJ-wRq22ZrnkdNB9_4TZuTLr1Nn2qiGQXsBHNBZ7L-rdKS8lM8R2l_6J_sBY2QEaSlcSuhw7CBSpUqkbDawnDEJy31fMlx3py49vqvIi5HNwi8e_pVC3sL6NQNzauIHZ_fsd8qsNoI8/s1600/photo-7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM8VJ-wRq22ZrnkdNB9_4TZuTLr1Nn2qiGQXsBHNBZ7L-rdKS8lM8R2l_6J_sBY2QEaSlcSuhw7CBSpUqkbDawnDEJy31fMlx3py49vqvIi5HNwi8e_pVC3sL6NQNzauIHZ_fsd8qsNoI8/s320/photo-7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Do you remember this, Gram? I believe it was at our rental cottage on Lake Winnepesaukee, NH in 2004. I hope you were this lucky at cards today! Happy, happy birthday to you.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-78824359168739426492012-02-27T11:50:00.009-05:002012-02-28T22:38:22.508-05:00fighting for her little boyI <a href="http://www.notanonlychild.com/2012/02/empty-arms.html">posted briefly</a> the other day about <a href="http://emptyarmsandbrokenheart.blogspot.com/">my friend A</a>ni and the struggles she is facing right now. I'd like to elaborate and show my support for her now, as she has decided to go back to the county and fight to keep T. Knowing how dearly she loves him and how much she wants him to be her forever son, it hurts my heart to know he is potentially going to be ripped out of her loving home into another foster home. <br />
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Let me go back to the beginning of this story. I remember Ani & Flaco's lovely and sweet wedding ceremony, held on her parents' farm in rural PA. I remember her telling me later that Flaco wanted to begin trying for kids immediately; he wanted a houseful of kids and he was ready to start. Though they met while she was in the peace corps and were married in Nicaragua before he moved to PA, they did not look toward trying for children until they had a wedding ceremony with family and friends there.<br />
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Ani was a bit more hesitant, at first, she told me. She was so looking forward to starting a family, but she was anxious to make sure they had a stable life together before bringing children into their home. Not long after, though, excited to move forward, they began their journey toward a family. It started as most of these journeys do: with a decision to pitch birth control and see what happens. This turns into a mild obsession with the monthly calendar. And from there, for them, as it does with many, many couples, it turned into an infertility journey, taking over their lives and uncovering physiological issues that could prevent them from ever conceiving a child together.<br />
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With that realization, their path toward a family changed direction. Ani began to wonder about adoption. Flaco was slower to come on board, concerned about already being a minority here, and about potentially adding a child to their family who would not be the same racial mix as their biological babies would have been, and possibly completely different from both of them. Wanting a family as they did though, he agreed and they moved forward with the process, while also exploring the possibility of fertility treatments (none of which turned out to be viable for them).<br />
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I heard from Ani last June, asking if I'd agree to be a reference for their adoption. I agreed immediately, and received a questionnaire in the mail, which I filled out and returned. It was much simpler than I expected it to be. Very basic questions, and easy to answer. I wrote exactly what I thought based on what I knew of their marriage and of each of them personally - obviously I know much more about Ani, having known her for almost 12 years, including as a roommate in college. But the minimal time I did spend with Flaco, at various gatherings and occasions, I perceived a loving, stable marriage. I know they struggled with many things, not least of which was logistics of Flaco's move to the US, and the culture shock and adjustment that went with it. But the picture I saw was that of a stable couple.<br />
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The last time I got to see Ani & Flaco together in person, it was this past December. They came up for an overnight to renew Flaco's Nicaraguan passport in the city. We had some time to catch up, and it was so enjoyable. They knew they were on the brink of approval for adoption, and the anticipation was evident in both of their faces. I gave them an old high chair of ours to take home for their collection of kid stuff they were trying to accumulate to be ready. Flaco carried it out to the car, and there was joy even in the task of loading into the car, knowing its potential.<br />
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I know my friend well. If there had been any shadow of doubt about her marriage and their future as adoptive parents together, I believe I would have seen a sign of it. <br />
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When I heard the following day that they'd been approved and were officially waiting for a child, I could not have been more excited. After following Ani's struggle against infertility for three years, I felt such joy that she and Flaco would soon have the family they'd always wanted. <br />
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It wasn't long before their world changed. It changed so fast and it changed <i>everything</i>. Ani and Flaco took in a little boy named T at the end of January. Having met him, Ani's entire universe refocused around this boy she expected would become her forever son. <br />
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Through texts, emails and photos, Ani told me about T, her days spent with him, getting to know him, helping him to adjust to a stable home with discipline and steady love. She told me how he began to thrive with them, to learn new words in both English and Spanish. I heard about their journey to discover cloth diapers and a solution that worked for T. I heard about difficult bedtimes morphing into routines that helped T feel adjusted and secure. And then I heard that he, unprompted and out of the blue, began calling Ani, "Mommy," a thing he'd never done with his previous (long-term) foster family.<br />
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My heart soared for Ani, hearing about her happy new life. Not without its difficulties and adjustments, she and Flaco welcomed their long-awaited baby home and found such joy in it. <br />
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Almost as quickly, this new life started to shatter. Flaco decided he wasn't sure he could accept this son if his skin was dark. After much deliberation and agony, they came to an impasse. Ani suggested marriage counseling to decide how to move forward with their relationship and family. With one fell swoop, Flaco refused to accept T, refused to accept marriage counseling, and their marriage was over. <br />
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Devastated by the loss of her marriage, Ani stumbled but did not fall. She couldn't. Like any other mother, she had her baby to consider, and knew that his needs come first. She picked herself up and moved forward. She made plans, calculated finances, came up with solutions and ways to move forward in the best way possible for T and for herself. She took cautious steps forward, and, met with acceptance by T's social worker, who has been with him through his entire foster journey, she made plans to continue with T's adoption on her own. <br />
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These adoption plans have been torn apart by the county -- by T's lawyer, who had not seen T in six months, and <i>who has never even met Ani</i>, and by the county social worker handling T's case, who began interviewing families where T could be relocated. With the devastating outcome of one meeting, impersonal and failing to take into account the most important piece of the puzzle - <i>T himself</i> - Ani felt empty, lost, sad and unable to see a way forward without T. <br />
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Unable to envision her life without T, Ani decided to do everything in her power not to allow that to happen. Ani is going to fight for her little boy. She's going to go to the county, and show them that she's a fit mother for T, and the best choice for him. She doesn't know how it will come out, but she can't go down without a fight. She won't let them take him from her without her fair chance to prove that T deserves to stay with her.<br />
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She said the following in an email to me today: "I am looking to see if there is an appeal process or any kind of 'check' on the decisions that these people make - what if they are wrong? Who checks up on that? And I am looking to friends and family, who support me, to write a simple email to the county... I don't know if it will do any good, but I MUST try. I have nothing to lose at this point, since they plan on taking T away from me..."<br />
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Ani is so strong. She is filled with so much love, and she would be such a wonderful forever mommy for T. She can bring T and herself through all of this and come out of it with a happy, stable home for the two of them, I know she can, if only the county will give her that chance.<br />
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***Update, 2/28/12: The county has made its decision and placed T elsewhere. Thanks to all of you for your prayers and words of support for Ani. Also updated this post to change identities to pseudonyms.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-33431082392989065082012-02-24T21:01:00.001-05:002012-02-24T21:01:11.340-05:00empty armsA <a target="_blank" href="http://emptyarmsandbrokenheart.blogspot.com/">good friend of mine</a> has suffered the end of her marriage and the adoption of her sweet boy falling through all at once, and she is so sad and lost right now. Please go send her some love. And, if you are the praying kind, I think she could use all the prayers she can get right now. <br /><br /><br /><br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-14779178830247949812012-02-21T23:47:00.000-05:002012-02-21T23:47:21.433-05:00i am going to go out on a limb here and assume that we weren't completely sober in this photo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmiAUy-dUqbBqO-t_3Q_duZI2_FjIR5LFCVQhlfW3r2jZ57EZ-Pe-0jqdb6lFptyKI-AvjpHYp3oc6JRixmIYRn62cCpbY-rDFHiKuhk8z4bUGLW8UBS1u6ZVk6jij92NZHORVowxrdCU/s1600/photo-6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmiAUy-dUqbBqO-t_3Q_duZI2_FjIR5LFCVQhlfW3r2jZ57EZ-Pe-0jqdb6lFptyKI-AvjpHYp3oc6JRixmIYRn62cCpbY-rDFHiKuhk8z4bUGLW8UBS1u6ZVk6jij92NZHORVowxrdCU/s320/photo-6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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This was 2003, the end of my senior year and the end of Alissa's junior year. We were quad-mates (along with Thais and Kelly) and never have I laughed so much as we all did that year. We promised to stay friends, as college friends do, and though Alissa and I don't see each other as often as we'd like, she is still one of my most treasured friends.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-19517759544636294552012-02-14T14:32:00.000-05:002012-02-14T14:32:40.524-05:00tuesday time travelWelcome to a new feature I am starting here! I'm calling it Tuesday Time Travel. Each Tuesday I will take you back in time, via photos from my past - some old and some more recent. <br />
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I'm kicking this off with something that may look familiar to some of you:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQXoQmpdgrZ_BY5cXMvsAP8NkD5uzY6MUVFHu62B6SBD_futGz4uVHcMb4IGo21CenJFtVu3Tr5ZmHZt9I5ob4UG0kXyVlX7SVGX0Uzog0na3X3sFOhHRhq7jcRokF69G30We-tI1_ViS/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQXoQmpdgrZ_BY5cXMvsAP8NkD5uzY6MUVFHu62B6SBD_futGz4uVHcMb4IGo21CenJFtVu3Tr5ZmHZt9I5ob4UG0kXyVlX7SVGX0Uzog0na3X3sFOhHRhq7jcRokF69G30We-tI1_ViS/s320/photo-2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<a href="http://seeemmettgrow.wordpress.com/2011/10/29/halloween-at-little-gym/">Emmett got to wear that leopard costume this past Halloween</a>. <br />
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I'm guessing the year of this photo to be 1987, though it could have been 1988. Standing in Mamie & Grandfather's kitchen, that's me in the mouse costume and Greg in the leopard costume. We had awesome homemade Halloween costumes when we were kids. We used to go trick-or-treating by car, all around to different relatives' houses, since we didn't live in a walkable neighborhood.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-2831223152149346362012-02-09T09:57:00.000-05:002012-02-09T09:57:17.893-05:00scene: kitchen table, lunch time, a couple weeks agoEmmett is eating pasta, begging for more parmesan cheese to be added to the bowl between every bite.<br />
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Mama: "Emmett, don't you think that's enough cheese?"<br />
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Emmett: "No. I need more cheese! I <i>need </i>it."<br />
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Mama: "You're just like your Uncle Greg; he used to eat lots and lots of cheese on his pasta, too."<br />
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Emmett: "Where is Uncle Greg? Where is Uncle Greg's cheese?"Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-29053394707417673562012-01-09T15:57:00.000-05:002012-01-09T15:57:44.774-05:002011<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Everywhere I look, the past couple of weeks, there is a blogger recapping 2011. There are memes, countdowns, favorites lists, essays, casual mentions and recaps... countless different ways it's being done. I see them and I like their ideas for documenting and remembering, and I want to do the same.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I've realized something about myself, though. I think I think differently from most people. I see all these year end/new year posts, full of specific memories and timelines from the past year. And I can't come up with things that happened in the past year. Which is not to say I can't remember things - just that I remember them in a different way. I don't think in a linear way.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>I group things - events, trips, parties, holidays, even songs and books - into emotional categories, rather than linear, time-related categories. I can tell you about all the time I spent with my cousins. I can tell you about the best things Emmett and I have done, seen, eaten & played with. I can tell you about trips I've taken to PA and trips to CT. I can tell you about the times we've had people over and the most enjoyable meals we've had out as a family. I can tell you about the projects I've done on the house (bad example, maybe, since that's all from 2011!). And I can tell you the best books I've read and the songs that stick out in my mind.<br />
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But, unless hard pressed to think it through on a calendar, I most likely can't tell you when these things happened. Feelings tell me about these things. Memories and nostalgia and objects that remind me of events and people keep my memories alive. I think my brain doesn't have a calendar function - at least for memories. <br />
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Over the course of 2011, there are really only two events that were major enough to stick out for me on a timeline. One year ago this week, I had a miscarriage. And four months after that, in May, we moved into our new home. <br />
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I do think linearly, in an organized timeline kind of way, for future planning. The new year, every year, does feel like a fresh start to me. While I don't always do resolutions or goals, I do feel a sense of new beginning. I feared that this year would be different for me. I am anxious for a bigger family, something we've been trying to do for 20 months now. Going into 2012 with so much time stretching out in front of me and no real control over the situation seemed daunting and scary and endless. I discovered, though, that opening up and talking to Mike was an excellent way to center myself and create goals for overcoming secondary infertility and growing our family (imagine - actually communicating in a direct way - who knew?!). <br />
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I am feeling more positive about my marriage, my family, my home and my network of friends and family than I have in a very long time.<br />
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I am ready for you, 2012. Bring it.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-74492500481713452242011-12-05T22:56:00.000-05:002011-12-05T22:56:24.932-05:00until it happens to someone you love<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:DoNotShowPropertyChanges/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
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<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~ <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Picture a small, cozy clearing ringed with towering, ancient pine and maple trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the center naturally fallen logs sit around a tall, blazing bonfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A gentle breeze slinks into the clearing bringing with it the heady scent of moist wood and whisking the fire’s smoke into the wide blue sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This same breeze also makes the trees rustle in a strange, almost other-worldly music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen closely, and you may hear the forest’s heartbeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is made up of the voices of birds twining together with the trees and squirrels in an orchestral imitation of glorious sound around you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sing of the simple joys of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where I believe my second cousin Gregory would visit often.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Gregory was a very likable guy with a great personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lived for the outdoors spending every available second there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of this he worked as a construction worker which provided opportunity to stay outdoors and work hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as a kid, I am told, he was very adventurous and would often be out skiing, hiking or kayaking (among many others) with his parents (my Great Aunt and Uncle) and his sister Amy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He enjoyed fishing trips, and as a teen, joined not one, but two Outward Bound programs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone can see why I liked spending time with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Unfortunately, Gregory was also addicted to drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had started with marijuana and by the time of his death, he was using heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Grandmother (his Aunt), speculates that Gregory’s adventurous spirit may have been what caused him to start in the first place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He died at the age of 22, only 7 years older than I am now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right before he died he had been in the process of planning a hiking trip in the famous Appalachian Trail with his girlfriend Aggie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time of his death in 2006, I was 10, soon to be 11 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point I was still very much a kid, but I remember being told he had died, and feeling shocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had actually gone to a rehab facility in Oklahoma from July, 2005 to January, 2006.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, when he came back his friends started him with drugs all over again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now that I am older I can feel the full effects of this grief and it still hurts to think about him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever my Grandparents held a party, Gregory would always set aside some time to go out in the yard to play with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before any of this happened I never had a reason to think about drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew what they were and what they do but, it was never really a concern of mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You never expect anyone you know to die from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost every night you hear a story about a drug addict dying on the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You automatically assume that they were a bad person, and you don’t give it another thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until it happens to someone you love you don’t know what it is truly like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gregory wasn’t a bad or stupid person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was smart and got help but it didn’t stick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now when I hear about a dead drug addict I think about what their family must be feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is truly a horrible thing and no one should have to go through it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Looking back at what happened to Gregory has reinforced my resolution to never use drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happened to Gregory scares me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t ever want my life to end in such a way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a memorial of Gregory’s death his parents decided to set up a fund in his honor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fund benefits such organizations like the AMC (Appalachian Mountain Club) and Outward Bound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These organizations help young people gain a stronger understanding and appreciation of the outdoors which Gregory loved so much.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">~~~~~~~~~~~~ </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">This essay is published exactly as Zachary wrote it, without edits from me. A few facts in his writing are not exactly accurate as I know them and some points, of which I have a much different perspective, I would have addressed quite differently. Having said that, the piece is honest, true and accurate to Zachary's knowledge and I think it captures a very special point of view. Zachary, I thank you for the honor of allowing me to share this piece here.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Information on the memorial fund to which Zachary refers can be found <a href="http://www.notanonlychild.com/2010/11/memorial-fund.html">here</a>.<br />
</span></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-22980030473827748542011-11-28T23:25:00.000-05:002011-11-28T23:25:05.440-05:00reflectingIf the complete lack of response to last week's post is any indication, I am sort of back to the drawing board here. I suppose that takes the pressure off - I feel like I'm just writing for myself, for my own therapy and benefit, which is why I started this blog in the first place. Writing here has helped me wade through a lot of difficult things, as well as celebrate many joys. I'm going to take this opportunity to go back to writing just for me - when I feel like writing and whatever I feel like writing. When I write consistently, I am much healthier emotionally. I am more likely to take things in stride. I face things instead of shoving them away in my mind to fester. I write, let the words spill out onto the screen, and once I've done that, I can step back and gain perspective. If I'm just writing for my own therapy, it will be okay with me. If you are reading and want to come along for the ride, welcome; I'll be thrilled to have you.<br />
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I'm not sure if I've written about this before, but I'm not going back into the archives to check because it's on my mind and I'm going to write about it either way. One of my most favorite memories with Greg was taking the time to go pick out a Christmas tree together. He used to work part time during Christmas season at a local tree farm, and he had access to the farm's special reserve sections of trees. We'd spend ages up there, covering every bit of ground and examining every tree. We'd argue the pros and cons of this one or that one and finally settle on the very best one. Greg would cut it down and we'd drag it down the hill to wrap it up and take it home. For a few years, we did this together, just the two of us. <br />
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This memory remains present and cherished for me. I love to pick the perfect tree every Christmas, and always feel Greg's presence when I find a good tree and I can almost hear him sighing impatiently and listing all the criticisms he'd have about it. It makes me happy to choose a tree I know he'd love, too. And I'm lucky that Mike likes to participate in getting a tree with me. He grew up with artificial trees but has never questioned my desire for a real tree; he understands how much it means to me choose and enjoy a fresh tree. <br />
The last several years, living in cities, we've mostly been limited to the small tree stands set up around urban areas. Most of the trees are wrapped up tight, with an impatient staff, unwilling to unwrap tree after tree for my examination. It's definitely not the same experience. This year, we decided to go to a farm not far from our house and cut our own tree. Emmett got to be part of the experience. He was <i>so excited</i>. He took off running with complete and utter joy, in and out of the trees, around the entire area. He loved looking at all the trees and he was so happy right along with me when we found our tree. Although, after Mike cut ours down, he wasn't finished - he wanted to keep looking; keep finding more trees! <br />
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We got the tree strapped to the top of the car, brought it home, and Emmett followed me around and around the tree as I strung the lights. He keeps shrieking excitedly that we have a Christmas tree! Like he keeps remembering it's there and he can't believe his luck! We haven't put on the ornaments yet; we'll get to that later this week. But it's up, lit, and filling our house with light and holiday spirit. <br />
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I am very thankful that Emmett and Mike share in my joy. It helps me keep alive my memories of selecting and loving the perfect Christmas trees with Greg.<br />
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Choosing a tree is a symbol of the start of the holiday season for me. It's a tangible start to a time filled with love, giving, feasting, and - most importantly, to me - the joyful and frequent gathering of family and friends. This is my favorite time of year.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-91525016513115674482011-11-22T23:59:00.001-05:002011-11-22T23:59:39.380-05:00prompts, please?I have been suffering from serious writer's block lately. I guess that's fairly obvious. I want to write, very badly actually, but I just can't seem to string any meaningful words together. <br /><br />I don't know if I have any readers left at all by now, but if you're out there and you'd like to see more of my writing, I've got a favor to ask of you. Please ask me a question, make an observation, or suggest a topic you think I should cover here. Absolutely anything goes. <br /><br />You can submit anonymously or not, either way. Just leave a comment below or email me via link at the top of the page. <br /><br />I know this is a lot to ask, but I'm getting desperate- this place is such a good outlet for me and I really want to use it. I thank you from the bottom of my heart in advance!<br /><br /><br /><br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-82017911247359569592011-10-21T15:55:00.000-04:002011-10-21T15:55:46.530-04:00a semi-tuned pianoShortly before we moved into our house, we came across an opportunity for a piano. It was in a house about 15 minutes away from here, a house that someone our agent knew had bought to flip. They just wanted to get rid of it; all we had to do was arrange a time to pick it up and it was ours. Not having any idea what to expect, we emptied the moving truck, took a few strong friends to help and relocated it to our living room.<br />
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It turned out to be a lovely piece of furniture, though it was old and suffered from significant neglect. It was so violently out of tune that I didn't even let Emmett play around with it. I shut the lid, waiting for a piano tuner friend of ours to have a chance to look at it.<br />
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A few weeks ago, Alissa and Paul came to spend the afternoon and have dinner. Paul, the piano tuner, brought his bag of tricks and took a look. His initial evaluation was that the strings were old and brittle, and the entire inside was dusty and rusty and generally neglected. To fix it properly, it would need lots of parts and lots of work, but he agreed to give it a go, tuning it as is, knowing there was a good chance a string would break at any time, rendering any work done worthless. <br />
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As he began to tune it, he started playing the notes up the keyboard. The piano was so far out of tune that as he was going up the keys, the pitch actually went back down in a couple of places. By some miracle, though, he made it all the way through and thanks to his skillful work, the piano became playable!<br />
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It is surely not perfect, as the piano itself has plenty of flaws and he only had time to tune it once, rather than the usual 3 times in one day to achieve the best result, and it has, of course, slipped some since the day he worked on it. It's more like an old church basement piano, slightly out of tune, a little musty sounding, with a couple of notes down near the bottom that sound pretty hollow, but it's <i>my </i>piano. It is providing Emmett and me with plenty of laughter and music. I'm not very good, but he doesn't care, and it's making me so happy to have a piano in the house and to be learning to play a little bit again.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-35910697127403545502011-09-29T08:08:00.000-04:002011-09-29T08:08:02.409-04:00community wind ensembleYou guys! I found a community wind ensemble. It rehearses less than 10 minutes from my house. They rehearse once a week and have about 4 concerts September through May. There are two vacancies: clarinet and trumpet. I applied this morning, and am hopeful I'll get a call to audition. I am unbelievably excited about this. Cross your fingers for me!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-48533645623241123252011-08-28T22:30:00.001-04:002011-08-28T22:30:52.952-04:00hurricanes, generators and neighbors<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/28/5265.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/28/s_5265.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />We went into Hurricane Irene expecting heavy, heavy rain and power loss, rendering our fancy new monster of a sump pump useless, since we don't have a generator on it yet. Knowing this, we spent Saturday emptying the basement as best we could, and raising up/securing things. The storm hit pretty hard Saturday evening into this morning, though we didn't lose power until this morning. <br /><br />We had about 5 inches of water in the basement at one point, but thanks to an extremely kind, generous and resourceful neighbor, a generator was hooked up to our pump and it remains under control. He knew we didn't have a generator, and he had an old one he'd never run. He was at our house last night from about 11pm to 12:45am, with Mike, getting it up and running for us. He brought it over, tested it, discovered it was missing a part (the governor - which, I gather, is quite important). So he went back over to his house and he <i>built the part for it</i>. It totally saved us. <br /><br />The rain stopped, the wind has mostly died down, and the water is gone from our garage & basement. The generator has been moved to a new location between the two houses (pictured above), and it gave us some light, cold food/drinks and charged phones for a couple hours tonight. We don't know when we'll have power back or when the trains will start running again, but it doesn't matter too much. <br /><br />Irene didn't leave nearly as much destruction as she had potential to cause. Our trees are still standing and our basement is drying out. The neighborhood was out in full force this afternoon; we are surrounded by kind, thoughtful, interesting neighbors. And there is cold beer in the fridge. <br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-5106465894629548022011-08-25T07:25:00.001-04:002011-08-25T07:25:50.851-04:00ramblings heard through the monitor this morningTranscribed in real time, as I'm listening to him:<br /><br />"Daddy make a fire? Yeah? Yeah!"<br /><br />"Sonnez les matines, ding ding dong."<br /><br />"Read a book. Read a book. Read a book."<br /><br />"See Poppy? See Poppy right there? Bye bye Poppy!"<br /><br />"Make breakfast? Okay!"<br /><br />"Frere Jacques, dormez vous, sonnez les matines, ding ding dong"<br /><br />"Want some milk? Amy? Amy!"<br /><br />After his book hits the floor- "Mama get it? Mama get it? Mama get OUT?"<br /><br />"Play letters. Play letters. Play letters."<br /><br />"Frere Jacques. Frere Jacques."<br /><br />"Get out. Get out!"<br /><br />"Mamamamamamamamamamama"<br /><br />"h k l m o p q"<br /><br />"Talk to Poppy now! Yeah! Oh yeah!"<br /><br />"Lie down, Puppy. Get your diaper on. All done."<br /><br />"Mama! Okay, I'm coming. Come on! Come on!"<br /><br />I guess that's my cue to go get him up!<br /><br /><br /><br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-41215306432808529032011-08-16T22:56:00.001-04:002011-08-16T22:56:18.879-04:00ponderingAlways, the first thing to pass through Emmett's lips if he stirs in the night is, "Mama." I wonder how long that will be true. <br /><br /><br /><br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-19237634891862164942011-07-26T15:42:00.000-04:002011-07-26T15:42:03.589-04:00the things that can drag you backAs you may know, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amy_Winehouse">Amy Winehouse</a> died on Saturday, and, though it hasn't been confirmed by toxicology yet, the public assumption is that she died from a drug overdose. Her use of drugs was widely publicized and when her death was reported, several offhand comments popped up on my facebook news feed. One person in particular, someone close and dear to me, posted a particularly dismissive comment about how unsurprising her death was.<br />
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Whenever a celebrity dies of a drug overdose, which has happened a few times since Greg died, there are inevitably these types of comments in the media and in general conversation. I am in the habit of blocking out these discussions, as it brings forward some difficult feelings for me. I know that these people used drugs of their own accord; in a way, they "brought it upon themselves," as is often said. I also know that addiction and its struggles, in reality, are far more complicated than that. These addicts - these <i>people </i>- they have families. They have friends. They have lives and issues and struggles and joys and sorrows.<br />
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Even if they are celebrities, this is true. Even if the media has shown only one side of them. Even if it's so easy to dismiss them as worthless addicts you've never met and won't think twice about. <br />
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I force myself to block out these comments, because I am hyper-sensitive to this issue. If I let it in, every single offhand comment about drugs, addicts and overdoses makes me question how people view my family. My brother died of an overdose because he made some bad decisions, and because of addiction. I am in no way denying that. But that is just a small part of his story. That is what happened to him, but that is not his story. That is not his legacy. That is only a small part of him. <br />
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Amy Winehouse's family, right now, has to deal with the media (not just news, but blogs, magazines, social networks, tabloids, and countless other outlets) making assumptions about their daughter, their sister, their cousin, their friend.<br />
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I dealt with, and still deal with, enormous internal struggles regarding how to present my brother's memory. I am not trying to make him a saint, because heaven knows he wasn't. I am not trying to hide the fact that he died of a heroin overdose, because he did. That's what happened. I just don't want people to forget the rest of his story; I don't want the rest of it to be overshadowed by the way he died. <br />
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When that facebook post popped up the other day, I closed facebook and ignored it. But it ate away at me, dragging up all those fears that people just think of my brother as a druggie, and no wonder he died, oh well, tough break, life goes on. It made me remember hearing through the grapevine that many high school classmates of mine - people I never called friends - were gossiping about Greg and digging for juicy details about his death. It made me realize how incredibly painful that was, and on such a small scale. Imagine being under that kind of offhand scrutiny in front of the general public?<br />
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I went back into facebook and told this person how I felt. This person responded, we talked about it, and it ended with an apology and the post being taken down. I explained that I know I am hyper-sensitive to the issue, and I wasn't trying to censor. I just wanted another perspective included. But as I said, this person is dear to me, and understood where I was coming from.<br />
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I've been secretly bothered by these types of comments from many different sources since Greg died - some related to him directly, but most of them not. I don't know what made me confront it this time, but I'm glad I did. It dragged out a lot of residual pain, hurt and fear but it was worth it. It was therapeutic, in a way. And I sincerely thank the facebook friend in question for listening to me and understanding. Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6173210819227788101.post-85658226685499072102011-06-21T22:20:00.000-04:002011-06-21T22:20:28.813-04:00herb garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was going to continue our tour by moving through the <a href="http://www.notanonlychild.com/2011/06/front-door.html">front door</a> into the front hall, but I'm holding that for later because I can't wait to show you our herb garden project! I only wish I had thought to take a well-framed before picture.</div><br />
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This is the best picture I can find of our kitchen door area before we built an herb garden and bigger patio area. It doesn't show the patio area at all, but it was basically a small sidewalk, from the stairs to the driveway, and mostly overgrown. We cleared out a big overgrown section of this garden, including pachysandra, which is an absolute nightmare of an underground vine. We dug out some large rocks, which were probably a wall or border at one time before they got mixed into the garden soil. We built a wall, fertilized, planted herbs. Then we tackled the small sidewalk/patio area. There are pieces of slate scattered around our property, so we gathered those. Then we dug out the area where we wanted to put them, leveled it, chose pieces of stone and built an expanded patio.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoUDSHFcHHgeeGTYeRfoyA4Ic6oTJjHAw7Q1rePb7ww1x-N0Fgf2IXRBAM7zDA-SfnF6e3VDHqscF0Nxn02b6b5Z9Mi-_0_n152ugCmNMWk9XOws694OfYZ5VAT4UwvXhnfMxQ3yRV7mx/s1600/June+2011_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEoUDSHFcHHgeeGTYeRfoyA4Ic6oTJjHAw7Q1rePb7ww1x-N0Fgf2IXRBAM7zDA-SfnF6e3VDHqscF0Nxn02b6b5Z9Mi-_0_n152ugCmNMWk9XOws694OfYZ5VAT4UwvXhnfMxQ3yRV7mx/s320/June+2011_0002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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This was initially supposed to be a quick project of ripping out some plants and putting in some herbs, but it turned into a redesign of this entire area. I am so happy with how it came out, and I find myself lingering in that area just to enjoy it. Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01240362815015354728noreply@blogger.com0