yoyu mama

How Are We Doing? This About Sums It Up.

2012-02-02T08:59:00.001-05:00

Our mornings are chaotic. There is never enough time, it seems, to simply get the day started with three children without telling someone to hurry, stay on task, just put on your gosh-darn socks. Our school day starts early; we must leave the house by 7:30 or we’ll be late, the oh-so-dreaded late for kindergarten and first grade, the very stupidity of which thought makes me giggle and want to take them out for coffee, because who cares if you’re late for kindergarten? How much does it matter in the grand scheme of things? Yet I rush them along, but sometimes the universe has other plans for my humility.

Yesterday was one of those mornings of constant hurry-ups; we were running later than our usual standard, and the grey, grey sky and silently falling rain did not help our scheme. When we finally made it out the door I realized I had left my keys in the locked house and then the sky let loose with rain that fell in sheets. Since I know myself and my habit of locking myself out, I had long ago hidden another set of front door keys in the garage. Big kids crouched under the garage eaves while I ran around to the front door with the shoeless baby in my arms, both of us soaked through within seconds, but we got the car keys and started off for school a mere 15 minutes late and in surprisingly good humor. I firmly believe that being able to laugh at one’s own follies is the most important skill to have as a parent.

We got to school, parked the car in the very most pothole-filled parking lot on the face of the planet, and ran around the corner toward the school’s entrance. As we did so, another very-late-parent-type was pulling up to the curb and ran over a seltzer bottle, which exploded in a very loud POP!, spewing its contents and cap directly into poor Emma’s face and mouth, down her shirt, in her jacket hood. These things only happen to me, I thought. She burst into tears; we headed to the nurse to clean her up, and she recovered with her usual grace and good humor. Both kids made it to their classrooms in time to begin morning work. Phew! I thought I was in the clear, with the morning marathon complete I could now go home and have that cup of coffee and try to convince myself that the shower I sped through only an hour ago was worth it despite the sweat now running down my back. But as I turned to leave Emma’s classroom, her teacher turned to me and with a sarcastic smile said as she looked at my beautiful littlest son, “Boy, he really slows you down, doesn’t he?”

Damn. That one sentence crushed me in an instant, undid all of the upbeat thoughts and smiles I had managed to be putting forth all morning. To be scolded by her teacher was a slap I did not need on a morning that had been less than stellar. Against my better judgment I immediately went on the defense, telling her about the soda bottle and the trip to the nurse, turning it around to make her be the one to feel bad – oh, this was not one of my finer moments. I will admit that I stewed about it all day long, even called a friend who recently added a nearly two year old to her family and she commiserated with me about how hard this is, how tender and fragile these new family relationships we are building still are, and how not sleeping for a month can kill your sense of humor.

I let that one comment knock down so much of my parenting self-esteem, and I know better. So at the end of the day I picked up those two great big kids of mine, threw scooters and stroller in the car, and headed to my in-laws’ house for a walk/scooter in the sunshine, up and down hills, around and through puddles. I cheered them on when they made a good splash and instead of telling them to hurry up, I cheerfully hollered wait for me and raced them up the road. We stopped to watch the snow-melt draining in rivers and rivulets down the storm drains, listened to bird calls, and praised the balmy wind that flushed our cheeks. They giggled at their new brother, he called back to them with his biggest grin, and I smiled at how strong their bond is, how very far we have come already.

Yes, they slow me down, but it is wonderful, it is everything I ever wanted and more. And I really don’t care if we are late for kindergarten.

Party of Five

2012-01-03T21:01:00.001-05:00

It would seem I have some explaining to do:

Sometimes, when you least expect it, life throws you a surprise party. Six months early and smiley as can be, Desmond arrived home just in time for the holidays and put a pretty great spin on what had otherwise been a really tough year. I’m still not sure how it all transpired, but I know that our new son is terrific and that his little hand wrapped around my finger is pure magic.

Shaking my fist at Google+

2011-09-05T19:16:00.000-04:00

Have you noticed that when you scroll back a bit in the archives of this blog you suddenly find black boxes that look something like a strange road sign instead of the pretty pictures that used to be there? Yeah, me too. Annoying! It seems that upon signing up for Google+ I hit a snag that many others have unfortunately found as well. In short, Google+ ate all of my photos from associated accounts, including Picasa web albums and Blogger.

Now, before you get all computer hero on me and try to save me from my poor blogging self (not that I do not appreciate your valiant efforts, because I do!) I have been in contact with the powers that be at Blogger and there is no quick fix, perhaps no fix at all for the foreseeable future. Luckily I had a backup of my archives saved to a file on my computer and I was able to export that to Wordpress and basically rebuild my blog from that, sans comments. It took some time and I am still tweaking it, but once things are up and running I will post the appropriate links and get back to writing.

All of this to let you know that yes, I also see the bog black boxes and yes, I am working on fixing them. Go carry on with your last few days of summer and check back here next week. And whatever you do, if you have a blog on blogger, do not join Google+ until they have this glitch fixed!

The Edge

2011-08-15T15:23:00.002-04:00

I made Brendan drive us all out to Wellfleet last week during our vacation in Cape Cod. It was out of the way and took awhile to get there, but I insisted and he relented and even agreed that perhaps it was a good idea. I just felt this strange need to be there, in a place where I had once stood decades before; I felt as though my soul needed to breathe in that particular air and gaze upon on that particular stretch of sand.
While standing at the edge of the water, at the point where ocean meets land, I was reminded of some things that seem important and noteworthy. Before me the sea spread out, wide and expansive, reaching as far as nowhere and more powerful than anything. The sand dunes, like mountains, plunge down steeply to meet it and in between the two I realized this: we are nothing. Insignificant. A mere blip on the radar that is this time on this earth in this universe. The feeling that came with this realization was one of immediate and overwhelming peace: no matter what I do in this life, the world is much, much bigger than my circumstances, choices, mistakes, or ideas at any moment in time. It will all go on whether I am here or not, wave after wave will pound the shore and grains of sand will move in the water and wind and rain.
Then I turned around and saw this:

and this:

Two shivering kids waiting for their mama to finish with her crazy picture taking so they could run on the open expanse in front of them; one husband, knowing his wife needed to see this for some reason that stretches back in time to another family trip that was clouded with grave sadness, waiting patiently for the time to be enough, for the ocean to soak into her pores and restore her.
Seeing them there, waiting for me, I realized that we are bigger than the sky, our actions are broader reaching than any ocean, more grand than any sand dune. The connections we have with the people around us are the biggest thing I know; I remembered that as much as we are nothing we are also everything, entirely significant. All I have to do is look in their eyes and I can see it: we are bigger than we know. Being at that edge, on that particular stretch of sand, refilled my soul and brought back to the forefront all that I know about life and family and friends and connection: slow down and be, give each other a little room and time when it’s needed, live with intention and listen with an open heart. Allow them to grow and change, and bend like the dune grass in the wind when they need me to change and grow. Enjoy this push and pull of life. Dream bigger than the ocean, but remember my own insignificance in all of this.
Perhaps this is why the ocean calls to me, why it calls to so many people across time and religion and state and country and continent: to realize that we are everything and nothing all at once. Maybe we need this reminder as much as we need food and water, air and shelter. Maybe we just need to be able to stand on the edge of something and find an inner peace and a reserve within ourselves that fills whatever emptiness the rest of the world and life carves out. Maybe we just need that reminder to be human again.

Their Order

2011-07-19T15:21:00.001-04:00

“I will always be the oldest around here!” he declares with a look of superiority sent in his sister’s direction. She rolls her eyes a little, for this is nothing new, this place of second child that is hers to possess. She possesses it well, striving, always, to be as good as her eldest brother at everything. This drive makes her come in close behind him though she is a full 18 months younger, such that she reads better than he did at her age, she climbs higher than he did, swims deeper and further than he did when he was four. She pushes herself, sometimes to the point of tears because she is, after all, quite a bit younger than her brother. Hers is the advantage spot, a perch in life that allows her to see how to do something by watching someone else figure it out before her, perfecting her approach before she even begins. She puts puzzles together in her head before her fingers even touch the pieces; she plans her next move before her turn comes around on the board game. She, more than any of us, tends to plot.

The first arrived child has it harder, I think. He has had to break us in, to survive us while we lurched, suddenly, from child to parent in the swift movement of a baby passed from one set of arms to another. There was no labor and delivery to mark the momentousness of the occasion, no nurse there to show us how to hold him, comfort him, give him a bottle. We had to learn through trial and error and he bravely endured our many gaffs on the way to knowledge. His place of first in our family is worn well on his shoulders, but sometimes I worry that the pressure of being first will mark him somehow. He is, right now, the child that we sit and talk about at night: How will we keep him busy enough but not too busy? Is this the right school? Is he getting a good balance of freedom and structure? Do we know who his friends are, who their parents are? What is our stance on video games? Violence in media/movies/television? How are we going to not screw this up? It’s not that we don’t worry about Emma, it’s just that the first child somehow requires a different sort of worry, a more intense scrutiny of life and surroundings and influences and decisions. Our first child knows how to buckle down, to put one foot in front of the other and make his way through whatever comes his way; our daughter follows quietly and keenly in his footsteps, perfecting his moves with her own brand of intuition and authority.

As we wait for our third child, I cannot help but wonder who he will be, how his piece of this life’s puzzle will fit into our family. And how will we be with him? With two children safely and successfully growing under our care, how will we approach the raising of our littlest? I will not lie – this wait seems endless and insurmountable right now, and there are days when I wonder and despair about the possibility that the child in those pictures we so adore might not come home at all. I find myself thinking a great deal about the past, about the adjustment periods that both of our children went through upon arrival. The third time around, will these new circumstances in our adoption make a difference in how we, as a family, process each other? Will Joon, the stoic, sad face in all of these pictures, join our family with, finally, a smile?

I wonder if he will be the happy-go-lucky ‘third child’ I see in the families that blossom around us, or if he will have the yearning to always catch up that his sister so acutely feels. I grow weary of the wondering, and here we are five months in and possibly more than a year to go.

The time burns by so very slowly.

childhood

2011-07-19T15:04:00.002-04:00

Childhood does not come wrapped in plastic, with a million twist ties holding it perfectly in place within its cocoon of specially designed packaging. It cannot be plucked off a shelf for purchase and it does not flourish in indoor lighting. Childhood does not care about perfectly matched accessories or safety standards or how fashion forward something is. Childhood does not adhere to a schedule.
All of those things are grown up ideas.
Childhood is best found outdoors in the sunshine where the wind can lift its hair, or curled up beneath the sweetest of tiny tents made with the afghan from the back of the couch. Childhood enjoys messes and mayhem, shouting and quiet whispers, wickedly good secrets told behind a cupped hand. Childhood flourishes on imagination and wonder. Childhood flourishes when left, for a little while, to its own devices.
These days, I think childhood is most often found in those moments in between the grown ups’ ideas of what a childhood should involve. As we make our summer plans, we are striving to leave some time for childhood to flourish for our little ones. Remember what it was like to make mudpies? To stomp in puddles until you were truly soaked through with laughter and muddy water? Remember the first time you made a fort, or a tree house, or a tent beneath trees? Remember laying in the grass and watching the clouds go by, with the good earthy smells invigorating your soul? Remember sitting near a window and knowing that the rain was coming because you could smell it before you could see it?
Letting time sit still without agenda is not an easy thing from the adult perspective. We have a lot to do, endless lists of tasks and projects and a lot of the time it is difficult, if not impossible, to let go and go where the day takes us. I am working so hard this summer, not at projects or task lists, but at letting our children have the kind of summer that I remember having. I hope that when Emma and Harrison look back on these days later in life, they will recognize and appreciate that we let them have childhood in its most basic form. I hope that they will not lament the lack of sports and dance and music lessons and endless rides in the backseat of the car while we shuffle them to and fro. I hope, instead, that they will remember the perfect glass surface of our little lake before they cannonballed into it with a shriek of pure, childhood joy.

Ms. Chilson

2011-07-19T14:45:00.002-04:00

The only problem with having best friends visit from faraway places is that when they leave, I feel as though a chunk of my soul has been packed tidily in their luggage and taken away. The converse of this, of course, is that she left a chunk of her soul with me, for safe keeping.
The best part of having best friends visit from faraway places is that while we were together, I felt whole in that way that only happens in those odd moments when my adult life slams back together with my childhood, all of the pieces intertwining to a rarely achieved perfection. The expressions on her face are the same as they were decades ago and I get it, and she gets it, and we pick up the rhythm of conversation and jokes as if a moment had passed, rather than three years, since we last looked into each other’s laughing eyes. This visit, we had the extra fun of noting that our boys, born on opposite sides of the world and more than a year apart in age, are nearly carbon copies of each other in temperament and nature, and our girls share a daredevil’s spirit.
It was so, so fun. Now, if only I could convince her that she should live next door, that would be something.

The Summer List

2011-07-03T09:42:00.002-04:00

“We write things we want to do over the summer.” says Harrison of
The Summer List. Oh, but it is so much more than that! The summer list is my saving grace in an otherwise uncharted, weeks long stretch of time that, admittedly, sometimes scares me. The Summer List has plans to make, ideas to toss around when the inevitable I’m bored! starts to rear its ugly head, and lofty goals that might never be met but are fun and interesting to talk about. For the past four summers we have brainstormed as a family all of the things we wanted to do over the summer, both grown-up and child friendly ideas fill out the page and we cross off our achievements as we go. At the end of the summer, we have proof of our escapades and our kids are armed with plenty of ventures with which to answer that classic first day of school query, What did you do all summer? This is the best sort of to-do list, with only fun things!
Here, the beginnings of the 2011 version, to be updated as we go along:

go to Crandall Library
~~go swimming in our pool~~
~~go to camp (our family’s camp)~~
go to the Great Escape (Six Flags)
another tour of the beaches at different Lakes
~~go out for ice cream~~
~~go fishing~~
go to the drive-in
try making hypertufa troughs
go to the movies
start a cutting garden for flowers
dig in Pie and Mike’s compost pile for worms
learn to ride bikes without training wheels
go to concerts in the park (Shepard’s Park, City Park, Crandall Park, etc.)
go to Crandall Park and play
~~go kayaking~~
go for lengthy after dinner strolls
Farmer’s Market!
go to a baseball game
~~play tug of war with Ginger (this from Miss Emma)~~
go to the ocean…Cape Cod!
tie dye t-shirts
make our own hula hoops
make a worm bin for compost purposes (and little boy worm digging purposes)

Early Birds

2011-06-20T10:57:00.003-04:00

We have a new rule this summer: no television before 5p.m. It’s a good rule, one made because we had slipped into some very bad habits around these parts. There are days when I’d like to abolish the screen entirely, but then I remember that I, too, really enjoy watching movies and hypocrisy in parenthood is not a good thing. So anyway, a new rule. When we arise each morning without slipping into a comatose hour of cartoons, our day is longer and our possibilities are greater. Today we snuggled down in bed for a few extra moments, getting a head start on our summer list* and making grand plans for our free time. Once we were fully awake (such a time can be marked by the amount of giggles and general wiggly-ness of small children) we quickly dressed and headed out the door. Where to?
We hadn’t been to Hovey Pond in awhile. It’s close enough to home that we sometimes overlook it, but this morning it was the perfect choice. We were there before the dew evaporated:

We spent some time identifying wildflowers, spotting turtles, and counting birds (turtles are shy and fast!):

We stopped to ‘say cheese’:

We made it home before 10a.m., with the rest of the day’s adventures still waiting for us and some of those wicked wiggles out of our systems.

It’s going to be a good summer...

Two Months’ Lessons

2011-06-17T10:54:00.002-04:00

The last two months have sucked. There it is, out loud and in print and I am not ashamed to say that is honestly how I feel about that block of time.
The kids have been endlessly sick with colds and allergies, rashes, high fevers, and strep throat. They are better now and I am trying to catch up on sleep without developing bad sleeping-in sorts of habits. Brendan was an entirely different sort of sick and then had an allergic reaction to the medications he was given, winning us an all day trip to the ER. My husband, in the best health and fitness of his life, lost 15 lbs. in three weeks…he’s better now, and we’re thinking that the medications that were supposed to help the problem actually exacerbated things, but it was scary to watch him melt before my eyes. The word “worry” was given new meaning. As I watched my babies writhe with fever and as I watched my husband’s face unswell and his speech become normal as the anaphylactic shock went away, I realized how quickly and accidentally we could lose it all. Time is so, so precious and these people I love are so very important to me, my everything. I will not waste it.
Our kitchen…oh dear. We have been waging an epic battle with Sears over a new range. It’s not worth going into, really, other than to say we lost and now we’re cooking on a propane camp stove propped on an old door from the basement until we can sort things out and find the time to go appliance shopping yet again. And you should know that Sears does not always think the customer is right, nor will they make grand gestures to help you when they are very badly wrong. Enough said. The camp stove was fun for about ten minutes, but now I just really crave some sort of normalcy in our most-used room. I learned, though, the greatest lesson from this: Shop local, always. Deal with a company that is in your town, whose CEO is your neighbor. Deal with a small company that needs your sale, who will defend their reputation because the bad news about one sale gone wrong could sink them.
School finished up for both children, a huge relief really, but it came with all of those last-minute preparations and gifts for important people and extra obligations that added to an already stressed family’s schedule. And if you saw my last deleted post*, kindergarten graduation was not the joyful moment we expected, rather laced with anxiety and fear and an unplanned stage appearance. I learned that my child’s dignity is worth so much more than a teacher’s idea of the perfect graduation performance. I learned that is it easy to stand in front of a huge crowd when I am aiding my child in avoidance of terrible embarrassment and shame…imagine, the perfect cure for stage fright!
I took a sewing job on commission and got burned. It was a highly specific and personalized bag which the client raved about, but she also “misremembered” the price I quoted her for the piece. She stated that she only budgeted for the price she remembered and would not be able to buy the bag if I had to get the price I actually quoted her. I sold her the bag at her price (cringes) because it was so personalized that I could not do anything else with the bag or materials if I kept it. I learned, yet again, to always get things in writing. I learned that I have to value my work in order for my clients to also value my work, and that standing firm on the price I set is a matter of self respect. I think I also learned that I don’t really enjoy working on commission because to a certain extent I lose creative authority when I am working toward someone else’s goal. This requires more thought.
I stopped telling people that we are adopting again. The people we know and love all know, of course, but I’m not telling casual acquaintances anymore. For some reason it is hard for people to sustain excitement for the addition of a child to our family when they hear that it will take time for our child to come home, and especially when they hear he will be two. Their faces fall, they cringe in an obvious way, and they whisper questions to us: Are you sure you want to do that to your family?; Why will it take so long? Will he really come home?; A two year old? I would never do that. You’ll miss everything!; Did you get your baby yet? (this one week after I told her we were adopting internationally again). The dentist, the other parents at school, even some friends have said things like this to our faces, boldly questioning our judgment about our family. It doesn’t hurt so much as it irritates. I have learned that our joy alone will have to be enough to sustain us through this long wait and we will have to have faith that the others will come around once he is here. I have learned that other peoples’ fears do not have to be our own. I have learned, once again, that the general public knows next to nothing about adoption, but I have also reminded myself that I do not always have to be the good will ambassador. I have learned that I don’t have to share this with everyone, though I want to shout it from the rooftops. This semi-secret can be so very sweet, if we let it.
So, two months’ worth of blech provided a few key life lessons and we will be better for it. We’ll pace ourselves, make better decisions, and I will work hard on that whole creative self-worth thing. Today is the first full day of summer break and the relief in the room is palpable. Do you feel it, too?
*deleted because I realized that posting about it would not be conducive to helping our H6 avoid the embarrassment that could have been.

UPDATE!!!!!

2011-05-28T21:12:00.002-04:00

March 3rd:

May 4th (The day after his first birthday):

Oh my goodness, I don’t know where to begin. We knew that four families from our agency were getting updates and two families got theirs yesterday so I assumed we were out of luck. I ran to the mailbox today, with the tiniest shred of hope in my heart. Three business size envelopes lay inside and as I flipped through them I could not believe that one had our agency’s logo! Tears in my eyes, I ran into the house, found Brendan, and we opened it up to find our little guy’s photos and updates inside. Hooray!!!! Our friends, Steph and Jay, also got updated pics of their Sophie (so, so beautiful, that one). There is much happiness here tonight!
A few notes from our update:

walks 1-2 steps without help
says umma, appa, and no
likes to look at books
scribbles with a pen
can drink from a cup
follows simple errands
is a good dancer and singer
a busy, active baby
is shy of strangers
has four teeth on top and four on the bottom
he likes his bath
he is one year old and weighs 17.4 lbs; he is 28 inches tall

What a peanut!

Just A Moment

2011-05-27T21:09:00.003-04:00

I was having a moment tonight, a moment in which I just needed to stop the world for a second and be still.
Two cases of strep throat, fevers so high that his little hand seared my leg through my jeans, sad little whimpers in the dead of night that jolted me from my bed. One case of diverticulitis and an entirely different sort of pain and fear. A week’s worth of nights without sleep, listening to him hurt beside me while I kept my other ear trained on the doors down the hall, torn.
One kitchen in a state of progress, but looking more like despair. With everything out of place, piled in the corner: boards full of nails, half of a cupboard, a desk drawer, school papers everywhere. We move the construction pile to the garage between his pains and there is still an enormous pile of whatnot. This morning, a slight reprieve from the heat and humidity (can I even complain about this yet?) and I want to mow down the lawn that is now a good 12” deep. The mower starts, then stalls. Starts, then stalls. I wanted to kick it, but turn and walk away instead.
In my email box, happy reports from a couple of families with our adoption agency: they received updated pictures and reports on their children in the mail today. We did not. Our pictures and information are now seven months old and our hearts ache just a little more.
This had been our week and tonight I just wanted to cook dinner. I wanted them all to eat something, to take care of them in the most basic way, but with a fridge being emptied out and dietary needs changed due to new doctor’s orders, there just wasn’t much to work with. The kitchen was too hot, the kids were overly hungry and tired, each wanted to sit next to the parent they were not next to, and I started to feel myself sink.
When they all scattered off to various new activities, I grabbed a box fan, climbed over the mound of junk to the banquette, and lay down with the coolest of breezes blasting over me. Amazing, how a fan can drown out all of the noises in your house, the fears in your head. I lay there and looked up at the clouds like a little kid on a lazy summer afternoon and I swear to you, every cloud shape was a face, and every face was smiling. Then a robin, harbinger of spring and late-winter beacon of hope, landed on the wire above my head and turned his plucky head this way and that.
Somehow in the space of what amounted to four minutes, peace was restored to my world; my moment was over. Calm and patient, I went upstairs, read stories about kindergarten and sea turtles and tucked my little strep-free sweethearts into their beds. Tomorrow holds new appliances, an abdominal CT scan, and a lawn mower oil/sparkplug change but tonight, tonight I am ok. And Brendan will be ok, too. And someday our littlest boy will come home.

You Look Like A Leg Lamp

2011-05-27T18:12:00.003-04:00

My husband, he’s a funny funny guy.

This is the ugly side of progress:

Observe, an island that had to be removed due to poor functionality and because it was built after the placement of the fridge, thus making removal and replacement of said fridge impossible without major demolition. The holes in the floor lived under our stove, which is being replaced because we were down to two burners and an oven door that had to be propped shut with a stick wedged between the stove and an opposite cupboard. I cannot fathom why they stopped the sheetrock at a foot and a half in on each side of the fridge hole, leaving an odd exposed gap of brick chimney and plaster and lathe. Actually, the things I cannot fathom about this kitchen would make a pretty long list, but there is no time for that today.

We are making progress, a small dent in a large kitchen that was poorly planned and pieced together with mismatched parts. At the end of this phase there will be a new kitchen island with butcher block top, a new refrigerator, and a new stove (sans stick this time, thank goodness). There will be more storage and less stupid, and stupid in this case is a noun. We will also saw off a portion of the existing countertop and remove the non-functioning lazy Susan cupboard that lies beneath it. A new, smaller cupboard will go there and then we’ll move on to the “lipstick on a pig” portion of our program. With adoption expenses eating a large portion of our current budget, we cannot afford to rip everything out and start over, but we can make what we have look nicer and so for now that is what we’ll do. Paint, paint and more paint! The guys at The Home Depot love me.

And for the fun of it, here is what we started with:

This is from the listing picture, so before we bought the house. Island is now gone, fridge is out, floor has been thoroughly cleaned beneath the former appliances(Eew!) and desk thing to the left is gone. We will remove the peninsula (behind the desk). We already have new windows (fall 2009) and we’ve begun painting. And we took out the faux Tiffany lights, which were plastic. And yes, covering up that mustard yellow was soul soothing in a way that is difficult to describe.

Yay, progress!

A Few (Woeful) Things

2011-05-11T13:04:00.002-04:00

We celebrated Joon’s birthday last week. Without him. That was hard, but I only cried a little. You’ve heard of Flat Stanley? We have Flat Desmond, a picture of our littlest boy that I cut out. We propped him next to the cake and then we blew out his candle for him. It was fun in the most bittersweet sort of way.
Brendan worked nights last week, 6:30pm to 6:30am. Please, let’s not do that again anytime soon.
We all got some horrible fever/head cold/chest congestion thing that has made us miserable. Or maybe it just made me miserable, working in conjunction with Brendan’s night shift and Joon not being here for his birthday. I guess I’m just saying that I have been miserable. And then this happened:
We found out that our adoption agency’s partner agency in Korea, ESWS, will hit their quota and run out of Emigration Permits (EP) soon, as in any referrals made after December 1, 2010 will not travel until 2012. This is very bad news. Long story short, babies must have EP to leave the country. As So. Korea winds down its international adoption program, they are decreasing by ten percent the amount of EP they give out each year, creating a backlog of babies waiting to go home to the parents they have already been matched with. The implications of this are kind of huge for us. When ESWS starts submitting babies for EP early in 2012, the babies from the end of 2010 are all in line before our child (as it should be). This means ESWS is a full year behind in EP. Agencies are rumored to be preparing their families for a minimum 15 month wait from referral to travel…if this is true Desmond will be home in July….of next year. And he will be two.
There is a dark side to all of this, which is the possibility that ESWS could run out of EP even earlier next year, in which case our “baby” could possibly not be home until 2013. (Did you all just feel the miserable meter’s needle screech forward ten thousand notches?)
I am trying to remain calm. Keep calm and carry on. Plant an herb garden, make summer plans, paint a few more rooms. And update my resume, because I might as well start making a dent in the adoption expenses while both of my big kids are at school all day next year.
I’m not really miserable all of the time. Just when I am alone, or when I think too much, or when I see all of the beautiful babies our friends and acquaintances are pushing around town in their strollers…you know the type, those small babies, the kind that need diapers and aren’t walking and speaking in sentences.
At least it stopped raining.

Walk With Me

2011-04-19T16:04:00.002-04:00

We could sit inside during this cold wet spring break. I could alternate tea and coffee, constantly sitting with a steaming cup between my paws for warmth, and read book after book beneath an afghan wide enough for three. We could watch movies and have popcorn for lunch and it would be fine, perhaps even lovely.
Or, we could choose to thumb our noses at Mother Nature’s joke of a spring break and we could get out there. We could take that trail that I’ve driven past one hundred times and never stopped to walk. We could wander beneath the trees and in between the tall grasses, listening to the red-winged blackbirds’ and chickadees’ calls against the lilt of the brook and the swish of the wind.
Guess which we chose this chilly morning?

It was grand! We walked slowly, absorbing the textures and variety, allowing the wind to brighten our cheeks, and stopping not only to breathe deeply the rich scent of the awakening earth, but also to feel the bark, lichens, and soft, soft mosses.

We explored; none of us had ever been there before and so we were travellers together and it was a relief not to be the adult in charge, just a companion out for a stroll.

We got chased by a pair of nesting Canadian Geese, got rained on just a little, and found a random teapot in the woods.

We stood on stumps,

and stopped to wonder what kinds of creatures populate the tiniest of worlds:

Despite weather that was dubious at best, we discovered a few signs of spring:

And so I challenge you: do not let spring - no matter how chilly or wet or disappointing it is - do not let spring pass you by. Bundle them up, put on their rain boots and yours, and get out there.

Delight in the bizarre:

Wonder at the destinations of unknown paths:

Feast your eyes on the small things, the ones we drive past and speed beyond without seeing. Stop and look when your little ones call to you with their discoveries; see things from their perspective. Have an adventure!

And when you arrive home, do not forget to perform the obligatory tick check; we found one after our adventure.
___________
Today’s pictures from the Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail.

Eye Contact

2011-04-13T15:31:00.002-04:00

“…a most useless place. The Waiting Place…for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting…
…Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky!” -Dr. Seuss, from oh, the places you’ll go!

We’re one month into this Very Long Wait that might be ten months or twelve, or more if we are very unlucky, or less if the hands of fate are kind. This is a familiar place; we’ve been here before but it all looks different now, like going home for the first time after being away at university and finding your hometown smaller and changed. We know how to get through this, but knowledge of the road does not equal ease of passage. Already I feel myself toeing the line of avoidance, trying not to think about him constantly while at the same time I can think of nothing else.

Who are you, baby Joon?

With our previous adoptions I have found solace in action. Keeping my hands busy keeps my heart from breaking and this third time is no different: sewing, knitting, painting, upholstery, and other projects are all underway at once and every corner I look to holds some sort of busy work waiting for me. My quieter hours are filled with books…not the adoption books about attachment and bonding or memoirs of adoptees and adoptive parents that I was devouring at the beginning of the year, but stories that take me away for an hour or two, to someplace far away where lives are filled with other sorts of complications, not the waiting for a child sort. I have them stashed all over the house and in the car, too. Keep busy, keep busy, keep busy. Just don’t think too much.

Have you learned to crawl yet, Joon-ah?

Harrison and Emma make the wait easier, except when they don’t. When they ask about him or wonder when he is coming, or decry in outright frustration: “Mama, I just wish I knew exactly when he was coming home so I could get myself ready!” (Emma) or “If he doesn’t hurry up he’ll be bigger than me by the time he gets here!” (Harry), at these times my heart lurches because the waiting is hard for them, too. While I love that they are old enough to understand this process, which in turn helps them understand how they each came to join our family, I struggle with having to witness their sadness and longing. Waiting for someone as exciting as a new sibling, one who is already born and growing on the other side of the world, is tough. Impatience gets the best of them, and me, at times.

Do your eyes crinkle when you laugh? Do you squeal with delight?

I am so impatient to meet our new little guy, not only because I want to get started on all of those important attachment/bonding moments, but also because if there is one thing I know about adoption it is this: You cannot bond with a baby in a photograph. You can find him cute, adorable. You can think to yourself: Yes, this is my child! You can stare for hours at his chin and his hair and his tiny little fingers, and you can read his social history until you’ve memorized every word, but you cannot get to know that child, the person that child actually is in real life, until you make eye contact. You cannot know his voice, his temperament, or the softness of his skin until he is in the same room, breathing the same air. With half a world between Joon and us, my curiosity is killing me. A million questions linger in the air and the answers can only come some far off day, early next year and most likely not sooner. The other thing I know about adoption is this: it is entirely possible to miss, with complete heartache, a person you have never met and know next to nothing about.

It is nearly dawn in Korea. Sleep on, little Joon. We’re here, waiting for you.

Oh this Waiting Place is a tough place, but with one month down and perhaps (roughly estimating here) nine months to go, we do know how to get through it. One foot in front of the other, one project following the next, crossing days and weeks and months off the calendar.

And enjoying life in the meantime, of course, because there is so very much to enjoy, already.

____________

I’m playing along with Madhouse this week, another way to keep busy! See the others who are playing along:

Allison – Allimonster Speaks
Barb – Spencer Hill Spinning & Dyeing
Batty – Batty’s Adventures in Spooky Knitting
Dave – Notes from the Field
Eileen - Art Deco Diva Knits
Evil Twin’s Wife – The Glamorous Life of a Hausfrau
G – Not-A-Box
Haley - Aimless Tangents
Jennifer – Ask Poops, Please
JMLC – Daydreams and Ruminations
Kate – One More Thing
LC – LC in Sunny So Cal
LeeAnne - This is the life...
Lisa - As If You Care
Louise – Child of Grace
Marcy – Mittentime
Melanie – usually, things happen
Nikki – Land of the Free, Home of the Depressed
Peri - knitandnatter
Sara – yoyu mama

Pinki

2011-03-30T09:26:00.002-04:00

The same week that we got the joyous news about our new son, we got the terrible news that my Aunt Pinki (Patricia) had passed away. The youngest of five daughters, she was the one who pushed the envelope, who loved and lived bigger than most. The stories about her life are epic and entertaining; her sense of adventure was not to be outdone. Her loss hits me in waves; it is terrible and too soon and very, very sad.
Sitting with the picture of my future son and the picture of the loved one we have just lost, I know this to be true:

Joy and sorrow grow in the same garden; we would not know one without the other.

I’ll always miss you, Pink.

Desmond!

2011-03-23T10:52:00.002-04:00

He is gorgeous! We have been studying his tiny fingers and toes, admiring his hairline (so similar to Harrison’s at the same age), and trying to imagine how soft those sweet cheeks are. Our revised timeline gives us hope for a December or January arrival, sooner if things speed up, slower if they become more backed up. We will wait with all of the patience we have in our souls for this little one and we will be overjoyed whenever he makes his arrival in our lives. Until then, we know that he is in very good hands (his foster mother has been taking care of babies since 1980!), being loved and spoiled and delighted in on the other side of the world. There is an amazing peace in my soul with this knowledge, a well-being that sits in my heart while at the same time my head plays with dates and timelines and what-ifs. Oh, the Wait…the hardest part, but the part that teaches us so much about ourselves.

In this first picture he is probably 2 months old.

At five months old (above and below).

Sitting with his Foster Mom, whom I have cropped out for her privacy.
So many people have told me they couldn’t do it…they couldn’t wait ten more months for the arrival of a baby that is already ten months old. And maybe they couldn’t, but I know that we can. I know that all of us are stronger than we know, more patient than we seem, more able to endure hardships and challenges than we think we are. I know that all babies come when they are good and ready or when all of the proper stars or paperwork or contractions come together at the right time.
We know that all children, however they make it home, are well worth the wait. But I would certainly not complain if he somehow made his way home this summer!

Joon Song

2011-03-11T10:54:00.002-05:00

In the hall closet, on top of a suitcase and behind my black pea coat, I found the bag I was looking for. It is just a plain white garbage bag, a little tattered and torn in spots, something I packed a long time ago for a friend but never actually got around to delivering. I dragged it out of the closet and brought it to the couch, reached inside, and found them: the softest, most well-worn and beloved pair of tiny overalls. They were the first thing I bought when we were waiting for Harrison to come home from Korea; I found them at a yard sale for a dollar, perfect and soft and just the right size. They looked brand-new back then; now they have worn little knees from the crawling babies that Harrison and Emma once were and the straps are beginning to fray just slightly. They hold so many memories for me: crawling, first steps, little adventures around our old yard, and even the earliest memories of when they hung on a hanger in an otherwise empty closet, a symbol not just of hope but of promise. We would be parents.
And next fall, they will crawl (or walk?) again!
In what can only be described as a whirlwind, we decided for sure to adopt again 12 days ago. We called and asked for an application packet 11 days ago. We got the packet 9 days ago. We emailed with our social worker 8 days ago, who came and updated our home study 6 days ago. We filled out mad amounts of paperwork and made endless photocopies and finally sent it all off with a kiss from big sister Emma 4 days ago. It arrived at our agency 3 days ago, and we were called that very night with the news that we had been matched with a gorgeous baby boy in Korea.
I haven’t seen his picture, I know only a little more than his name, but my heart knows that he is beautiful. I know that he is perfect, the perfect fit for our family. I know we’ll have growing pains and fits and starts until finally our lives are intertwined, woven into a new and different fabric that will be ever the more richer for having known each other.
Those soft, tiny pants are getting washed today and hung in the closet that our Joon Song will share with his big brother Harrison and once again they will be my token not only of hope, but of promise. We are all so very excited!
A few details:

Korean Name: Joon Song (Joon means “superb”)
American name: we’ve got it narrowed down to three options, but need to see his pictures before making the final call. Once we know we’ll share!
Born May 2010
Will come home in the fall…October, perhaps?
We had been thinking of adopting again for a LONG time before making this decision. Options were weighed, lots of programs were looked at, lots of research went into it. We are not rash people, at all. In the end, we followed our hearts while making sure the logistics would all work out.
Yes, we will gladly accept hand-me-downs! He will be roughly 18 mos. at arrival.
We pick up our referral packet on Monday the 14th…pictures after that!

VIP (very important papers)

2011-03-07T20:01:00.002-05:00

At our house, this is what “baby-making” looks like.
More details soon!

Fire

2011-03-02T21:55:00.002-05:00

We used to joke, back in my art school days, about the day you go home and tell your parents that you want to be an art major. That instead of more lucrative degrees like accounting and engineering you are going to spend four years learning how to paint portraits, how to manipulate clay, how to make a block print. We used to joke about it because it was a way to fight off the internal panic that set in whenever we thought about actually having that conversation in real life. And once a semester the professors in our art department actually put on a special lecture entitled “How to survive telling your parents you are going to be an artist”.
Somehow I survived those conversations (which proved less scary in real life than they were in my imagination, but did end in the sad shaking of heads by the four adults that are my parents), graduated with honors, and left college to make a life in the art field…and fell flat on my face. I never wanted to be a teacher of public education, the obvious choice for artists who need to pay their bills with something else. I wasn’t particularly interested in marketing. Truthfully, I wasn’t exactly sure what I would do with my degree, I just knew that what I was good at, what I enjoyed and felt passionate about, was working with my hands. Taking raw materials and forming them into something functional, useful, beautiful, thought provoking, or at least intentional – this was what I was good at, this was where I felt at home. This was my fire.
Simply knowing what your fire is or feeling at home in your own skin does not pay the rent or buy a new car or help pay for the paint that you just know will transform your house, and so like many people who identify as artists, I got a real job…or several. And when people asked me what my profession was I told them “I am an assistant preschool teacher, but I went to art school” or “I am a craft store manager, but I went to art school” or “I am a transaction coordinator for a mortgage broker (and later, a real estate agent), but I went to art school”. I stopped identifying as an artist and started justifying my current, non-glamorous positions with the fact that I had made a mistake and gone to school to learn about art. Away from the college setting there was no studio space, no group of fellow artists to support and critique my work, there was no more fire.
Fast forward many years. We live in a house with studio space, an entire third floor that can be whatever I need it to be. My hands are kept busy with textiles…knitting and sewing replace paints and pencils. I feel good. And then my mom convinces me to take a felt making class at the Troy Shirt Factory Building. I walk in the door of the Luckystone Studio and I can feel it, that long lost sensation of being at home. I almost don’t recognize it at first, but I find myself grinning, overly cheerful, my adrenaline pumping at a much higher rate than normal.
Do other people feel this way about the thing they love to do? Does it make them feel as though they are burning from the inside out? Does it light them on fire?
It didn’t seem to matter that I had never tried felting before. The colors, textures, surroundings, and process were so familiar, deep in my bones. Working side by side with other like-minded people, our work different but our goals the same, brings me such immense joy. I love the easy camaraderie and chatter of people working at their own pace, trading ideas, offering up suggestions, and just that comfortable silence that comes with mutual artistic concentration.
The felting process is harder than it looks, takes more patience than I am used to directing at my projects these days, but it was entirely invigorating. For the first time in a long time I feel like an artist – I think I could even say it out loud with a straight face, without even a hint of apology in my voice. I came home today with a scarf that is on fire with color…reds, fuscias, and oranges. I also brought home a huge bag of wool roving, silk, and mohair fibers; my head is swimming with ideas, things to try, places to take color and form and concept.
My fire, I think, has been rekindled.
_______________________________
It’s Madhouse Wednesday again. These are the others who participate…check them out!
Allison – Allimonster Speaks
Barb – Spencer Hill Spinning & Dyeing
Batty – Batty’s Adventures in Spooky Knitting
Dave – Notes from the Field
Eileen - Art Deco Diva Knits
Evil Twin’s Wife – The Glamorous Life of a Hausfrau
G – Not-A-Box
Haley - Aimless Tangents
Jennifer – Ask Poops, Please
JMLC – Daydreams and Ruminations
Kate – One More Thing
LC – LC in Sunny So Cal
LeeAnne - This is the life...
Lisa - As If You Care
Louise – Child of Grace
Marcy – Mittentime
Melanie – usually, things happen
Nikki – Land of the Free, Home of the Depressed
Peri - knitandnatter
Sara – yoyu mama

Heavy Hearts

2011-02-20T23:09:00.001-05:00

“Mrs. Sullivan, are you sitting down?”

This was how she started the phone call, the cadence of her words forever seared into my memory. I rushed for a pencil and paper and she began to tell me about the little boy who would be my son.

“He has apple cheeks, just like you.” she said.

And just like that we were no longer two, but three. We were a family. Our son was on the other side of the world but now he was real, no longer an idea, or a hope or dream, but a real baby with apple cheeks waiting for us in Korea. It was bliss, a moment of the purest sort of joy.

I don’t know what it is like when you conceive a child, whether you remember the person who gave you your first ultrasound, whether their face and their words are forever etched in your memory. I don’t know if you remember the person who holds your baby up in the delivery room and shows him to you for the first time. I do know that when you adopt you remember those words, the tone of voice, where you were and what you were doing and who gave you the news.

“I have the most beautiful baby boy in the world for you.”

Cecelia K. Park, director of Love the Children adoption agency, was the woman who made us parents on that chilly evening when we were on our way out the door, when we almost didn’t stop to go back and answer the phone. She was the woman whose phone call less than two years later started in the same way, “Mrs. Sullivan, are you sitting down?” when she called to tell us about our daughter. I will never forget her words or the way her voice smiled, as if she had the very best secret in the world and she was about to share it with us. I will never forget her kindness when she met our children later on, or the way she held them as if they were her own grandbabies. I will never forget the phone call she had us make to her when our babies were newly arrived, during which she took the time to teach us how to tell them I love you and You’re a beautiful baby, and how she told them not to be scared because we were their new omma and appah. I will never forget how she made each of us feel that we were getting the best kid in the world; she knew that we were because she knew and believed that each baby placed was special and perfect. She knew, too, that we were lucky, lucky parents and we are, all of us.

Ms. Park died in her sleep last night, a profound loss for all of the families she created, all of the people she touched with her kindness and her smiling voice. The news weighs heavily on our hearts and we cannot quite imagine a world without Cecelia’s presence in it. We will surely miss her beautiful soul.

Cecelia, he really is the most beautiful boy in the world, and she is the most beautiful girl. Thank you for letting me be their mom. We will never forget you.

Sorry

2011-02-10T12:05:00.001-05:00

As any parent does, I spend what seems like a lot of time trying to instill in my children the kind of manners and etiquette that will allow them to go through life with social grace. I want them to be strong and able to speak up for themselves, but I also want them to consider how their actions and words affect those around them. We even bought a cute card game, Polite Pigs, at Sterling & Co. that lays down the rules of manners: If you want to use something that belongs to someone else, say please. If you need someone to step aside so you can pass through, say excuse me. If you hurt someone, say I’m sorry.

What is harder to teach and harder to learn is what to say when we did not cause the harm or get in the way, but someone else’s life starts going horribly awry before our eyes. In the last year I have found myself wishing for a set of rules, or even a cute card game, to teach me how to react when I learn that someone’s husband has left or they can’t seem to make a baby or they find out they have a disease that is going to change the way they live for the rest of their lives. I find myself repeating I’m sorry at these times, finding the words lacking, their sentiment not quite reaching out to say what I really feel. Social boundaries keep me from saying a lot of what comes to mind in these situations; unless the person in question is one of my best friends I can’t stamp my feet and cry with them and declare the universe an unfair and unjust place. I can’t scream and wail in anguish over the fact that the path they worked so hard to be on has just been ripped out from beneath them and replaced with a new one that is not so shiny and pretty, but filled with potholes and despair. Social grace allows us to only go so far: I am sorry for your loss. I am sorry for your diagnosis. I am sorry that you are going through this. I am sorry that there is nothing I can do, no real change I can make to better your situation.

But I am here for you and I am so, so sorry.

I wonder how we teach our children that which we do not know ourselves.

_____________________________________

Eight weeks and one day behind for the Madhouse – I have some serious catching up to do.

Three Things

2011-01-28T20:36:00.002-05:00

The children have decided and demanded that if they should ever have a little sister she shall be named Princess Lulu. We have no idea why.
When Emma’s class went to The Hyde Collection this week they studied portraiture. In front of the entire class Emma did an upward salute, or Urdhva Hastasana, and then gave a deep, reverent bow with hands held palms together in front of Rembrandt’s Christ with Arms Folded. I guess she’s getting a good mix of ideas.
When I was writing to both of our foster mother’s today I asked each child if he or she had a special message they would like me to include in their letter. Harrison asked me to to write: “I want you to know that I look handsome in my school uniform and I am nice to my sister.” Emma wanted me to write “I love cat toys.” (She meant toys in the shape of a cat and after much deliberation and explaining we decided on “I love Hello Kitty”.)

They Found The Webcam

2011-01-25T20:55:00.001-05:00

And now whenever I open the computer four little hands start reaching and pushing and edging in to the center of the screen for the best angle of silly face.

It is only a teensy bit annoying. Mostly I love seeing the funny pictures they take when I least expect it.

Another Backyard Slope

2011-01-21T07:16:00.002-05:00

If only I could post all of the pictures from this day. Oh, there were some doozies: big spills, seriously goofy grins, misplaced hats, and a few mishaps involving a lilac bush. I have been strictly forbidden from sharing the fun shots by the people in those very shots. So instead you’ll have to see the cute photos and use your imagination. We had a ton of good, old-fashioned fun sliding down the very hill that I spent much of my childhood sledding down.

Ems

Brendan and me

Sir Harrison

With my mom (of the misplaced hat…ahem)

I love this one. My three favorite people!

And just to prove I’m no chicken when it comes to goofy shots, here I am having some of that fun.
I hope you are enjoying the cold and snow, because really it is the only way to survive winters here.

Love, from the other side of the world

2011-01-16T18:46:00.002-05:00

Emma had a surprise in the mail this week! A package arrived from her foster family in South Korea, including a small purse, barrettes and hair ties, a Hello Kitty ring (some things are so universal, aren’t they?) and the very very cute jumper she is wearing in these photos! There was a also a book with a cd-rom and she really enjoyed listening to the story told in Korean, even if we did have to make up what we thought the story was really about.
Thank you, Mrs. Koo and family, for your continued love and support of our very favorite girl. She loves you so much and asks about you all of the time.

Act Your Age

2011-01-16T17:39:00.000-05:00

I am so cold. I am cold in the way I used to be when I was little and we spent all day at Hickory Hill, alternating between skiing and sitting on the deck in the sun. It is a cold that runs all the way through me to my bones, the kind that makes a hot bath sting like pins and needles. It feels so, so good!

I am this cold not because of an old house and thin walls, but from hours and hours of playing in the snow, racing down one of the very best backyard hills that I have ever had occasion to ride. Forget Crandall Park and it grassy stubble, forget Gurney Lane and the lines of children - the backyard slope has so much more to offer: no lines, no waiting, ride as many times as you can bear to climb the hill, the bathroom is only a few feet away, there is probably a good chance of hot cocoa, and even the smallest of slopes can be wickedly fun. I have not laughed like this in ages, laughs that come not from the belly but from somehwere deeper, perhaps stretching all of the way back to my childhood. They come bursting out as I lose control and eat a faceful of snow, or as the last jump at the end of the run sends my sled and I flying in different directions and I land with a giant thud in front of my friend who cannot stop laughing, either. And my bottom hurts and I feel silly but I am having so much fun that none of it matters.

Brendan races down faster than all of the rest of us. His sled goes further, getting ever closer to the edge of the yard where another dropoff will send you to a watery surprise in the marsh. He bails at the last possible second, plumes of snow spraying into the air as he flings himself from the sled. He is buried, but we know he has survived the tumble because he whoops and hollers and quickly scrambles up for another go.

And my children are fearless. I get butterflies in my tummy before pushing off, but they run and jump onto their sleds, launching themselves face first down a huge hill, or even a small one, but they do not seem to fear anything at all. They eat snow, and laugh, and for just a few moments we are all children together and I don't have to be the mom and he doesn't have to be the dad. It is good.

Finally it gets too chilly, we all have snow up our sleeves and in our pant legs and down our collars, and the sun is starting to slip behind the trees. One last run! we call to each other, our friends and our family climb the hill for the final descent. It is faster than it was earlier, the temperature has dropped and the snow flies in clouds around our sleds. It is awesome, maybe even better than it was when I was five or seven or ten because I needed, this day, to remind myself of my age. I needed to know again that we are young, that fun is not something that is purchased or sought out or even acquired...it just is.

So now I am cold, enjoying the feel of my windburned cheeks and the smell of outdoors that lingers in my hair. And I am scheming for tomorrow...maybe a snowshoe adventure? Or another backyard slope? Or even a winter hike around Pack Forest to the Grandmother Tree?

What are you doing to act your age?

***See previous post for video of today's sledding fun! (I can't figure out how to embed within this post)

Sledding

2011-01-16T17:37:00.001-05:00

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

A Letter To Myself

2011-01-12T21:25:00.001-05:00

Dearest Sara,

The new year can only start with a clean slate if you let it.

You can bring all of that crud from last year with you on this year's journey - it's easy to do. You can sling it over your back like an old army knapsack and lug it around and let it drag you down. You can let the self-loathing take over your head before you've even breathed in this crisp January air. You can let the list of little tasks overwhelm you until they are bigger than the day, longer than the night. You can let your fears grow until they comsume your joy. You can compare yourself to those who look like they do more, have more, be more until you seem small and insignificant and boring. You can lose before you've even started.

Or you can let it go.

You can set yourself free of the didn'ts and couldn'ts and should'ves. You can breathe deeply, knowing that when all is said and done you've got this. You are capable and strong and imperfect and good enough. You don't have to doubt yourself, compare yourself, or hate how you look. You can dance in front of people. You can sing out loud. You can walk into a room full of strangers and feel capable of intelligent conversation because motherhood, rather than limiting your sphere, has opened your eyes to an entire world you never knew existed and you are good at it. You are interesting and that is ever so much better than great beauty and an impressive resume.

And it is ok to be nervous in the same way that it is ok to fail. The important thing is to try, to put yourself out there with bravery and integrity and to take yourself seriously with a good sense of humor. Breathe deeply. Laugh with your crazy, funny family. Find that peace and strength that resides in your core, find it every day. Get to know it.

And then get out there and fly.

Happy New (clean-slated) Year,

Sara

Merry Merry

2010-12-26T08:50:00.001-05:00

We are tucked in at home with our children and our new toys, just basking in the quiet of the day after Christmas. Yesterday was the perfect combination of busy and visit-y, the smiles from our littlest ones lighting up the holiday better than even that one particular house on Glen Street.

And though we had everything we need - love, a home, our children, clean water, food - before the holiday, we are now quite spoiled with gifts that were thoughtful, inspired, and just plain decadent. So it felt really, really good to throw our money into a hat for those who might not be so lucky. Big Brothers/Big Sisters won our lottery this year; it was "my" charity* for the second year in a row (I swear I don't have it rigged) and though all of the entries were worthy, this one holds a special place in my heart.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

*Oliver, this one was for you, because although he was supposed to be making a difference in your life, you made a difference in all of ours. We've never forgotten you...your determination, your ability to survive the worst, and your beautiful smile.

You Are My Sunshine

2010-12-17T16:43:00.002-05:00

We rise early, in the dark, and shuffle through our morning’s worth of controlled chaos that is the much the same as yours but ours alone. We struggle into boots, jackets, mittens, and hats. I remind them, for the umpteenth time, that we are going to be late and I wonder why it is that we are always rushing. We rush to get ready, rush to get out of the door, rush to get to the classroom, with a stream of hurry-ups rushing from my mouth. What my heart wants to do is pull them in, keep them close, to sit together on the big couch in our pajamas and read a gazillion books to each other. It feels wrong to be heading out the door with my littlest ones when the sun has not yet appeared, but go we must and so we do.
Each clear morning as we drive across town to school the sun peeks over the horizon. Today it was spectacular, hidden at first behind clouds that were tinged with gold until it finally broke through to shine upon us and this little city we live in. The light glanced off the faces of the buildings in town: the library, the stores of our friends, the coffee shops and restaurants were all aglow. I pointed it out to Harry and Emma and we all watched, entranced by the first rays of the day. It was silent in the car as we took it in, but finally Harry’s voice broke the silence: “That part there in the middle - the brightest spot – that part is where God is.” The light changed and our car had to move along, but that moment stuck with me all day. I stopped regretting our early mornings and started to think about how if we had slept in and stayed at home in our pajamas I would have missed this glimpse into his soul. I might have missed knowing that he finds God in the sunshine.
Today, I am remembering that my children are the brightest spots in the middle of my life. I am slowing down to just be with them. And if we are perpetually late for kindergarten because we make a habit of stopping to watch the sun come up together, so be it. You can’t rush the sunrise.

Curtains!

2010-12-13T08:44:00.000-05:00

The dining/living room is getting there! The curtains are finished and hung and the furniture is more or less where we want it now. We still would like to tweak things here and there: different artwork on the walls, perhaps someday a new sofa, like this one. But the room is livable, the perfect place to snuggle up with tea and a good book. We love it!

Before:

After:

Before:

After:

Before:

After:

Outtakes

2010-12-13T08:25:00.002-05:00

What we were going for was this:

…or this:

But really and truly, I think the following shots better illustrate the essence of five-almost-six and four:

The outtakes always tell the better story, don’t they?

Holiday bonus

2010-12-09T21:40:00.004-05:00

It started a few years ago. We were all used to rushing around and trying to find something meaningful yet within budget to give one another: something pretty for Mom, something outdoorsy for Mike, something cool and interesting for my brother and his girlfriend (now wife), something useful for Grandma Ann, as well as a little something here and there for everyone else who happened to join in our celebration that given year. As it turns out, it is not so easy to churn out meaningful, useful, yet budget-able gifts year after year for the same people. As it does for so many families, Christmas had become about the gifts, not about spending time with one another, or appreciating the season, or even lending a nod to the actual event which we were supposed to be celebrating.

Finally, someone said stop.

It might have been my Mom, or me, or someone else…I can’t remember. But what followed the stop was something that brought a little meaning back to our holiday. We decided, as a family, to nix the gifts. The little kids (so far only my own two) still get a little something special, but the rest of us bring only our checkbooks or a handful of cash and our Christmas spirit. Some people donate more than others and we don’t keep track of who brought what; we each donate what we can and that is enough. We throw all of the money into a jar and as our holiday gathering gets underway, we each take a few moments to write down the name of a charity on a slip of paper. We don’t limit the selection to local organizations, just whatever charity we each hold dear to our hearts. We have had charities ranging from local soup kitchens and crisis pregnancy centers to homes for AIDS orphans in Ethiopia. It’s a mixed bag of organizations that try to do good in the world, and we always find it interesting to see what everyone else has written down.

The names go in a basket, and before we part ways for other celebrations, gatherings, or quiet reflection, one of the littlest among us will choose a name from the slips of paper and all of the money we’ve collected goes to that charity. The check is usually substantial, a Holiday bonus for an organization that has probably never heard of any of us. A Holiday bonus that buys diapers or baby cribs or anti-retroviral medication or the simplest gift of all: food for the hungry.

And it is a Holiday bonus for all of us, too. We don’t spend as much time at the mall, which means we can spend more time with those we love. We have less stress, less panic over finding just the right thing. Instead of ripping through a mountain of paper and ribbons and trying to feign excitement for something that we truly don’t want or need, we talk and laugh and tell stories and make memories. And you know what? It feels good. It feels good to know that instead of another sweater or pair of earrings, someone who actually has need is going to be helped. That is the very best Holiday bonus I can think of.

It’s Madhouse Wednesday…er, Thursday? I am always so late. Here are the others who play along…some every week, others when they can (and some habitually late, but I won’t mention any names…ahem). You can join in the fun, too! Let me know if you want in and we’ll get your blog added to the list.
Allison – Allimonster Speaks
Barb – Spencer Hill Spinning & Dyeing
Batty – Batty’s Adventures in Spooky Knitting
Dave – Notes from the Field
Eileen - Art Deco Diva Knits
Evil Twin’s Wife – The Glamorous Life of a Hausfrau
G – Not-A-Box
Heather – She Flies With Her Own Wings
Jennifer – Ask Poops, Please
JMLC – Daydreams and Ruminations
Kate – One More Thing
LC – LC in Sunny So Cal
Louise – Child of Grace
Marcy – Mittentime
Melanie – usually, things happen
Nikki – Land of the Free, Home of the Depressed
Sara – yoyu mama

Mama’s Got a Brand New Bag

2010-12-03T10:39:00.001-05:00

I never put away the sewing mess left behind from the great curtain project of 2010* and I finally decided yesterday that if it was going to take up my entire dining room then then my sewing machine and it’s accomplices ought to be useful. Did I create a flurry of handmade Christmas gifts? No. Did I finish sewing the Roman shades for the kitchen? No. I sat down with 1/2 yard of Amy Butler fabric from my stash and whipped up a bag. For myself. Oh, selfish selfish Mama!

I didn’t use a pattern for this, just sketched out a shape on paper and cut the pieces the way I knew they would fit, making an open topped messenger bag of the sort that I have been wishing for for months now.

A little flap and magnet closure will hopefully keep things from spilling out too much, while still allowing me to slip my hand inside quickly for wallet, shopping list, cell phone, etc.

It also has a nice wide strap that is reinforced with heavy duty fusible interfacing. I tend to wear my bags out, so beefing this one up a bit was important.

Now, if we could all get well from this wicked pneumonia I would be able to get out shopping and try this new bag out!

*pictures of the new curtains coming when I finally have four people free from pneumonia and have thoroughly cleaned the house.

Morning Girl

2010-12-03T07:17:00.002-05:00

She gets up so early.
It is dark outside, the dogs are fast asleep, I am fast asleep, and her brother is still snoring away, but Emma is up and cheerful and ready to chat up her Dad before he heads off to work. She likes having him all to herself for those precious moments in the morning. I think she enjoys the quiet house at that hour, when the choice of where to sit is hers alone with no one to bargain or argue with her. The choice of what to do belongs to her as well…she can watch NickJr without her brother constantly trying to convince her that a Star Wars movie would be a far better choice. So much of her day is dictated by the whims of Harry, but the early morning belongs to her.
When Brendan comes to kiss me goodbye at the early early hour of 6:10 he gives me the Emma Report: Emma has already had breakfast and is watching cartoons or Emma is in the bathroom or Emma is reading in the living room or Emma is having oatmeal. She is content to stick with whatever activity she has chosen for the little while it takes me to fully wake up and come downstairs, at which point she will call out a sunny, eager “Good morning, Mom!” as if she has been waiting around just to see me. This girl knows how to make you feel special.
If we set out her clothes the night before, Emma will be up and dressed and ready for the day before I have had the first sip of my tea. She tells me about her dreams the night before (often involving getting lost when following a stray cat, but being saved by Daddy and of course the cat comes home with her), about her ideas for the day ahead, and more often than not she will tell me, without any trace of laughter, “Mom, you look very beautiful today”. This to my bed-headed, rumpled pajama, sheet marks still criss-crossing my face, half asleep self, but the seriousness in her delivery makes me believe it, too. I love seeing myself through her eyes.
Finally, an hour or so later, Sir Harrison will stumble down the stairs, groggy and cozy and still smelling of little boy sleep, and her wakefulness will be too much for him. He will curl into me, trying to twist his lengthy leggy-ness into a pretzel that will still fit on my lap, and she will tell him all of the things she has already told me, and likely her Dad, too. When he is ready he unwinds his long limbs and climbs down from my lap and they both try to convince me that Star Wars should absolutely be the movie choice of the day, that nothing else will do, and can we please have chocolate cake for breakfast? And then they are off together, surely plotting against me, but so involved with each other that I cannot help but smile.
And in the afternoon, our Morning Girl finds the consequence of rising before the dawn:

We Miss You

2010-12-01T21:09:00.002-05:00

I have never met a dog who looked like you. I’ve never known a puppy who whined so much, or chewed so much, or itched so much. I have never in my life encountered ears as soft as yours. I have missed your soulful, forgiving eyes for one year now…those eyes that told me you understood we were doing the very best we could for you, even when it was a battle, which it often was. I just want you to know that despite the struggle, you were an awesome, awesome dog. I miss you. We miss you. You are so very fondly remembered and loved.

No Strings

2010-12-01T14:46:00.002-05:00

How many of you just added the word “attached” to the end of that title? I know my mind wants to, but for today’s Madhouse post I am going to take this in a different direction. What if we all imagine, for a second, the literal ramifications of No Strings?
For me this thought almost immediately incites panic. No Strings!?! What will I do with my hands? You see, I spend a considerable amount of time each week knitting and sewing. Keeping my hands busy is what I do to keep myself sane…it’s not that I don’t love staying home with my children, it’s just that sometimes it doesn’t feel as though I am accomplishing anything. I run them around to school and activities, try to keep the house on the honest side of the clean/disgusting boundary, and cook three or more times per day. Sometimes it feels like treading water, rather than swiftly cutting through it. On the days when it all feels like stagnation, the act of taking thread, yarn, and fabric (all of which are forms of string, no?) and making something new and useful from them helps me feel accomplished. If there were no strings there would be no sewing, no knitting, no inner peace in my days.
From there my thoughts head to my husband, my brother, and many of our friends friends – a musical bunch of people that we know and love. No Strings has huge ramifications for that crew as well. No Strings means no piano, no guitar, no bass, no orchestra, no music. Where would all of us be without music? How many times per day do you reach for your ipod, CDs, or car radio, looking for something to move you, to make your day shine brighter or just to sing at the top of your lungs because it feels good?
And what about the smaller odds and ends?
No rope for rock climbing and clotheslines, for tying your boat to the dock. No string for kite flying or tying up a good roast. No twine for mending, no fabric to clothe ourselves, nothing with which to make an area rug or carpet. No curtains, pillows, or blankets. Nothing to tie the Christmas tree to the roof of your car, nothing to tie your shoes. No primitive fishing line. No rigging for sails, nothing to hang our wind chimes.
No Strings would be catastrophic.
-------------
When I was a little kid my friend, Sarah, lived around the corner from my Grandparents’ house. We spent much of our childhood climbing trees and scraping knees and trying to learn how to skateboard and playing in the playhouse her dad built in their backyard. We also liked to build things, and our two favorite tools for building were duct tape and string. We joke, to this day, about how with duct tape and a ball of twine we could build just about anything, and after taking a closer look at the idea of No Strings, I think we were on to something.
So much of what we consider civilized and comfortable has a relationship to string, something that few of us probably think about. And that is Madhouse Wednesday.

Thanks

2010-11-27T14:58:00.002-05:00

Kate is hosting a blog carnival called The Madhouse each Wednesday and I am playing along. On the internet, as in real life, I am late to the party…because if you are paying attention today is Saturday, not Wednesday. What can I say? Life often gets in the way of my best intentions, but I don’t think it is ever too late to show up.
If I were to create a bulleted list of all the things I am thankful for in my life, the length of it would surely stretch all the way around the world and then some. Because really: living here, in this town that I love, with these people that fill my life with goodness, with a warm house and plenty of food and no war directly outside of my door – there is nothing to not be thankful for in my life. There are things I pine for, there are things that would make my days easier and my life more fulfilled, but I have enough. There are surely many things that I worry about, but all of my needs are met daily, and that is enough. And I am thankful. Oh, so thankful.
But this week in particular there are a few things for which I feel I ought to say an extra special thanks:
1. It started with my cough, then my ears filled with fluid, then my throat hurt like hell. Then Emma didn’t seem to hear anything we said. Then Brendan had a high fever for many, many days…his rattling chest and whole body shivers were scary, to say the least. We cancelled Thanksgiving plans, we hunkered down. We all visited the doctor: three ear infections, possible strep throat, and pneumonia. Today, the three of us (sans Harry, a.k.a. The Last Man Standing, who has been shipped to Pie’s house for a grandma date/wearing out session) are snuggled together in the family room, sipping tea, enjoying the restful, quiet house, and taking our various doses of healing meds. And so today, I am grateful and thankful for the invention of antibiotics. I am thankful for easy breathing, in and out, in and out. I am thankful for ears that can (almost) hear clearly and throats that can swallow without making us cringe.
2. We’ve all heard that tensions in Asia are rising. The country where my children were born has come under attack and we all sit on pins and needles waiting to see what will happen next. We pray for peace, for a solution between North and South that does not include war. Whatever political feelings we have over the situation at hand, our kids have family in South Korea and we hope, more than anything, that they will be safe. As selfish as this may sound, today I am thankful that my children are home, that I am not waiting for a travel call. I am thankful for their laughter across the room, for the fact that they are safe within these walls, here. And my heart goes out to all of those people who are not yet so lucky.
3. And lastly, as we head into the school-age years with our children, I am thankful for community. I have come to realize that we cannot do this alone. We need the lessons of those who came before us and the camaraderie of those who are walking beside us now to make this work. Parenting is hard enough, but when you add the additional elements of transracial-international adoption into the mix there are many more things to consider, many more ways to fail. So thank you to those who guide us, who share their stories so that we may learn. This community, both online and in “real life”, gives me strength and hope and real working knowledge, all of which are necessary and priceless.
And so there it is: my personal shout out to antibiotics, having my children home, and the adoptive community at large. Perhaps a little disjointed and random, but those are the things that make the top of my list today.

I Wish…

2010-11-09T21:13:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I forget. I forget that we are not just any other family going through our days and years, taking pictures and marking milestones and watching our babies grow into small boys and girls. Although to an outsider it may seem impossible, I sometimes forget that they were not always a part of us, that they came from somewhere else, that they look like someone else.
And maybe this is a good thing. We are, after all, entwined just as any other parent and child would be. They steal food off my plate and drink my drinks and wind my hair around their fingers and fall asleep with their cheeks on mine and run to us when they are hurt and complain when I cook things they don’t like and make the silly faces that we make and they have even learned to love Weezer. We know each other’s ticklish spots; we know how to make each other laugh. I am yours, you are mine; we belong to each other just like any other family.
But maybe this is a bad thing, because although it has been said that love is blind, that love does not see color or race, the world at large does see those things. And our love, no matter how blind, is not enough to protect our children, to keep them from feeling different in a world in which matched sets of parents and children are the norm. We cannot afford to forget.
In our family, normal afternoon conversations with our children often leads to talk about all different kinds of people, skin tones, religious beliefs, ways of life, and types of families. We talk about racism. We talk about the fact, daily, that they were born in Korea, that we adopted them, that they did not grow in my womb. We talk about birth parents and foster parents and waiting children and orphans and poverty and stigma…all at age appropriate levels, of course (and intermixed with heavy discussion on the merits and downfalls of Annakin, Luke, and Leia Skywalker for good balance). Our family library is full of multicultural reading material; when we play in our toy kitchen we serve enchiladas and kimchi. We chose a private school for our children’s education in large part because of the diversity we find there and because there is a high percentage of other children with similar backgrounds of adoption. We have a large group of friends comprised of blended families, interracial families, adoptive families. Most days I think, I hope, that we are getting it right.
Tonight I was getting Harrison out of the bath tub. I had just cut his hair short and he looked so much younger, with traces of his babyhood still visible at the formerly-hidden-by-too-long-hair edges of his face. I wrapped him in his towel, he shivered and he leaned in close, so that our foreheads and noses were just touching, our eyes locked together, and he whispered in his bravest way: “I wish I looked like you.”
And my heart stopped.
My world tilted.
“I wish my skin was lighter, like yours. Mine is darker. I wish my eyes looked like yours.”
In that moment I did what anyone would do: I told him that I loved his skin, that he has the most beautiful brown eyes that I have ever had occasion to gaze into. I told him I loved him just the way he is. I told him that I don't look anything like some of our family, but that we are still a family. And then I got him dressed and brushed his teeth.
A few minutes later I knew that I needed to revisit that conversation with a clear head and a heart that was not breaking, but strong. Because we are strong, we are prepared; these are the conversations we have been spent our parenthood preparing for. As I tucked him in I laid down next to him as I did when he was a toddler: foreheads together, noses just touching, eyes locked. I asked him why he wanted to look like me. We had a frank discussion about what makes a family and what the outside world sees. We talked about how everyone is the same inside, that only our skin and hair and eyes are different. I told him I was proud of him for telling me how he was feeling. I asked if he had any questions, and he said: “Why do people all look different, anyway? Why can’t we all just be the same?” We spoke of continents and evolution, and how people from different parts of the world look like other people from the same part of the world. I reminded him how boring the world would be if everyone looked exactly the same. We talked for a long, long time. Eventually it all dissolved into giggles because he is, after all, a five year old.
In some moments my heart may forget that we are not just any other family going through our days and years, taking pictures and marking milestones and watching our babies grow into small boys and girls. My mind, however, is always aware of our differences; despite the fact that the road is not simple, that the conversations are more direct than most people probably have with their young children, I am so very grateful that this is my life, my family, my reality.
Our differences have made all of the difference.

Elopement!

2010-11-09T08:49:00.002-05:00

There is something so romantic about an elopement, isn’t there? Two people in love who just don’t care about the big wedding, finding it more important to just make it official and to begin their life together in commitment. Because when you are in love, and you are planning to spend your life together, why wait to get started? Rather than repeat their vows in front of the masses, they hold hands quietly in their very own yard and make their promises to each other with the trees and the water, the wind and the rain as their witnesses. Beautiful!
Congratulations, my big brother, and welcome the the family, my new sister (in-law). We love you very, very, very much!

Halloween 2010 – In Pictures

2010-11-09T08:40:00.002-05:00

Sneak Peek: Living Room

2010-11-04T08:19:00.000-04:00

64 yards of fabric, lots of time spent with iron, pins, and thread, and the living room curtains are nearly complete!

Sick Day

2010-10-21T14:33:00.002-04:00

Harrison takes his sick days seriously. He has big plans, big ideas, none of which include actually acting (or even being) sick. Last night at dinner he was 102.9, flushed and glazed over and completely listless, so we decided to keep him home today. Bath and early to bed and then he slept in an extra two hours this morning. He woke with a bounce in his step today, as though he had been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card. When asked about his health he proclaimed that he felt great and wondered what fun we could make of the day. He thought perhaps we’d go to camp, or see a movie, or go for a run on the track. Just a few suggestions, Mom.
Instead of such fun things we kept it calm: drop Emma at school, ride in the cart through the grocery store, read a few books, pick Emma up from school, eat a quiet lunch, and play a few games of Pac Man. Throughout the day’s activities he kept on a smile and kept up a constant stream of chatter, giving me anecdotes about his school days, letting me know his new favorite super heroes and ideas for Halloween costumes, and reading me the advertisements from each and every grocery display. it was the first time we had each other all to ourselves in such a long, long time. I’ve been missing you, he said.
When Emma was home the two went upstairs to play Pac Man, and the house filled with their laughter and squeals of delight. They played for an hour, giving each other tips and hints for the best mode of play, and then compared notes from their respective new classes and schools. From my perch beneath the stairs I got to hear all about the key players in their new school lives: who causes trouble and means it, who is accidentally always in the wrong place at the wrong time, who can kick the ball the furthest, and who the emerging best friends might be. It was the best playtime they have shared in months. Harrison, you are the very best brother, she said. I know, he said right back.
The truth is, we all needed his day off. Real school, Kindergarten, is no joke. It is busy and stressful (good and bad stress) and there is so much for him to take in that by the time we get him back each afternoon he has nothing of himself left to give or share. He is often grumpy and we are more than likely overwhelming, eager to have him back, so that an atmosphere of off-ness consumes the rest of our afternoons. I have missed him so much, the sunshiny, well-rested, happy to go along with whatever I have planned version of himself. So much for being sick, but I am so grateful for this day, for this chance to reconnect.

So Happy Together

2010-10-15T20:54:00.004-04:00

When I was a little girl my grandparents had one of those old record players that was more of a sideboard than music making machine. It took up half of their living room and the inside was lined in soft red felt. Tucked inside were albums left behind by my father and his siblings, plus a few beloved by my grandmother…Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton come to mind. I spent countless hours listening to the slightly scratchy sound of record revolving beneath needle, singing, badly I am sure, you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run. Those records were the soundtrack of my early childhood, the songs I sang while swinging and roller skating and playing dolls on their front lawn.

My very favorite album was a 45 by The Turtles: So Happy Together. I cannot imagine how much I annoyed my grandparents by listening to that record over and over and over again. I remember so clearly the feeling of singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs and twirling around and around in the space between my grandmother’s rocking chair and the record player, making myself dizzy with motion and high ideals for my future. So happy together! For a child of divorced parents the idea that love could last, that people could be happy together for the long haul, was captivating.

Fast forward nearly three decades and I still know all of the words to that song. I sing it in the shower when no one else is listening and I still believe in those high ideals. Love can last. My past bumps into my future and I have just celebrated 11 years with the man who helps me believe, every day, that anything is possible. I know now that love takes work, that the happiness we achieve is special because we are both invested in it and we both want to move forward side by side. We can be happy together because we are partners on the same team.

The song was right, the lyrics were true:

I can’t see me loving nobody but you
for all my life
when you’re with me
baby the skies will be blue
for all my life
me and you
and you and me
no matter how they tossed the dice
it had to be
the only one for me is you
and you for me
so happy together

I love you, Brendan. Thank you for making so happy together possible.

Editing

2010-10-15T16:09:00.000-04:00

The problem with having lived in seven different places over an eleven year marriage (I even left out a few of the shorter stops in our adventure) is that when you finally settle down into the house that you believe with all your heart is “the one”, your furniture, acquired among four states for houses and apartments that span the styles of at least ten decades, might not fit. And when I say it might not fit, I mean it both literally and figuratively, as in the sectional sofa that would be perfect for our den/family room in the attic, but won’t budge up even the first half of two flights of stairs, or the mid-century modern swivel chairs that are just all wrong in your Victorian era house. I think we have an eclectic style and we’re able to make many, if not most, pieces work somewhere in our home, but there are pieces that we treasure and adore that just do not make a good fit in this house, in this space. And if this space is “the one”, then maybe those pieces aren’t the ones.

My beloved swivel chairs that came from my Grandmother and Grandfather’s house have been sent along for a new life at my brother’s new house, along with a table my Grandfather made to go with them. They are fantastic chairs, but they will have to be fantastic over there, rather than here. The sectional sofa is also going to have to find some new fannies to enjoy its comforting folds, since it eats up all of the light and space in our formal dining room turned family room. I dream of a white slip-covered, apartment sized sofa and a spindly rocking chair for that space. Also on the potential chopping block are three armoires, an extra twin bed, a red vinyl wing-backed chair, and a sideboard. I am not convinced that any needs to go - yet - but I am learning that it is ok to edit, to scale back what we have so that our house continues to feel airy, with breathing room and space in which to dance with our little ones. While I believe that our living spaces are meant to evolve around our lives, I also know that we cannot hold onto everything forever. For the first time I am trying not to stow pieces in the garage and basement for the future perfect house in which to use them, because I think we are here, in our perfect house, already.

Progress Report

2010-10-07T20:26:00.000-04:00

“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.” -Madeleine L’Engle

How true is that? And it goes for houses, too. I know, because I spent my day up close and personal with the trim in our kitchen, painting over 110 years’ worth of paint, dings, puppy claw marks, shoe scuffs, nail holes, and various other indentations and marks from the lives lived between these walls. A fresh coast of white paint (over the blue paint that was there - I did not paint over any wood trim…yet) gives the old a new look, but keeps the character intact. Perfect!

We’ve been a year in this house, in the this little city, and we’re a wee bit tired. Sometimes I feel as though we’ve accomplished nothing, but then why so tired? Ah, then I remember all of the little things that add up to make one year’s worth of work on an old house and I am justified in my exhaustion. My happy exhaustion, mind you. I'm going to go put my feet up in my ever-so-calming living room with a glass of wine, and leave you to peruse our list of accomplishments. It seems we have gotten something done, after all.

Refinished second story hardwood floors
Installed high efficiency gas powered furnace
Painted H’s room (patched walls, painted ceiling)
Painted E’s room (patched walls, painted ceiling)
Painted formal living room (removed ugly/not original chair rail, patched walls, painted ceiling)
Repaired floor of third story bathroom, installed new vinyl flooring
1/2 painted third story bathroom (needs one more coat)
Painted powder room (removed wallpaper and chair rail, patched walls, painted ceiling)
Attempted to have ducts cleaned (shall we all have a laugh over this one?) Then vacuumed them out ourselves and dislodged many years’' worth of accumulation from previous owners’ triplets’ duct.
1/2 painted kitchen walls, trim, and ceiling (we’re getting there, slowly but…slowly).
Chopped down one of the apple trees.
Moved five hydrangea bushes from the front landscaping to the backyard
Removed wood plank landscaping border
Installed new landscaping (perennials) and re-shaped the front garden beds.
Removed old screen door and installed a new screen/glass door at front door.
Had roof re-slated as needed and had all metal roof parts painted red…which will go with whatever color we paint the house in the future.
Removed the awful, old television antennae. Hooray!
Installed new garage doors in a carriage style, more in-keeping with the age of the house.
Re-stained the Rainbow System playground. It seems lame to include this but it took an entire week of steady work.
1/2 painted the master bedroom and attached office
Installed a new pool fence and pool cover (stretchy kind with an elephant in the ad)

Poor Puppy

2010-10-05T20:13:00.002-04:00

This little one is quite sick, in the veterinary hospital for a second night tonight. We’re sitting home, hoping and praying for her recovery with the knowledge that she is in very good hands. Please keep your fingers crossed with us, won’t you?

Balloons!

2010-09-24T18:51:00.002-04:00

There is nothing quite so neat, so special, so completely cool, as watching a hot air balloon go from fabric on the ground to a fully inflated, fire breathing bauble in the sky.
One of our favorite parts of living here is being so close the Adirondack Balloon Festival’s annual kick-off event. Just a quick walk through our neighborhood and we’re in the park, so close to the inflating balloons that we can touch them. The crowd parts as the inflating balloons begin to eat up the grassy real estate, and suddenly the lawn is empty again as the balloon goes upright. Children squeal in delight as the sun lights up the fabric, and the oldest in the crowd are young again as they wave to the passengers tucked carefully into each balloon basket for lift-off. Up, up, and away! They rise quickly, becoming mere specs in the sunset in a few moments time. I don’t care what physics are involved, that moment is pure magic!
We had a blast at last night’s event, especially with the addition of the Tubby Tubes slide…for free!

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For the Love of John Deere

2010-09-07T05:01:00.001-04:00

When you take my kids to the fair you can spend a few minutes looking at animals. They will tolerate, for a short time, cute little bunnies and adorable, soft baby goats. They will even ooh and ahh over brand-new ducklings. But you will not be allowed to dawdle because my kids have an agenda. They MUST get to the tractors.

In the World According to Harry and Emma, the section on county fairs is devoted entirely to tractor infatuation. We must Climb them! We must watch them line up for an hour for the tractor pull! We must try out the different colors!

We must have our pictures taken with them!

We must visit the old ones and the new ones and everything in between!

We must buy new toy tractors and introduce them to all of the full scale tractors at the fair!

We must measure their wheels!
And finally, if we’re going to spend that much time around tractors, we’re going to have to be patient with Mom while she takes pictures of the neat gears and springy parts.
.

And maybe even a bunny or two!

Just Right

2010-09-01T16:25:00.001-04:00

We’ve got a new place to add to our list of favorites, a new place to go and hide away from the world for just a little while. It is wonderful, so very quiet and still, with birds and butterflies and chipmunks and turtles, too.
I love it.
It isn’t so far that we can’t sneak away for the afternoon and be back before dinner, but it’s far enough that it feels like another world entirely. There are nice neighbors who drop off the best chocolate milk ever, and the water is cool and glassy, perfect for cutting into with a sharp dive.
Almost as soon as we arrive the kinks work themselves out of my shoulders and I forget for a little while that my kids are forging ahead into their school lives next week and that my life is going to be, suddenly, much more empty. I forget the dishes, the laundry, and the floors that need cleaning. I forget that I am 33 with a family and dogs and a house.
At camp, for a little while, I just am.
I am the kid that sneaks down the dock for just one more swim before we leave. I am the mom in the moment, watching her babies show off their latest swimming accomplishments. I am the daughter having a beer with her mom at 3 in the afternoon. I am the big-kid having a raft race with my son, and trying hard to win because he’s fast. I sing the whole ride there and the entire way home. I laugh, with my mouth and my eyes.
Mom, you never have to buy me another present, ever, as long as you keep the camp. Thank you!!!!!!

Four

2010-08-31T04:06:00.001-04:00

She isn’t a baby anymore. She is smart and funny, capable already of collapsing into pre-teen giggles that leave her gasping for breath and turning bright red; a wickedly contagious brand of laughter that is hers alone.

Don’t be fooled by photographs – this girl is nobody’s princess. In their make-believe play she is the bad guy, or the hero, or the warrior, never the damsel in distress. She is strong.

She knows who she is and what she is capable of, and she is not afraid to tell anyone that she can do something all by herself. And boy, does she like a good challenge. Just tell her she is too little to attempt something, just try convincing her that she can’t quite swim all the way around the pool yet and she will prove you wrong. She looks fear in the face and carries on with determination and will. She sees her older brother’s abilities as records to be beaten. She can whoop all of us at quite a few board games.

But she is also soft. She still needs those cuddly moments, still needs to know that she will always be our baby even when she is all grown up. She is compassionate and empathetic, sweet at just the right times. She knows her story and likes to hear it, to see the pictures that form a sketch of her beginnings. And she knows where she is going: currently her life goals include being a mommy, an artist, and an animal trainer (because “I am am much better at teaching animals than you are, Mommy”). And I have no doubt that she can do all of those things, and more, if she puts her mind to it.

Right now she is our Em, our sweet, funny, brilliant little-big girl. She is, quite perfectly, four.

Growing Pains

2010-08-30T06:54:00.001-04:00

He lost his first tooth last week and he starts Kindergarten next week.

She turned four last week and begins Pre-K next week.
My heart is doing all sorts of weird things this summer…aching, swelling with joy and pride, and longing for a baby that I can’t have. One minute I am entirely sad that their earliest childhood days are past us, that so soon they will be on to bigger adventures and huge chunks of their lives will be spent with people we really don’t know. Sometimes I am excited at the prospect of having ten hours per week that are really and truly my own, but then that excitement gets tempered by the thought of what I will do with that time. Who the heck am I, without them? I am eager to see my children learn and grow, so happy to know that they each have a keen appetite for new ideas and experiences. And I’m not going to lie and say that it won’t be somewhat of a huge relief to have someone else be the entertainment committee for part of the day because for all of its inherent joys and benefits and greatness, stay-at-home parenthood is entirely exhausting. But. But I will miss them like crazy and the feeling of losing them, even for this little while, makes me feel dizzy.
And yes, I will say it out loud: I am having baby pangs, strong ones, pangs like I had when we were first trying to conceive. My arms ache, baby showers stink again, and I know that if there was a baby available I could pull together a nursery, clothes, and everything else we need in a matter of hours. I have a mental checklist of where everything is and in which order it should be put in place, according to importance and necessity. Do I think that these pangs are part side-effect of my big kids going to school? Yes, but only in part. I have had an overwhelming feeling of someone being missing from our family for awhile now. It’s a tough thing, this knowledge, especially when the other half of my marriage (my better half?) doesn’t agree. So maybe we’re done, but my heart disagrees and I don’t know how to feel.
My mind is trying to get it all under control, trying to remember that this is the natural progression of events in a life, that babies grow up and go off to school and mothers go back to work. And we don’t get everything we want. Life carries on and on, whether we want to hold it still or not.
But man, how I want to hold it still.

Overheard: Family Room

2010-07-21T10:06:00.001-04:00

They have called 911 several times, each time exclaiming with increased urgency that the babies are coming and they don't know what to do. They seem scared. Come quickly! they yell, There isn't much time!

The youngest throws the toy phone to the floor in disgust when she gets the prerecorded message: Do you want to play? She doesn't want to play, she yells, she wants the amby-lens to come and save the baby kitties who are having trouble being born. She calls again and is put on hold, I can hear the muzak while she impatiently taps her foot. The oldest tells the mama stuffed-cat to push and take short little breaths. After much loving guidance and stern support the kittens are born, the mama lives, and the family room pet-shop/veterinary hospital is returned to order. All is well in the universe once again.

Oh, how our afternoon playtime has evolved!

Wanted: Fairy Godmother

2010-07-20T09:33:00.000-04:00

Some days, living in an old house, I wish I wish I wish I had a magic wand. Or a great deal of money-that would work, too. I would love it if we could be the people who moved in and instantly got to work gutting the kitchen, putting up a pretty new privacy fence, installing the beautiful landscaping that I can so clearly picture in my mind, putting in windows that actually open and close, building a lovely pergola for a shade room behind the garage, and completely starting over with each bathroom. Brendan and I know both know how this house should be, should look, should function. Getting from point A to point B on the roadmap to awesome house is not as easy as one would hope.

What we do have is love, determination, and a lot of sweat equity. We are our own free labor and we have learned over the years (this is our fourth house, after all) that we can learn to do anything. We also have an acute appreciation for the age and character of our home; we want to keep all of the quirky details that make it cool while updating the "improvements" that others made over the years, many of which simply do not do the house justice.

I have been working on the kitchen for a few weeks now. We replaced hardware on the cabinetry earlier in the spring and that alone made an incredible difference in the overall appeal of the room. Now I am painting the walls and trim, covering up the blue and gold that predominated the room and reminded me of a high school pep rally (go Spartans!). It has not been easy, nor fun, but the results are a soothing reminder of what will one day be the "heart" of our home. We're using Behr's Green Tea for the walls and Ultra Pure White for the trim, doors, and banquette.

While the room is going to feel a whole lot better just with paint, we're also saving for new appliances and lighting. Have we mentioned our stove? It's an old school JennAire with a grill on one side and two electric burners on the other, and no hope of buying more burners because it is so old. We plan our meals around how many pots it will take to cook each dish...I am serious. The oven door doesn't close so when we want to bake something we have to jam an old wrapping paper tube between it and the opposing cabinetry. Have we mentioned our fridge? It's a reasonable appliance, though oversized for the allotted space such that the trim was ripped off so it could be shoved into position. It is a double door monstrosity that emits the lovely aroma of cigarette smoke when the door is opened and sports the largest rust spot I have ever seen on an indoor appliance.

We make it work. We have dinner parties and laugh about the state of our kitchen; we live, eat, breathe, dance, and play in this room and it works, whether it looks pretty or not. And though I wish we had that magic wand, and often, I still know beyond a doubt that the true heart of our home lies not within cabinetry and walls, but within the family that lives together beneath this old slate roof.

2010-05-31T21:36:00.000-04:00

One of the great things about living here is convenience. The Memorial Day parade was last week. We only had to walk a few houses away to see it!

2010-05-07T21:58:00.000-04:00

Making some improvements a little at a time. Some touch up paint and the garage will be great.

Seven Months

2010-04-27T13:19:00.000-04:00

I think it takes a year.

One whole year in any new place is about the length of time it takes to feel settled, to feel as though you are a part of place, rather than a visitor just occupying a space. We have been here nearly seven months and I am starting , just now, to feel the twinges of belonging, of ownership, of a sense of "this is my home". It feels good, as if something really, really great is just around the corner and all of this hard work we have been setting forth to do will be so very worth it in the future.

I believe that you must witness the change of all four seasons in a place before it can feel like home. You have to know where the day lilies push through the soil in order to know where to expect them the next spring. You have to know the order in which the fruit trees will bloom and you have to know when the maple trees will drop their spring flowers so that you don't open the pool too soon. You have to dig your bare hands into the soil, pulling out years' worth of garbage left behind by previous owners, before you feel the sense of ownership that allows you to scold the schoolboy who shamelessly litters on your front lawn right in front of you. "This is my front yard, not your garbage can!" you will yell, feeling a sense of pride and indignance that has not been there before.

In five months' time I expect to be there, all the way there. Right now we are building the attachments and relationships with neighbors, our house, and our community, that will help make this place really and truly our home. Every day that we spend working around the house and the yard, walking to the library and school and work, and chatting with our own series of Wilsons* over the top of the fence, bring us closer to home.

*Please tell me you get this reference! From the t.v. show Home Improvement...

Six months in and the bottom fell out.

2010-03-19T09:35:00.000-04:00

We were playing outside a few days ago, the weather having turned so very nice that we just could not continue with indoor projects for another minute and had spent the day, instead, running around in the backyard sunshine. After stepping inside briefly to gather refreshments for the children, I tried to close the back door behind me on my way back out and found that it would not close. Like every person who finds a door stuck, I tried again and again to close it, looking all around the opening to see if there was something blocking its progress, but nothing could be seen from outside. When I poked my head in a perplexing sight met my eyes: the bottom had, quite literally, fallen out of the door.

The door I speak of is a metal, insulated exterior door, relatively new compared to the rest of the house. Such doors have wooden spacers at the top, bottom, and sides to hold the insulation in and give the door framework upon which to place the metal. It was the bottom piece of wood that we found on the floor. Why had it fallen out? Ah, funny you should ask! It fell out because the duct tape that was holding it up inside of the door finally gave out. We didn't even know the duct tape was there because the previous owners had painted it to match the door. So many things in this house are just this way: a cob job to hold things together just long enough. It is frustrating, but we knew when we bought the house that there would likely be many offenses of this nature. As Brendan so aptly put it, "I don't like it when the house chooses the projects for me".

Truthfully, we knew the back door was messed up or at least improperly installed, because there was a giant gust of air spewing from it each cold winter night. It was, most definitely, "on the list". This week it got moved up a few notches in priority. You cannot simply go buy a new door and install it the same day, or at least we cannot, so for the time being we have used our stash of packing tape to shore up the bottom which looks pretty terrible. And embarrassing. But we are learning that this old house ownership is a process, that things do not get done in one week, one month, or one year. We are learning to pace ourselves and that is a valuable lesson learned.

Life Lessons, Coffee Version

2010-03-03T06:33:00.001-05:00

I was about to post all about the horrific coffee date I had yesterday, in full detail with arrows and exclamation points to further express my point, but sometimes the delete button is my best friend. What purpose would it serve to write it all out? Would it help anyone if I spoke poorly of another mother's parenting choices? No. The more important things to remember are those I learned from yesterday's outing:

1. Trust your gut. If someone seems like a Big Sigh when I pass them in the hall three times a week, their drama like a cloud around their shoulders, they are probably not someone I am going to want to hang out with. Giving people the benefit of the doubt is a worthwhile application of my optimism in most circumstances, but that sinking feeling in my gut should also be listened to. Yesterday's ugly scene could have been avoided if only I had trusted my gut about this particular person.

2.  Stick to anonymous places when having a first, and dubious, coffee date.  It's not about saving face, it's about respecting the people and business you have come to know and love, and understanding that they don't need that sort of customer.

3. Memorize the phrase "I'll have to go home and check my calendar".

4. When things get ugly, I do have the right to leave or suggest that the other party leave.

5. We all have ugly parenting moments. We all have moments, perhaps even days, that we would like to rewrite. If only we could go back and hand oursleves the edited script for that moment in time, so that we could be more patient, more in the moment, less grumpy and lousy. If only we could go back and recognize that giving in to the child's polite request for a cannoli would not break any profound law of the universe, but perhaps it might buy us an hour's peace, an enjoyable cup of coffee, the respect of someone who has taken a chance on you. I think the other mom would take yesterday back if she could, at least I hope she would.  I hope she would take back the yelling, the screaming, the bullying, the setting of her three year old on the stoop of a business located 15 feet from a busy street by herself, to wait until said mother had finished her cup of coffee. If I could take yesterday back, rewrite the script and hand it to myself, I would not have gone to coffee at all. Of if I had gone I would have spent less time trying to disarm the awkwardness of the situation and asked the mom if she needed help...with parenting, with her kids, with anything at all. Because looking back at yesterday I see a woman floundering, grasping, clinging with her fingernails to an edge of what she saw as control but what the rest of the world perceived to be chaos and mean-spiritedness.

6.  Children can be unruly, rude, bratty, and out of control, but they are still kids and more often than not it is our reaction to their actions that sets the tone for our relationship in any given moment or even a lifetime. React wisely.

7. I have the best kids in the world and I am a good enough mom.

8. Above all else, be kind.

Perspective

2010-02-22T08:38:00.001-05:00

Just when you think you might not make it, just when you think that one more day off might kill you, just when you feel that one more "idle" day of making tents and snacks and lunch and breakfast and messes and doing laundry and prying lost crayons from the puppy's mouth and calming down yet another tantrum and once again explaining the lack of favorite breakfast food despite rising protests and mopping up the muddy floor and catching another runny nose and hoping that one more cup of coffee might save you - just then, he says something like this:

"Mom, don't you just love this wonderful life we have together?"

His eyes gaze into yours and you know that you would gladly be the mother of a five year old and a three year old forever. You understand in a flash that this is all too fleeting and you regret your loss of patience and you remember your joy. You set down that worthless cup of coffee and you hug that boy, smarter at five than you are at 32, and you hug him with all of your might.

And later, when they run excitedly into their classrooms on the first day back after a week-long vacation, you miss them both like crazy and you can't wait for 11:20, when they will be back at your side with requests for tent making and crayon coloring and snacks and lunch. The kitchen floor suddenly looks quite lovely with the patina left behind by muddy boots. I would not trade this life for anything and it is, indeed, wonderful.

So Much To Say

2010-02-16T15:47:00.001-05:00

After a year-long venture of house-hunting, house-selling, house-buying, house-moving, and finally settling in, there is much to say. So much to say that there is no good place to start, not one finite point at which the story picks up and continues. So instead of trying to play catch-up, I will dust off this keyboard and start with today. Today I am sitting in my new-to-me kitchen in my 109 year old house, looking out the bank of windows that frame our kitchen's banquette, watching the snow come down in big, puffy flakes that blanket the yard, the swingset, and the pool beyond.

I am loving this new house. It is old, and the wear shows in many places - 109 years builds up a good amount of wear! There are dings in the trim and patches in the hardwood floors, and ancient windows that no longer open and shut. But there is goodness, too, in the littlest of details here, there, and everywhere. I appreciate the stamped door hinges, the rounded wall in the upstairs hall, the canning shelves in backmost basement room, the scrolled wood on the fireplace...so many things are good that I have gotten used to the things that aren't so good. This kitchen is cold, both in temperature and aesthetics, but it has a good deal of space and we can make do until we have the money to make it our own - I know that one day it will be the coziest spot in our home. Until then, I have gotten used to putting on a sweatshirt when I want to linger here and it seems fitting that the chilliest room in our house is also where the teakettle is put to good and frequent use. This is my favorite place to sit in the late afternoons; while the sun splashes across the table I knit and watch Harry and Emma play outside with our dogs.

Speaking of dogs, while writing this I have had to get up at least ten times to rescue an odd shoe, slipper or glove from the jaws of the monster puppy, our newest addition to the family. New because we lost our beloved Riley during the holidays to cancer, and our house just seemed wrong without two dogs. So Ginger is here now and she is as spicy and naughty as the name suggests. We adore her and find her impossible in equal turns; our plan is to weather this first year of her life as well as possible until she settles in and becomes the good dog we know she will be. But Puppyhood! Oh my, I had forgotten how tough you can be!

Emma has a static cling problem. Winters here are dry, dry, dry, and her hair is constantly crackling. It is a static mess that clings to her face but she refuses to tie it back. It drives me a little crazy, the way it is constantly both stuck to her face and aflight in a perfect halo of wildness around her head and I find myself trying to tuck it behind her ears lately, which she hates, in the same way that I hated it as a child when my mother tried to tuck my own static-challenged locks behind my ears. I guess some things never change. She has had a growth spurt in the last month and the jeans I just bought are already looking short. Pre-school has brought about so many changes in her demeanor, a bloom of girl child that amazes us and a blight of girl attitude that makes us inwardly cringe, knowing that the teenage years will make this seem pale in comparison. She has definitive ideas about fashion, spends hours a day on artwork, and will be glad to dance it out in the kitchen with you as long as you agree to play some of her self-professed favorite band: Weezer. She talks with her hands with big, expressive gestures that make us giggle. She is funny, wildly funny, and we simply cannot imagine what life would be like without her.

I am recently the mother of a five year old, the fact of which nearly blows my mind. I have moments when I can perfectly picture Harry as a young adult - a certain glance, or the way he stands just so, makes me see him as he promises to be one day. At other times he is very much the baby boy I met in an airport hallway, the one who sprung me, ready or not, into motherhood. We registered him for kindergarten two weeks ago. Kindergarten! Holy cow, time flies by and they grow and suddenly we're faced with the impending doom of homework. I feel, quite acutely, the passing of time with him and I wonder if he feels it, too. He is reading, not just sounding out words but knowing them at first sight and getting ahead of me in books. He reads the newspaper headlines while we eat breakfast, the words on billboards while we drive, and he has an insatiable appetite for books, even sleeping with them tucked beneath his pillow. He plows through life, setting the standard and leading the way for his sister to follow, a task that is both a blessing and a burden on his little shoulders. He is a great, great boy, still moving ahead with that force that has always been his.

Brendan is in the basement working out. (Hours have passed since I first started this post...the kids are in bed, or should be, and night has fallen outside of my kitchen windows. It is still snowing, but softly now; it is no longer in such a hurry to accumulate.) We had to wedge his univeral weight set into the first room on the basement and it just barely fit at all. The treadmill lives in the kitchen now, a severe lack of headroom in the basement making running at treadmill height impossible for him. He has been such a good sport about this. He gave up a lot in this move, man-room wise, but he has weathered it in good spirits and we are trying to find ways to accomodate the things that don't seem to fit. People did not think about home gyms in 1901, I suppose. When he is done working out we'll watch LOST in high definition on his new flat screen, and suddenly it won't seem so bad that he had to work out crammed into that basement.

I have to end this post and insist that a certain five year old go to sleep now, despite his seeming need to stand at the window and watch the snow come down. He is beyond excited with tomorrow's potential for sledding in Crandall Park, but if he doesn't get some sleep he'll be too tired to climb back up the hill when his run is done.

Out and About

2010-02-04T10:12:00.000-05:00

While we do not have much to report on the home front - most progress being stalled by the pseudo-hibernation we northerners all tend to succumb to this time of year - we have discovered perhaps the greatest joy of Little City Living: the City itself. Glens Falls is alive and well, I am happy to report!

Last weekend we attended a Phantoms hockey game, my first hockey game at the Glens Falls Civic Center since I was in high school. I will admit that it still felt a little like being in high school, since we ran into a million people we have known since then, but it was really, really fun. Brendan and I both entertain the idea of season passes for next year and we hope the excitement for this new team continues!

We have spent a few lazy mornings and afternoons playing lizard-in-the-sun at Ridge Street Coffee, where the windows are large, the Fat Jerry's are smooth and delicious, and the artwork is ever-changing. What a respite from the cold that place is! Time seems to stand still for a little while when I sit in their sunlit red chair with my kids snuggled close. I kind of wish I was there right now...

The owner of Baker's Dream, Likling Khoo, is nearly personally responsible for that extra cushion around my middle. I mean, I know she didn't force-feed me any of those delicious baked goods, but if they weren't so darned good I would not have felt the need to stop in several times per week! Did I mention our entire family is on a first-name basis with Ms. Khoo? That's how you know you have a problem. Do they have Baked Goods Anonymous? In all seriousness, if you find yourself in a cannoli emergency or if you need an eclair - stat!, then do stop by. Tell them Sara, Harrison, and Emma sent you, and you will be well taken care of.

We have also spent a great deal of time at Crandall Public Library, whose recent renovation has created a welcoming mix of both airy modern and historic spaces. I love that I can still climb the old staircase to the second floor, tracing my fingers along the marble just the way I did when I was a little girl, only these days I am teaching my little boy and girl to enjoy the feel of the cool marble, to appreciate the history in such a place. I love that my children are growing up knowing the value of such an incredible resource. We spend hours in the stacks looking at art books, discovering new favorite children's authors, and sitting in the quiet reading room with piles of pages. When I was little I loved to sit in one particular window in the library, the one that was deep-set and overlooked city park's lovely old trees, and I have recently had the particular delight of watching my children sit in that very window to gaze upon the world beyond. We visit Crandall a few times a week and this is a habit that I am happy to have fallen into.

Crandall Park! How could I have forgotten to mention it? One of the big trade-offs in moving to the city was losing our big yard in the suburbs. I do miss our yard, but the next best thing to having a big yard is having a huge park only a short walk from home. Despite the cold of winter, the park is an active hub in this community, with sledding hills and great fields for snowman-building, lighted trails for snowshoes and cross country skiing, and a pond for hockey and skating. We find it hard not to get out and enjoy the winter when we see so many other families doing just that each day as we pass by the park. I truly think we've been outdoors more this winter than any other winter spent in NY as adults. Hooray for the park!

This has been my happiest winter since coming back to New York and I know it has a lot to do with location, location, location. I love looking out of our windows and seeing other people. Living so close by our neighbors doesn't bother me at all, surprisingly. I thought I cherished the privacy of a country-sized lot, but in reality I like the idea of living like bees in a hive. There is comfort in seeing other chimneys emitting puffs of smoke, in chatting with neighbors while I shovel the walk, in meeting new families while playing at the park...the feeling of community seems to outweigh any feelings of winter isolation. I just don't have those winter blues this year, probably because we are so often out and about.

Super Cute

2010-01-21T10:13:00.000-05:00

Christmas Decor in Photos

2010-01-04T10:49:00.000-05:00

The tree went up!

The stockings were hung!

The mantle was set with glass and lights!

And Santa delivered!

Powder Room, After

2009-12-30T23:03:00.001-05:00

The ‘before” shots again, just to refresh your memory:

And the almost finished “after” shots (we still plan to darken the trim a bit…previous owners stripped off old paint and coated with poly, but the wood is lighter in here than in the rest of the house…we’ll fix that soon):

Framed prints came from a children’s book, Brian Wildsmith’s Birds, a garage sale find that was a tiny bit too musty to read through bu the artwork was too fun to part with…voila! Wall art!

A Peach

2009-12-21T10:37:00.000-05:00

“When are we getting another dog?” my son asked.

His question seared my heart because we had lost Riley only two days before and losing a beloved companion, a dog with such presence, had left me reeling. It wasn’t that I had not thought of having another dog; when you have a dog whose health is as precarious as Riley’s was, you consider the idea of what you will do when she finally loses her life’s battle and there was never a question, or even a doubt, about getting another dog. But not yet. I explained gently to my sad four-year-old that we needed to spend time thinking about the dog we had loved and lost before we could welcome a new life to our home.

“But Mom, we are a two dog, one rabbit family. We need to get another dog.”

Time went by, and by some people’s standards it wasn’t much time, only weeks. But this is what I knew for sure about Riley: She was a shelter dog. She and her littermates were found next to a dumpster in Virginia, six weeks old, alone, without their mother. Someone had left them with the garbage, had thrown them away, and this puppy who had once been so unwanted and unloved became one of our best friends. In my mind, there is no better way to honor her life and the impact she made on our lives than to find another shelter dog for our family. We understood that any new dog would not fill the hole that Riley left, but we also understood that the grief we feel over the death of a loved one can be tempered by new life, by new adventures.

So it is in loving memory of Riley that we introduce another shelter dog to our family circle. This is Ginger, or “Ginny”, who hails from Georgia, where her mom and littermates were due to be euthanized, but instead will all find homes in New York this holiday season. I think Riley would approve.

Riley

2009-12-02T07:20:00.000-05:00

Rest in peace, pretty girl.

A Few "Before" Pictures

2009-11-13T08:13:00.000-05:00

It is always good to have a point of reference from which to see how far you have come. These are the bathroom "before":

These were taken before we bought the house, so all decorative accents are from the previous owners. The room is slightly odd-shaped, with one small section of wall that is set on a diagonal to the others, and the ceiling is quite high.

Brendan and the kids actually started the makeover project back in September, when they installed a new faucet, towel holder, and toilet paper holder. They are such good little helpers!

I hope to have my "after" pictures ready by the end of the weekend. Next up: the living room gets an overhaul. If you'll remember, it looks like this:

The wallpaper border has already come down, the thermostat has been moved (updated to programmable and removed from it's cage/lockbox), and remember, the decor belongs to the previous owners.

The fireplace has really pretty tile that we spent days scrubbing back to its former shine. We discovered the tile has a lot of light blue in it, so we're pulling the color for the living room from the tile.

The chair rail is not original and wasn't installed with supberb attention to detail: it was hung to high for any artwork to be displayed at the proper level for good viewing and the style of the trim itself does not blend well with the trim in the rest of the house. It feels like a belt cinched too tightly around the room's waist, if you can bend your imagination a little. I cannot wait to rip it out, repaint the walls, and polish the rich woodwork to a high gloss. Adding curtains and new light fixtures will really make it feel like the space we imagined when we first looked at the house.

Powder (Room) Blue

2009-11-10T17:45:00.000-05:00

There comes a point when I just cannot clean any more. Not because I am finished, but because I simply cannot spend one more day cleaning up a mess that should not have been made in the first place.* So much repetitive cleaning means that nothing else is getting done, which feels like a complete stall of all progress. Things needed to change, so I took the most rational step I could think of: I gave up the cleaning, hung the rags out to dry, washed out the bucket and put it away. Shelving those bottles of Murphy's Oil Soap, Pine Sol, and Old English felt like a small victory in a week's worth of defeat.

And then I started attacking the first floor half bath. It wasn't quite the glorious feeling of ripping out the second floor bathtub doors using only a box cutter and a putty knife (did I not mention that escapade? Oh, it was fantastic!), but it saved my quickly sinking morale, for sure. I patched holes, rolled a bold blue paint over the country-gone-wrong sponge painting we had been left with, and suddenly the powder room went from an eyesore to something so much more us. It is still a work in progress; today I procured a new mirror and ripped out the old medicine cabinet, which required another round of spackle. Tomorrow I hope to finish the second coat of paint and hang up the window treatment. We still need some artwork for the wall opposite the vanity, either a small series or one large piece, but it is coming along and progress feels oh-so-good!

*For those keeping track, we are waiting to receive a check for nearly $700 from the duct cleaning company to cover the cleaning costs. Ridiculous that I had to fight for it, but I am proud that I didn't back down.

The Starting Over House

2009-11-05T08:17:00.000-05:00

When we bought this house we cleaned and cleaned for days on end in an effort to scrub away the grime left by the previous owners.

Then we had the floors upstairs refinished and although the workers did a really good job of keeping the dust to a minimum, we had to wipe everything down again when they were finished.

Then we had new windows put in, and although the installers took all of the various old window pieces with them, they left behind a trail of dust and footprints throughout the house. Needless to say, it took a few days to clean up after them.

The house was looking good and we were unpacking at a steady rate when we had the new furnace installed. The new furnace's blower packs a more serious punch than the old furnace and blew a lot of dust, debris, and soot all over the house, causing us to have to clean it top-to-bottom yet again. This was when we realized that we probably should have had the ducts cleaned before installing the new furnace. Live and learn, right?

We finally got someone in to clean our ductwork yesterday. And today? I will be spending today cleaning 1/4 inch of soot, dust, bits of plaster, someone else's dog's hair, and more off of every surface of our home, including curtains, bedding, sofas, area rugs, etc. Does anyone else see a pattern here? Are we just stupid, or is the universe mocking us?

And this is where I need to say that I am trying to remain level-headed about all of this because I know this is not a real tragedy. No one died, no got hurt, and we weren't robbed or anything, but what happened yesterday goes down as a disaster in my book. I am not going to go into minute detail of yesterday's events, but I will sum up:

At least five vents were not cleaned on the first floor, such that they still contain pennies, lollipop sticks, piles of sand, etc. It is harder to tell on the second floor because the vents all come in through the walls, but I will venture to say that if the first floor was not thoroughly cleaned the second floor cleaning was probably spotty as well.
Three large vent covers on the first floor were left off, leaving an open space with jagged metal edges that our kids' and pets' feet could have easily slipped into, casuing injury.
The items removed by hand from the vents and returns were left on the floor next to the vents, rather than being cleaned up.
In the process of cleaning out vents (using a high powered air hose) dust, soot, chunks of plaster, and pet hair from the previous owners' pets were blown all over our bedrooms, curtains, the quilts my grandmothers made me, etc. We were given no warning that this could potentially occur.
The worker, Alex (his real name), spent a lot of time telling me about his college degree and how he hates his current job, and then stared inappropriately at my sister for some time.
When in the basement blowing out the cold air returns, Alex somehow managed to blow all of the contents of the returns into my house rather than into his vacuum device. My living room, foyer, dining rooms, and kitchen are covered, and I do mean covered, in soot, dirt, dust, pet hair, etc., making my house nearly unliveable at the moment. The compensation offered to me at the time? $20.00 off the cost of sanitizing the ducts and a lame excuse about how my ductwork and returns were not properly installed. Funny how the guys who installed our furnace never mentioned that last week after a thorough check of our system!
When the work was done I was not given an adequate amount of time to check the work completed, nor did Alex try to show me any of the work. He told me he needed to get to another job so I (stupidly) signed the receipt and paid him.
More than once how he had never gotten so dirty from a house before, how he hates old houses, etc. He repeatedly told me how things in our basement are "bad", assumed a lecturing and patronizing tone when "explaining" to me that there are wiring issues, some of the vent work looks old, etc. I already knew about all of the things he pointed out, having attended and paid attention to our home inspection. I have been in many, many basements of old homes and ours is not anything I would label as "bad".

After Alex left I had a chance to look around at the house and see what had actually been done. That's when I found much of the unfinished work, opened vents, and lack of clean-up. I called the company and told them what had happened and the manager on the phone said that Alex was supposed to have covered every vent except for the one he was working on so that nothing blew out the other connected vents. That didn't happen. They said he should have cleaned up any visible mess left by the duct cleaning. That didn't happen. They said he should have replaced all vent and return covers because not doing so is a violation of their safety procedures. That didn't happen. They said the worker should have maintained a professional attitude at all times. That, obviously, didn't happen. I demanded a full refund, spent a significant amount of time on the phone with the company getting nowhere, and finally told them I was cancelling the check. They stated that we would certainly be getting a ful refund, but that if we felt it necessary to cancel the check that would be fine with them. I am still waiting to hear if we will be receiving any compensation for the massive amounts of cleaning that are now required.

We're back at square one, starting over, the house once again covered with the grime and ick of the former owners. If this weren't my house it would almost - almost! - be funny. Right now nothing seems funny at all. I am angry and frustrated and feeling allergic. Worst of all, our duct work still is not clean. We decided last night that we will clean it ourselves. Google, I'm headed your way.

Focal Point

2009-10-24T13:16:00.000-04:00

I am avoiding the kitchen.

Actually, I am avoiding the kitchen, the garage, the upstairs bathroom, the entire third floor, and my bedroom. But mostly I am avoiding the kitchen. Which makes it hard to cook, I will admit, and since I am the primary preparer of food for the four of us, this has created some interesting and somewhat sparse meals as of late. Let's just say that our crock pot is seeing more use than it has in years and we have had sandwiches...a lot.

I am avoiding the kitchen because it is such a mess of boxes and packing paper and the ephemera of our indecision about what to keep and what to get rid of for the last ten years that every time I dare enter its space I feel unhinged, perhaps even a little dizzy. I don't know where to begin to find order in there, so I keep one section of counter cleaned up for dinner-making activities and once in awhile I make a stab at opening a box. Ah, there are my cutting boards! Hooray! But beneath them lies a sea of kitchen gizmos that we barely use and they don't fit in any of the kitchen drawers because none of the drawers are deeper than 2 inches (no joke) and then I don't know what to do with them so I close the flaps of that box and move onto another. And so it goes, such that the kitchen now contains about ten half-unpacked boxes.

I don't believe in aiming all of my crazy in one direction, so I have also pulled down the front of the wallpaper border in the living room, leaving behind the white paper backing which makes an odd stripe above the chair rail. I did the same to the powder room and I am tempted to tackle the third floor bath border as well. I move from room to room, attacking whatever suits my fancy in the moment, leaving behind a trail of missing borders, stripes of nail holes where chair rail once resided, and the occasional clean surface where once only dust seemed to live. But I have yet to get my clothing unpacked, yet to find the box that hopefully holds my winter wear and sweaters. I have patched holes in our bedroom but I cannot focus on a color to paint so it remains a patchy pink that hurts your eyes to awaken to. I took the doors off the bathtub upstairs weeks ago, yet they still sit there waiting to be discarded. I think I have ADD when it comes to my house and the only cure is to keep working, just keep unpacking and finding places for unlikely belongings and trying to make it work.

It feels like nothing is getting done, but there is one bit of respite in my unpacking despair: the front half of the formerly divided living room (perhaps what would have been known as the parlor?). In that one space we have order and calm, even an area rug to keep the chill off the floors, a table lamp to read by, and books on the book shelf. That room, right now, feels like an oasis of coziness amidst this storm of cardboard and stuff and I find myself sitting there often, just wishing the rest of the house would come to order. I focus myself on the living room as I work through the boxes and try not to make Brendan crazy with my flitting around. He's a good sport, mostly, and I think he understands my need for tangible, visual results that the unpacking of boxes does not always afford. Even if he does not understand, he tolerates me well and for that I am thankful.

Where have you been?

2009-10-23T22:18:00.000-04:00

Ok, so you haven't heard from me since early September. Well, as you may have guessed from Sara's posts, we are in our new house! We have had no shortage of things to do since day one. So what have we been doing?

The first day we spent getting a valve in the basement to stop leaking. Luckily, it was leaking into a sink. We spent the first few nights sleeping on air mattresses in the dining room and living room with pretty much nothing else in the house. We made attempts to clean, clean, clean. We're going to need a lot more elbow grease. After a few days we had our first POD delivered and were able to sleep on real mattresses in the dining room and living room and had a couch to sit on. We also managed to get the kids rooms painted. So far, those are the only rooms painted.

We then had the wood floors refinished on the second floor. While this was being done, we opted to move out and stay at my parents house for several days. The dust and smell was a bit much. Coincidentally, the person I hired to refinish my floors was the same person that had just refinished the hardwood floors at my fraternity house. I had no idea I was hiring the same guy. The owner's son, who was one of the guys actually doing the work, noticed my Clarkson Alumni plate on my car and mentioned he was friends with some fraternity brothers and he finished the floors of the house for free.

Last week we had all the windows on the second floor replaced. All but one anyway - apparently the window guy can't measure. The last window should be replaced within the next couple of weeks. We currently have the last of three PODs in our driveway and it's mostly empty. This Monday we'll be having the 40+ year old furnace replaced.

Outside we finally got the pool closed, did some tree trimming, and did some raking. I have to say one of the best aspects of this place was the playground. The kids can spend all day on that thing.

There is a lot of chaos in here right now but, everyday it's feeling a bit more like home.

Ceiling Paint

2009-10-02T14:22:00.000-04:00

I'm painting our son's room today and, like any good do-it-yourself-er, I started with the ceiling. I don't think ceilings are generally thought of much when people set out to paint the rooms in their homes, but what a difference a coat of paint makes! It brightens the room incredibly and it just feels good to have a fresh, clean layer of paint overhead. In our first house I was meticulous about the ceilings and painted each one two shades lighter than my chosen wall color. This was a fine idea and looked great, but must have been a pain for the woman who bought our house when we sold it just one year later: all of the ceilings had the popcorn-type of finish and were incredibly hard to cover the first time, perhaps worse when she tried to recoat them. I am not making that mistake again; all of my ceilings will be flat white this time around.

It should be stated that I do not like painting ceilings much at all. Cutting in is a pain because I am on the short side and cannot reach the ceiling well with a paint brush, and rolling the paint on involves much guesswork until the paint is dry and I can see all of the spots I missed. And today, to top it all off, a spider that I didn't notice jumped onto my nose as I was cutting in and caused me to emit a horror-film-worthy girly scream that was, ahem, a little embarrassing. Thank goodness I was the only one in the house at the time and was able to catch myself before I fell off the ladder. All in a day's work!

Moving Along

2009-10-01T13:02:00.000-04:00

The hardwood floors on the second floor have been refinished and we can start moving things up this weekend! I cannot even describe how good it will be to have accessible living space somewhere other than the first floor. The first floor is spacious, but realistically we are tripping over each other down here and trying to get kids to sleep while we're still awake ten feet away has been a challenge.

Next items up on the Big Things To Do list are windows and furnace. The existing forced hot air furnace works seemingly fine, but is powered with oil and is older than 60 years; we're nervous that in the midst of a deep freeze this winter we'll be left without heat, so we're taking advantage of the rebates and tax credits to install a new, high efficiency furnace that will be powered by gas. No more having to call up the oil company for delivery, no more chance of sooty walls. Anything we can install that increases the energy efficiency of our Old Lady is a good idea.

Windows...can I just say that there are 29 windows that we wish to replace, and that is leaving off all 3rd floor and basement windows, plus most of the kitchen windows? All of that lovely natural light comes at a price! We had an estimate for all 29 windows which came in at over $15,000 so we decided to start with the second floor where the bedrooms are. The new windows will be installed in mid-November, just before the really cold weather hits. The house might look a little funny until we can get all of the windows done, but we will gladly trade funny-looking for being warm. I like to be warm.

As the various workers and estimators have been in and around the house I find myself wanting to over-explain, to tell them that we do not normally sleep in our dining room, that our kitchen is not always overloaded with boxes and packing paper and the constant sea of papers and projects that trickle home from preschool. For a long time now I have had this feeling of slight panic at not knowing where things are...having no idea where to find a pen, no less a sweater now that the mornings are chilly. Slowly we are unpacking this second PODS container, slowly we are regaining both our belongings and our sense of belonging. The pieces in this giant puzzle that we began last spring are finally starting to fit together, one funny shaped bit at a time. And I refrain, for the most part, from explaining to the workers that we do not sleep in the dining room all of the time. I just tell them we've only lived here for a couple of weeks and then their faces light up with a sympathetic, knowing gleam: we have all moved at one point or another, and I guess we all know how crazy it can be.

Up, Up, and Away

2009-09-30T13:05:00.001-04:00

Ten

2009-09-30T12:55:00.001-04:00

I forgot to mention that we also celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary! Our anniversary was the same day as our closing for the new house, so it was a bit busy to say the least. We did our final walk thru in the morning, drove to Latham for the closing, and then arrived "home" to start cleaning. PErhaps it wasn't the most romantic of celebrations, but I do think it's pretty cool that we bought each other a new house for the ten year mark!

We're Here

2009-09-29T16:06:00.001-04:00

We are in the new (old) house. We are here, living with odd sleeping arrangements while upstairs floors are being refinished, piecing together a new life with various odds and ends of stuff from our old one, making due with what we have this day, while we wait for the rest of our belongings to arrive and be unpacked sometime in the (hopefully) near future. We are all, relatively, unscathed by the move. Except for Charlotte, who has taken to defecating in the house and generally being a big pain in the bum.

Let it be known that moving is not easy.

In the space of time that occurred between my last post and this one, we have:

1. Celebrated Emma's THIRD birthday

2. Said goodbye to our home of over five years

3. Had a lovely end of summer vacation at Lapland Lake

4. Celebrated Emma's very first day of preschool

5. Celebrated Harry's first day of Pre-K

6. Walked to the balloon festival from our new-old house

7. Shuffled back and forth to different beds no fewer than six times while waiting for closings and for our floors to be refinished (stinky oil poly)

8. Welcomed the new West baby to the world. Congrats, Jeremy and Michele, and big siblings Isaac and Isabelle. We can't wait to meet the new little guy!

It's been a busy few weeks and we are, understandably, kind of exhausted. We're hoping to get back on track now that we are finally living in our house. We have a million things to do but most importantly we are trying to maintain some sort of schedule, some sort of sanity and security for our kids whose lives have been so disrupted these past few weeks. Soon, I tell myself, soon.

Home(ish)

2009-09-16T12:22:00.000-04:00

After a brief vacation and a fairly painless real estate closing, we are once again "with home". I can't quite say that we are at home because it just doesn't quite feel like it yet. But we are here, all of us together: parents and kids and dogs and rabbit, under one roof that has our names on the title. Home...I keep trying the word out and I know that one of these days the word and the house will become entwined enough with our lives so that it finally does fit the definition.

So, the house is dirty. And not just"Oops! We forgot to mop these last couple of weeks" dirty, but more of a "Mop? What's that?" kind of dirty. Dirty to the point that I could scrape my fingernail along the powder room floor and the grime would flake off in chunks (before I scrubbed it, Cinderella-style, that is). Dirty to the point that even after mopping, twice, I still don't feel comfortable letting the children walk barefoot indoors anywhere. So, there is dirt and grime to be dealt with and every day we tackle another section, another wall, another floor and eventually we know it will be clean.

The outdoors, where the dirt is supposed to gather, is also messy. Pieces of plastic, hundreds of cigarette butts, wadded up school papers, empty tuna fish cans, etc. are all clogging the soil, making me wonder what sort of people once resided within these walls. We certainly have our work cut out for us. Fortunately, Brendan and I both enjoy work that produces tangible, visual results, so there is a great deal of personal satisfaction built into the clean-up for us.

This house will be beautiful; we know this in the same taken-for-granted way that we know our names and the faces of our friends. Once clean, the woodwork is rich and shiny. The tall ceilings, hardwood floors, and old carved pocket doors make the house feel grand, and the layout and flow of the space is really, really good. The kids can watch tv in the living room while we listen to music in the kitchen without the sounds competing, yet we can still keeo a good eye on them. The Rainbow Systems playground in the back yard has been our saving grace this week, with swings and a fort that all of us can play on. The kitchen, although somewhat cobbed together, is huge and airy and feels good to be in. The fireplace, with years of grime removed, has sparkling tiles and gives the room a graceful elegance. The front porch is perfection, and I know I will spend many hours there this fall, knitting and watching the world go by.

There is much work to be done, but we are here. We are home. This house has a new family, a new life to fill its walls and halls, and I hope that it has, in a house sort of way, breathed a sigh of relief at our arrival. I like to think so, anyway.

Homeless

2009-09-05T22:10:00.000-04:00

Well, we've accomplished one very large milestone to getting into our new home. We've officially sold the old one. This past Thursday afternoon we signed all the necessary papers to turn over our home of the last five and a half years to another family.

As we scrambled to get everything out of the house just in time for the closing we took a moment just before shutting all the doors to take a last look around. It was kind of hard to walk around and say goodbye to the rooms that my kids were growing up in, the basement room that took me years to complete, the deck that my father designed and helped me build, and the marks on the inside of the bathroom closet where we checked the kids height.

We'll miss a lot of things from this house, particularly the proximity to some good friends and neighbors. It was a good home to us, but I try to remember the reasons we're moving to the next one. I know we'll build new memories in the new house and I'll always have the old memories from this past home. I'm proud of the work we did and very happy that we were able to leave this home better than when we found it.

For now though, we are officially homeless.

For Real

2009-08-18T19:25:00.000-04:00

It looks like we really are moving!

Our buyers got their mortgage commitment, the closing on their house in Fishkill has been scheduled, and our sellers are ready to go. All that remains is for us to move out, schedule the closings, and move in (and have our daughter's birthday party, attend a Weezer concert, get all four of us to the dentist, pack and go on vacation, and start school). Woohooo! Let the panic and craziness begin!

Summer Days

2009-08-16T07:59:00.001-04:00

Summer has arrived in all of its steamy, sticky glory and we are glad for it! After nearly two solid months of rain, days spent poolside and frolicking in fountains seem extra sweet, and our little ones drift off to sleep at night with bodies that are bone tired and happy smiles on their faces. Ahh, summer days...we've missed you.

Why are you moving? - Part 3

2009-08-15T19:33:00.000-04:00

We like old houses. We like the look, the style, the charm, the details that you just don't find in most modern day homes, and the history that goes along with an older home. Sara and I both attended Universities in Potsdam, NY (Sara went to SUNY Potsdam and I attended Clarkson University) where we each spent some time living in an older home. Sara rented a place with several other students and I lived in a fraternity house. I think these houses, particularly the fraternity house, are what sparked us with such an interest in older homes.

This is a picture of the fraternity house that I lived in at Potsdam. My room had the two dormer windows in the upper left. This house had a lot of charm - great fireplaces, the cherry wood work was amazing, and full wrap around porches on the first and second floors. It's been a while since I've been there but, I've heard the current brothers have brought the wood floors back to life as well. This house had quite a bit of history to it. It boasts being part of the underground railroad and has been said to have several hauntings (although I didn't witness any of that). In a bit of irony, the original owner, George Wing Sisson (married to Sara Hamilton Sisson), was born in Glens Falls.

We know it'll be a lot of work (and as such a drain on the wallet) but, all that weighed in on the decision to buy this particular house. Like most people, we didn't buy the first house we looked at. Here are a couple that we didn't buy and why.

This house is the first one that really sparked our interest. Sara saw this one in the local paper. The price was right but, it was obviously in need of some repair....or rather a lot of repair. I thought she was crazy for even wanting to look at it. She called one of her real estate agent friends and we went for a look. I originally had no interest in this house but when I saw the wood work, the stained glass, the multiple fire places, the pocket doors, the marble wash sinks in all the bedrooms. I thought it was great. Unfortunately, it was just way to much of a project for us. That much work would not have made for a good environment for our kids and it was just going to cost to much. We were very glad to see that someone else has taken the challenge with this one. I hope they do it justice.

This house was very grand and seemingly well maintained. The most unfortunate part of this house (which is why I'm guessing it's still on the market) are the cats that live there. Not one or two cats but rather twenty of them. We attended an open house here where, in a very nicely done bathroom mind you, our feet stuck to the floor because of the cat urine that was all over it which appeared to have been there awhile. Oh yes, and there was cat vomit on one of the dressers. Forget going in the basement - our noses just couldn't take it. I was very upset to see such an amazing home being 'let go' in such a manner. Beyond that, we didn't like the kitchen and it's on a busy road in town. The price (once you add in taxes and utilities) would have been a real stretch for us too on one income.

They just don't make homes like these anymore. This type of craftsmanship is lost on so many modern homes. So, I guess what it all really boils down to here is that reason number three for moving is ...history.

Buyer No. 4

2009-08-09T18:45:00.000-04:00

So this whole blog may seem a bit silly since we've been talking about a house we don't actually own but rather have been trying to purchase since early March of this year. Is this move actually going to happen? We just don't know and we wonder about that ourselves on a daily basis. Currently, we are working with the 4th person to make an offer on our house. It seems pretty solid this time but, we are skeptical. Our buyer has a mortgage commitment due on the 20th of this month. Once we have that piece, we'll then consider actually packing up the rest of this place. As the school year approaches and the colder months are getting nearer, I have to say if this one doesn't work out - we're done.

Forget Have-a-Heart

2009-08-07T11:24:00.001-04:00

We have-a-hawk!

Actually, we have a hawk family. They seem to reside in one of our old oak trees and they have pretty much eradicated our chipmunk population, which we estimated to be in the hundreds, if not thousands (lots of dead wood in these woods, left by the builder). We've also noticed that our flying squirrels have either relocated or worse and our garage doesn't seem to have any mice this summer. All good things in my book.

Now, if only we could teach the hawks not to scream at each other all morning we might get to sleep past 7am!

Mobile

2009-08-03T12:34:00.001-04:00

When mom and I went to Korea to bring Emma home we had the opportunity to rock the babies at the intake hospital at Eastern. The baby boy that we rocked the most was a bit older than the other babies because he bad been quite ill when he was first born, and as such had been held and loved by the nannies for months instead of the typical days or weeks. Most of the other babies in the room were days old, tiny and sweet, but this boy was plump and cute and better able to demand out attention. We took turns rocking him until we needed to put ourselves to bed, and then he was placed back into his bassinet. Hanging over his tiny little bed was a mobile, light and delicate and perfect. It was so simple, just yellow origami paper folded into cranes and strung on thread, but I never forgot it, nor the baby whose early life was spent sleeping beneath it. I still wonder where he is.

On Saturday I had a Mommy Date with Emma and we wanted to find something to keep us busy during these looooong rainy days. We were looking for lino block printing supplies, but instead we came home with origami paper. We made our own crane mobile:

Ours is certainly not as dainty or refined as the one in Korea, but I love its color. What you cannot tell from the picture is that it is constantly in motion...it softly twirls and sways on the slightest of breezes. The top of the mobile is a branch from our maple tree.

You can see another crane mobile here (scroll down to see photos).

Why are you moving? - Part 2

2009-07-31T21:35:00.000-04:00

We do have a very nice home here currently which is another reason why I think people wonder why we would move. One of the things we originally liked about our current residence is the fact that we are in a neighborhood with other families but our particular lot is very private. Our back yard is all woods with no other houses in sight.

On any given Saturday moring in the summer however, I might sit outside on the front porch and drink my morning cup of tea. What do I hear while I'm out there? Click, wurrrr - that would be the sound of all the neighbors central air conditioners (our house does not have central air). Not a person in sight. It's almost a little creepy sometimes. It's kind of like that all year long. Somewhere between 6 - 8pm we do see some folks walking dogs or jogging but, that's about it.

So when the isolation of this ghost town gets to us, we hop in the car and head out. When we get to the end of the neighborhood we come out to the main road. "Which way do we go?" is the question we ask on a regular basis. Go right, and get to Saratoga in 15 minutes or go left and get to Glens Falls in 15 minutes. It seems we're 15 minutes from anywhere.

As we travel through the city of our future home we constantly see people walking about. There seems to be a much better sense of community. Additionally, we'll be able to walk out the front door and walk to local parks, playgrounds, library, restaurants, pubs, stores, the kids school, and even the Civic Center.

So, reason number two for moving is community. But wait....there's more....

Family

2009-07-29T12:46:00.001-04:00

A couple of hours ago friends of ours went to JFK and met their son for the very first time. They are on their way home now, the last leg of the journey their little guy has made from the other side of the world to his new home and the first precarious steps of their journey together as a family. As Harry said, this is a Big Day and I am so happy for you, Stephanie, Jay, and Jack! Don't forget to eat and sleep, and remember that this is going to get easier as you all figure each other out.

Big Day

2009-07-26T16:39:00.001-04:00

As I was tucking Harrison into his bed tonight I told him how happy I am to be his mom, how much happiness he brings to my life and how much joy he fills my heart with. And I wished him a happy airplane day, because four years ago today was the day he flew to the US to join our family. He smiled, looked into my eyes and said "Happy airplane day for you, too, Mom. It was a big day. A happy and sad day, wasn't it?" And I said yes, it was both happy and sad.

My dear Harrison, so wise beyond your years, I love you.

Why are you moving?

2009-07-23T22:00:00.000-04:00

That seems to be a popular question amongst friends and family. Be reassured I have not lost my job and I am in no danger of having my home foreclosed upon. There are a number of reasons we considered this move. Believe me, with all the crap we have in this house, I didn't take this decision lightly. So how did we get down the path of deciding to move? Let's begin with our current house. Five years ago when we built this house, it was a bare bones place with all white walls and not a bit of landscaping - just dirt.....well, sand actually. The price was right and it was place we could make our own and improve over time.

When we moved in, it was just me, Sara, our dog Riley, and our rabbit Max. We were planning on having kids, trying to have kids actually. We planned on living on one income so that Sara could stay at home with the kids but since the kids weren't coming, the cash was flowing. As we discovered our infertility problems we did what anyone would do. We got another dog, Charlotte. We were making great strides in home improvement. We painted every room in the house, we had the yard fenced, gutters put in, the driveway paved, and a water system installed.

We then made the decision for adoption. We've had lots of questions on the path we took here too. Bottom line on adoption is we wanted a child. We didn't care about race or blood lines. We didn't want to go to extreme measures and extreme financial burden for a "maybe" and putting our own bodies at risk. So, we adopted two great kids from South Korea, Harrison and Emma.

As our kids grow and are starting to become of school age, it's become obvious to us that the diversity in this school district is well...non-existent. I've had multiple people tell me that "kids won't care that he's asian". Well, that may be true but I'm less concerned with what the other kids are thinking and more concerned with my kids self image. We started doing our research and began looking into areas with at least a little bit more diversity that wouldn't be to much of a commute for me to work and wouldn't put us in a school district that is enormous. Glens Falls seemed to fit the bill.

Another plus, and a very happy surprise to us, was St. Mary's Academy also located in Glens Falls. This is the school I attended from Kindegarten through eighth grade. I haven't exactly been an active Catholic since I left my parents home, but that's a topic for another day. Sara seemed against the idea at first but I insisted we at least look into it. We attended one of the open houses and were amazed at the diversity we saw roaming the halls. After that visit, Sara was convinced. Our current plan is to have both kids enrolled there starting in the fall of 2010.

So, reason number 1 for moving. A school district with diversity for the kids. Now I understand I don't need to move right away to send my kids to private school but, more reasons to come....

Hiking: Pack Demonstration Forest, Nature Trail

2009-07-08T16:14:00.001-04:00

These shots aren't the greatest because I was fighting a mostly dead set of camera betteries, but someone told me I have been negligent in my sharing of photos of the kids so I'll post them anyway:

Overheard

2009-07-08T16:03:00.001-04:00

E: "Mom, you have really pretty arm hair. Just so you know. "

H: "Thanks for that kiss, Mom. I've been waiting for a kiss for hours and hours and hours."

E: (stamps foot and grunts) "I tired of all this packing. I hate this packing."

H: "When I grow up I'm going to be a firefighter. And Spiderman. One can be my dayjob."

E: "When I grow up I want to be a purple kitty cat. Mommy? You know I like kitty cats? You know I like them a LOT?"

H: "Do you think our house is going to float away?" (he asked this one with a grave look of concern on his little face as he watched the rain pour down in sheets for the 24th day last month)

H: "When I was a little kid I didn"t know how to climb the ropes at the playground, but now I'm all grown up!"

E: "I'm having a tough day with you, Mommy. You been bad girl." (this after we went hiking, played at the playground, went out for lunch, and spent the afternoon playing t-ball in the yard. I give up.)

H: "When I grow up I'm going to be the drummer in Uncle Brent's band, 'cause the drummer he has now is old. Like, reeeeeaaaally old."

E: (wearing sunglasses) "Do I look like a rock star now?"

H: "This summer is wearing me out."

H: "They have lots of neat animals in Africa, Mom. We should go there on Daddy's next vacation." (watching too much Mama Mirabelle?)

E: "It bedtime yet? I'm exhausted of this day."

Not Packing, Not Unpacking.

2009-06-30T18:07:00.000-04:00

Toward the end of last week, as we dutifully packed the last segment of our first PODS container in preparation for the closings we hoped would take place in roughly two weeks, we received the phone call that no seller of a house ever wants to receive: our buyer had been denied his mortgage application. Now, that is bad news, right? Here we've packed up half of our house, starting (because I am an idiot sometimes) with our kids' rooms and toys, and suddenly we have no hope of selling our house to this guy. Yes, that news stunk. What stinks worse is the fact that our mortgage broker, who later looked at our buyer's numbers, said there is no way any bank would have given the guy any hope of a loan in today's lending market because his debt to loan ratio is off the charts high. He owns a 2 family in a posh little city nearby, which he was trying not to sell while buying our house.

Or was he? As the details unfold, it becomes more and more clear that he and his realtor schemed to get his contract accepted by saying he didn't need to sell; we had a contract with a 48 hour contingency that we bumped in order to accept his offer...you cannot bump a 48 hour contingency contract with another 48 hour contingency contract, so if he really wanted to buy our house he needed to be able to afford it without selling his house. We signed his contract May 18 and he had to apply for his mortgage within 5 business days. His 2 family came on the market the first week of June and we're pretty sure he would have known at that point that he needed to sell. Did he, in good faith, let us know that he would need to sell his house? No, the jerk waited until the mortgage commitment date of June 19, then went so far as to ask for an extension on the commitment date, stating the banks were backed up and needed more time.

He wasted a good month of our time, a month's worth of lost showings, a month's worth of packing, a month's worth of gearing our kids up for a move that might not happen now. A month's worth of our sellers liquidating their belongings and making preparations to move out of the country, based on us buying their house. Preparations like giving notice at jobs, renting living space in the Carribean, and shipping their car. I feel terrible and I am livid, but what can we do?

We've put our house back on the market, we're hoping our sellers will stick with us a little longer, and we're keeping our fingers crossed for a miracle. In the meantime the PODs container sits on the driveway and we've figured out how to drive around it to park in the garage (no small feat). We've pulled the house together with what furniture was left in it and had our first showing today; an open house is scheduled for tomorrow.

This is our new reality and we can only go forward from here.

For News...

2009-06-30T14:37:00.001-04:00

It's been a busy few weeks with ups and downs...right now we're on a bit of a down. For news about our house-selling mis-adventures, go here: http://www.littlecityliving.blogspot.com/

We're hanging in there, but I have to say that a lot of fun has gone out of the process due to recent developments. The kids have been gracious and funny and lively through all of this and I have some hilarious comments and activities to share...soon.

Aches and Pains

2009-06-22T15:02:00.001-04:00

Things are bit sore around here today: backs, arms, and legs all ache from lifting and heaving boxes into our PODS container. I am afraid to sit for too long lest my muscles seize up and stick me in this chair for good. I don't even like this chair that much. Ibuprofen has become a part of our regular nutrition schedule; without it, like the Tin Man himself, we would simply cease to move.

Harrison and Emma are out of sorts. They understand at a basic level that we are moving. They get mildly excited and wound up when we pack boxes, seeming almost too enthusiastic to throw in their favorite stuffed bunny (Silly Bob has been rescued from the doom of storage several times), but Emma cried when we took the spare twin bed out of her room. Elation melts into a puddle, giggles sometimes end in tears, and then the tears float back up into wide smiles and eager anticipation. This is hard on all of us, but the little ones who have no control feel it in waves. We have no way of explaining to them, in terms they will understand, that we are making this move for their benefit. Yes, we'll get the thrill of living in a house we find fantastic, but the real reasons for making the move lie with the futures of our children. But you can't tell that to a four year old, nor a two year old.

Packing

2009-06-16T10:18:00.000-04:00

I just hung up the phone with Brendan, ending a conversation that began with me asking, in a small voice, "Are you sure you do not want to hire the movers?" He chuckled. I did not.

We had, you see, decided that the cost of movers to pack and truck our things on our own dime was ridiculously expensive, to the tune of nearly $4,000 if we did not need storage, but more than $7,000 if we did need storage, and we will likely need storage for a week or so. After much hemming, hawing, and calculating we decided to use PODS to move and we found that the cheapest boxes to buy could be found at U-Haul. The savings is at least $3,000 and at most $6,000, but the work that lies ahead of us is daunting. Remember that 13,000 lbs of stuff? I am working through it, one item at a time, trying to decide what to keep, what to donate, and what is simply trash. We have less than two weeks to pack up, as we need to be out of this house by the 29th in case everything falls together and we close on time. I am a wee bit scared.

We have lots of offers of help which are greatly appreciated, but for this segment of the game we have to go it alone...there is really no one but me who can go through my collection of craft supplies and decide what to keep, you know? It is probably good that we are going to pack it all up because we can take some time to be decisive about what need and what we don't, but if Brendan comes home tonight and says "Let's hire the movers" I will not disagree with him.

See, We're Not Crazy!

2009-06-12T15:50:00.000-04:00

Some little cities are projected to fair better than others in the next ten years and we just happened to pick one that has recently received a happy fortune telling. Read more about it here.

Stories: The Garden

2009-06-08T09:49:00.000-04:00

I never liked history class. Dates, places, and important people that did important things have never been able to hold my interest for very long, even though I wish I had more of a palate and memory for such details. What I do love are stories; the intricate details of one’s everyday life hold endless fascination for me. I could spend hours reading about how settlers made clothing, how certain tools were used on farms, or what plants were used to treat common ailments. I am endlessly curious about how people spend their time between the walls of their homes, how they live day to day, where they love to sit for a quiet moment of thinking, or which window’s view captivates their imagination.

As such, it only feels right to mark, for memory’s sake, some of the places that we have loved while living here. We’ll begin in the garden:

When we moved into our house there was a gravel driveway leading up to the garage and the rest of the lot up to the trees was a mixture of what looked like beach sand and really tall weeds. We started, quite literally, from scratch. We made so many mistakes along the way but we learned a lot of lessons, too. Once the driveway was paved and the sidewalks were poured our garden changed in shape from a straight line of woeful-looking bushes to a curvy, interactive space that invites you to walk through it.

I can tell you where each and every plant came from, the story of how we got it, where we first planted it, how we tweaked its location in the garden to give it more sun, more water from the gutter’s downspout, or just to better place it aesthetically. I placed every stone in that rock wall, and Brendan carefully made the path that meanders through the plants.

A butterfly bush from my mother’s yard.

A hydrangea bud on the bush that began as a stick with one leaf, purchased for $1.00 at the Farmer’s Market our first spring. The bush is now so big that we have divided it at least four times and we still have to hack it back every autumn.

What you cannot see in these pictures of our gardening success is our lawn-growing failure. There is a reason that sandy beaches are sandy: grass cannot grow on them. We have fought a good fight, but realistically we have too much area designated for grass and not enough time and resources to actually make grass grow. So our garden is a delight and our lawn is nearly non-existent, more of a headache than anything. While many people we know think we’re crazy to go from our nearly two acre lot to one just bigger than a postage stamp, we think we’re making a brilliant move. Because gardening we can handle, but putting in lawns and maintaining their water-sucking, fertilizer hungry, green expanses is just not something we get a lot of joy out of and life is certainly too short to spend a lot of time doing something that brings no joy.

Saying goodbye to this garden, this home, will not be easy. But a new yard beckons and the lessons we learned here will come with us to the new yard and house. And that postage stamp lot? It already has a healthy lawn of grass, but it could use a few lovely gardens.

Movers

2009-06-03T16:23:00.000-04:00

One of the big decisions we’re making this week is whether or not to hire movers. In the past we have moved using relocation packages through Brendan’s company and there is something to be said for having someone carefully wrap all of your worldly belongings carefully into boxes, load them on a truck and take them to the next location while you sit reading a magazine, sipping a nice cup of coffee. I have very much enjoyed that in the past. And let’s face it, there is nothing fun about having to lift and haul boxes and carefully orchestrate the packing of a truck that may or may not be able to contain everything you own when this is not something your body and mind are accustomed to doing. I will admit that I have been horribly spoiled in the past and there is a part of me that wants, very badly, to be horribly spoiled again. This time, however, any spoiling will have to be paid for out of our own pockets and the price is, well, pricey.

We had the first estimate for movers today, a local company that comes highly recommended. Their estimator was friendly, professional, and didn’t seem to mind at all that she was slowly being mauled by two rambunctious children in bad need of afternoon naps and two dogs that could use several runs around the block to tire them out. In fact, she handled all of that like a seasoned grandmother would and was able to carry on a conversation above and around the din, making me feel quite at ease. She wins big points for that. The estimation came in a little lower than I would have expected based on the moving costs for our last move, but still high enough that I am seriously considering –dare I say it – packing our own boxes and having them just move the packed boxes and furniture. The most disgusting part of the estimation is the enormity of it all: we own an estimated 13,000 lbs of stuff. Does that make anyone else’s head swim with nausea?

If we pack our own boxes, would we be more discerning in our decision making over what to bring and what to donate/recycle/throw out? Could we save ourselves from piles of crap and save a boatload of money at the same time? Or does it make more sense to spare ourselves and our children the mental and emotional fallout that several weeks of sorting and packing could very well create? How much is peace of mind worth?