tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26539189499278936372024-03-05T03:23:54.546-08:00Building Heavenly BridgesCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.comBlogger260125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-51243553584339776022010-09-04T03:01:00.000-07:002010-09-04T03:40:43.745-07:00Gentle RemindersA post about Emma's unwaivering presence in my life this time of year.<br /><br />I work mornings this year. I homeschool our 2nd grader in the afternoons. The goal is a calm, supportive environment to explore the 'other' parts of learning that seem not to happen at school: the social /emotional education all young kids need.<br /><br />Hence, it would behoove me to arrive calm, prepared and ready to dish out lots of love even as we are learning.<br /><br />The issue? I have 30 minutes to drive what is really a 4o-45 minute commute to pick her up on time. And, inevitably, I get behind a big truck or a sight seer or someone who thinks that 5 miles below the speed limit is lovely speed.<br /><br />The result? I get frustrated, very frustrated. And, try as I might to stay calm (seriously, I have a mantra) by the time I am 'so close but so far away' and late, yet again, I am sputtering.<br /><br />And that is when Emma's song comes on the radio. A gentle reminder of what really matters. A 'take a deep breath mom - minutes don't change your experience unless you let them' reminder that I really need.<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder (and you won't get this if you don't have an angel of your own) if I'm not just the tiniest bit lucky to have her where she is. Don't get me wrong, like all of you, I'd give anything to rewind the clock and have her here, from the beginning, but if this is how it has to be then how astounding that she is always there for me.<br /><br />How humbled I feel to know that her focus, her priority, is me.<br /><br />That there is always a song to pick me up when I lose perspective and a red leaf on a burning bush to say I love you.<br /><br />Emma - I've got to say I hope you've got something else ready to permeate this sadness I feel this year. Your birthday is Wednesday and try as I might to plan a day that feels right, I just keep feeling like I'm getting it wrong.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-59598037606163407652010-08-30T18:10:00.000-07:002010-08-30T18:22:12.598-07:00So muchThere is so much inside these days<br /><br />Memories of babies<br />My baby - going to Kindergarten<br />A new baby, of the canine variety, in our family - who, for some inexplicable reason has an attachement to me, the self-professed non-animal-gene-recipient of the family.<br /><br />A search for self, through yoga, through the gym, through quiet moments<br />An attempt to help my 7 year old begin the search for herself - through long talks, deep breathing, more quiet moments, more yoga<br /><br />Our year begins tomorrow - the first day of school. It's design has been much researched and hard won. Our purpose this year as part school / part homeschoolers is so out of the public school box that it should be scary, but all it is - is - exciting.<br /><br />And yet, that first day of school gets me every year.<br /><br />Emma, another year older, 10 years old entering another grade, discovering more amazing things about herself that only time, only the gift of growth would have revealed.<br /><br />As I watch her sister grow, evolve, and find those things that are all 'her'. The focuses that drive her forward to a love of learning, I am opressed by the next set of unanswerable questions. Although I know their road is cyclical, it is a hard carasel not to ride this time of year.<br /><br />Rambling on...my mental state...so much. Time will sort it all out - again, for another year, at least.<br /><br />Tomorrow, I'll glow with memory, pride and love as we walk to school, a Kindergartener in one hand, a second grader in the other, and an angelic force bigger than all of us in my heart.<br /><br />Walk with us Emma. I'll feel you.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-18993777259733519792010-08-27T18:10:00.000-07:002010-08-27T18:18:13.846-07:00The Great DivideWow.<br /><br />It sure has been a long while since I've been here. I'm not sure exactly when my world imploded but it was just about the time when Share Southern Vermont exploded, grew - that is, into a real deal charity needing a full time leader.<br /><br />Changes, they are a coming. Heck, who am I kidding, you would be startled to hear the bulleted list of things that have happened since I went silent. But that can wait.<br /><br />About a week ago the air quality began to change. My heart began to hurt. My movements became slower. The world appeared tinged by an invisible outline. And I knew it, my grief season had begun.<br /><br />It has been a loooong week.<br /><br />And then, I got this email today from <a href="http://onceamother.blogspot.com/">Once A Mother. "</a>I just wanted you to know that I referenced an amazing post you wrote last year about grief season. It impacted me greatly when I read it last year, and has always stayed with me. I thought others should read it too."<br /><br />The universe always knows. Just when I thought it was my job to walk this years haze alone, you, this group I have been disconnected from for so long, reached out.<br /><br />It's nice to know there is always a home to come back to. A 'you' that gets-it, forever. Thanks. I'm going back to read my own post and see if it brings me a little peace, just a little would be nice.<br /><br />10 years.<br /><br />WowCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-21666594040572455332010-04-26T04:09:00.000-07:002010-04-26T04:20:03.113-07:00So, you want a t shirt?I've had a number of people email me about <em>how </em>to get one of our fab shirts this year! I love the idea of our yellowness all over the country, and the lavender words spreading our message one person at a time!<br /><br />So, if you are <strong>NEAR</strong> - email me at <a href="mailto:sharesouthernvermont@gmail.com">sharesouthernvermont@gmail.com</a> with the number of shirts you need and sizes. You can pay by cash or check when you pick them up.<br /><br />Kids: XS (2-4) S(6-8) M(10-12) L(14-16)<br /><br />Adults: S, M, L, XL and XXL<br /><br />They are $5 each thanks to a loving family who donated every single last one making every cent pure profit that will go towards board member training and serving hurting families!<br /><br />If you are <strong>FAR </strong>you can email then send a check to SSV PO Box 22 Proctorsville, VT. 05153 OR us the DONATE button on our website and note how many shirts and what sizes. Shipped shirts are $8 each.<br /><br />And remember, Memory Bands are available too! Throw in a few of those and your shipping won't change!<br /><br />All this info and more are at the blog: <a href="http://www.sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com/">www.sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com</a>.<br /><br />Thanks again to all how have watched this mission grow from a mere idea to a reality. As it blossoms before me, even I find myself standing back, eyes wide with all that has been accomplished in just over a year.<br /><br />Here's to 2010!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-53457554880827116642010-04-25T04:28:00.000-07:002010-04-25T11:01:19.120-07:00Walk a mile in their shoes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYKQAKFRHtHknaWEpDrtUks1MhFhAvtGyfaNPDkPxni7JOaD5yeTiVo3tlwgq9SuBKcDtUUzgHfU2Srbipveu0nHkvS_XCLwyTLaOPSm39Lb1jJa_36aA5s6EojpnAsHjViKeQSuFIwhC/s1600/shirt+design+1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464037938214852594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYKQAKFRHtHknaWEpDrtUks1MhFhAvtGyfaNPDkPxni7JOaD5yeTiVo3tlwgq9SuBKcDtUUzgHfU2Srbipveu0nHkvS_XCLwyTLaOPSm39Lb1jJa_36aA5s6EojpnAsHjViKeQSuFIwhC/s400/shirt+design+1.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>It's hard to believe that Share Southern Vermont's <a href="http://www.sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com/">2nd Annual Walk for Hope and Remembrance </a>is only two weeks away. As the date approaches I am struck by the surreal feeling of details mixed with memory. I wrote about this for the <a href="http://www.exhalezine.com/magazine/?page_id=511">Spring 2010 publication of Exhale</a>, and since writing those words memories have been flooding back.<br /><br />With it, a longing so deep to be back in this world. I am firm believer that the body's muscle memory is wholisitic. Last year, I was limber, calm and flexible - from the cognitive realm to my lower back muscles. I was purging emotion and negative energy here. Lately, my body has been knotted up, head to toe - literally, and as each wave of discomfort hits or pain shoots I find myself wondering which sadness it was, cycling through again, unable to fine the way out. </div><div></div><div>I've been bottling, unintentionally of course, but holding emotion none-the-less. I can only imagine my inner workings are begging for me to fold back into a pattern of meditation, yoga, exercise, and blogging. For the latter is as much a form of of body wellness as any. </div><div></div><div>The image above is a partial of our walk t-shirt this year. By printing, we added the word <em>fragile</em>: so it reads: <em>Every life, no matter how fragile or brief, forever changes the world. </em>We are all fragile. We all need love and care from the inside out.<br /></div><div>In this last year, I have met so many more families living through baby loss. They have shaped my life. Their angel babies have been the architects who mold, chip, and design my new realities. Today, I walk with <a href="http://footprintsonourhearts.blogspot.com/">Mark and Jill, proud parents of Emma and Chase</a> born too soon in the the March of Dimes - March for Babies event.<br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfAoWikTgReHvOn3XM2wkm6PGBtk8JoUH6XF_3AbjKZ3aOrFKdOB1NoubyJmISsDsAyLxEtSX9Zb4hPj483sgJP84e5d0qzamdJKscrnjs96MBiDt3Ya8dN6G87aFjOOuIFYysTB-wDjTB/s1600/getimage.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 221px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 228px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464037059850143874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfAoWikTgReHvOn3XM2wkm6PGBtk8JoUH6XF_3AbjKZ3aOrFKdOB1NoubyJmISsDsAyLxEtSX9Zb4hPj483sgJP84e5d0qzamdJKscrnjs96MBiDt3Ya8dN6G87aFjOOuIFYysTB-wDjTB/s400/getimage.jpg" /></a> </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 285px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464037065321336978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvU8QyMaC125JKT_3qjVs7Nt2ZNuCHBi1ZLQ6mzzgPpC_LK7LyVkNZGYdAj5Es5eQ4kZ6kcfpw2hqguktvr06ZlX7wVIdlubB3tGZdEv8Afn1hzSwSFb33ONOgK_qZv_R6zAsVtKGS5yv/s400/IMG_0154%5B1%5D.JPG" /><br /></div><div>The fact that my daughter's name is also somehow represented on this shirt is not lost on me. I picture the two girls, Chase in the middle, looking down on us as we walk. </div><div></div><div align="center"><em>We are so sad you're here ~ We are so glad you came</em></div><em></em><br /><br />This has become the constant phrase of our group, putting so perfectly into words how we would regain our autonomy in a second if it meant we could have our babies back. But in leu of that, our bond, our unbreakable connection feeds us, soothes us, heals us.<br /><br />I will begin posting more frequently again. I have to. You are part of that connection and without it I have been tangibly unfed, unsoothed, and my healing space has grown much smaller.<br /><br />Here's to taking steps, to going back to go forward. Walk with us...Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-25079035567543500712010-03-09T18:54:00.000-08:002010-03-22T03:06:04.034-07:00A Broken Plank<span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>I wrote the post below a couple weeks ago. It was easy enough to write, true emotion always is, but I couldn't hit publish. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because I haven't been able to hold your emotion lately so why would you want to read mine? But then, I got an email from <a href="http://parenthoodforme.blogspot.com/">Parenthood for Me </a>saying, amazingly, unbelievebly, that she was hoping to win <a href="http://www.weebleswobblog.com/">Lori's limerick chick contest </a>again and if she did her plan was to amazingly, unbelievebly -- donate money to Share Southern Vermont. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em><a href="http://www.weebleswobblog.com/2010/03/and-shamrock-goes-to.html">And then she did.</a> </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>And I was shocked to realize that much like a high-school exchange student you connect intimately with your junior year, then don't see again for many more -- the connection we made last year couldn't be severed by afternoon appointments, evenings spent pouring over power-point presentations, or even going back to work. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>You are still there. I am still here. Our paths cross far less but our bonds are strong. Thank you Erika. Thank you Lori. You reminded me that friendship is a give and take relationship. Sometimes, you have a lot to give. Sometimes, you have to take a bit more. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>So, hold my raw emotion please....for I am drowing here in over-committed land, even when huge, prayed-for things are happening. Hoping to come up for air soon.</em></span><br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><em>(two weeks ago)</em><br /><br />Sleep is elusive, at best, lately.<br /><br /><br />I have long nights to ponder this. I am, as I have so elequently put recently, "wildly over-committed, but fine". To this obvious contradiction in terms a friend, speaking of himself, spoke my acutal truth. "Ha!" he said just a hint of whimsy in his voice, I'm wildly over-commited and <em>not </em>fine. "<br /><br /><br />On paper it all works. On paper a tutoring session from 9am to 10am puts me in my car by 10:10 and at church by 10:15, allowing just enough time to set up the Sunday School lesson that an indescript number of children will stomp down the stairs for at about 10:30 - give or take.<br /><br /><br />In reality, it doesn't. It really, really doesn't.<br /><br /><br />On spreadsheets, the numbers compute. 25 teaching hours + 10 in the car + weekly appointments + time with kids, a clean kitchen after dinner, laundry in drawers, and still there is time: evening hours to run a non-profit, to organize the next big event, to maintain that level of connectedness with the grievers who are brave enough to walk through a heavy library door every month for support.<br /><br /><br />In reality, the board of directors is worried about me. I can tell. They are finally standing up to me, taking both partial and complete tasks out of my gripped hands. I trust them, explicitly. I'm releasing, a lot.<br /><br /><br />And still, I fret.<br /><br /><br />As a youth my need to lead, to control, was about affirmation. To hear my name called, to recieve an award, to know that others took notice of my actions. That is youth for you. Later, the drive came from within, no longer concerned with the world's particular take on my forward progress, but only allowing celebration after reaching my self-imposed goal. What a number I could do on myself if I quit early, if I failed to sink that 8 ball in the corner pocket.<br /><br /><br />And this is the amazing thing. Currently, it is neither of these admittedly self-serving motivations that plagues me. Everything will get done. Events will be amazing. People will be served. Hospitals will embrace our offer of support. These things always come together. I trust life enough to know that now.<br /><br /><br />No, what is far more unsettling for me is that I seem to have lost my center. The sense of purpose mixed with peace; the awareness that fueled my forward motion has dimmed.<br /><br /><br />Our microwave broke this week. My husband, convinced he can lay his contractor hands on anything and tweak them back to life threw those same hands up in utter frustration today. "I just don't get it!" he exclaimed, "Everything works, the fan, the power source, the rotating tray. It just doesn't have any heat!"<br /><br /><br />Exactly.<br /><br /><br />Last year, I had nothing but time. I had a strong sense of direction. I had a handle on the many rivers of my life that fed the ocean. I had peace. I had meditation. I had guidance. I had writing. I had this space, almost daily. I had you. I had something so intensely special that people often look their whole lives and never find it: <em>purpose. </em><br /><br /><br />Here is what I didn't have: fear. Often I found myself unsure where I was on that path, but never did I doubt that I was on the wrong one.<br /><br /><br />I am that microwave. All the part of my life are still there, the book, the blog, the support group, the memoralizing events, my kids, my husband, my angelic daughter, the magazine - but the heat is conspiciously absent.<br /><br /><br />I posed this question to another friend recently. <em>How do you make peace with your daily life when you know what you actually want to do and what it feels like to do it? </em>I mean, I got how young kids, older adults even, who never figured out their life's purpose muddled through a strange variety of test days wondering if tomorrow would be the day when the epiphany struck. When their path would emerge clearly and their journey would offically begin. But how do you go back to milk when you have tasted the cream?<br /><br /><br />Its<em> </em>a strange sensation really, walking through each day knowing exactly what you want to do, recalling the full-body reaction to the illuminated path then turning 180 degrees and stepping into an over-crowded, rocky opening, squinting to see where it may lead you.<br /><br /><br />This is temporary. That I know for sure, for it is the only way that I can navigate that path everyday when the other shines so brightly, lit up with possibility and promise. I suppose I should be grateful really that I know my future at all, that I found the 'thing' that inspires me.<br /><br /><br />"You light up whenever you talk about it." This is what my husband says. So, why then, is it so surprising that I shouldn't want to talk about it all day, everyday even? Why then, wouldn't I want to devote all my working hours to developing it?<br /><br /><br />To be ahead of your time is a cruel affliction indeed. I no idea if anyone famous ever said this but I imagine they did. Hindsight might be ugly, but I believe that foresight can be a source of burning frustration.<br /><br /><br />"You can't eat an elephant in a day." This <em>was </em>said, by someone very influential in my life. Apparently I took a very big bite. I'll let you know when I'm done chewing on it.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-11058690924102558192010-02-14T04:56:00.000-08:002010-02-14T10:06:51.048-08:00That kind of joyAnd still, it seems, I don't have much to say. Of course I <em>do </em>it is just a matter of how to phrase it. For the joy of Emma seems to have transformed. It used to come in a well timed breeze, a knowing look, a song on the radio, a creative moment. She still does, arrive in these intangible ways, yet there is more.<br /><br />For the longest time I intentionally separated her potential being from the two other vibrant ones skipping through my home. It was a habit, I think, begun over seven years ago when a lab tech said the three words I desparetly didn't want to hear; "It's a girl"! His face radiated good news. My brain immediately began it's training: <em>You will not compare. You will not wonder. You will not saddle this girl with the ghost of her sister. You will not project unknown expectations. You will not. You can not. </em>How could I not?<br /><br />I spent years fighting mind-spinning urges, like smoke as it entwines with itself, creating yet another stream, another answerless possibility. I beat the ideas away, inwardly chanting <em>She is her own person. She is her own person. </em><br /><em></em><br />If I went down that road I wouldn't be able to stop. If I allowed the train of thought my journey would cease to be in the present. A single, <em>I wonder if... </em>would have launched me back to a hot summer night when my labor cries failed to produce the same from my baby.<br /><br />Her nose. Were they the same? Her fingers. Were they long like Emma's? From there, it would only have been a quick and seamless leap to her temprament. Did they share a love of 'aloneness', needing only to be swaddled tightly and placed in her crib to put themselves to sleep? And on, and on, I would have gone.<br /><br />That road, that dangerous trecherous road was one I knew I could not walk. So I didn't. It was self-preservation. And yet, I did myself a disservice. By setting that roadblock I masked the ability to see that Emma and her sisters may have shared traits while still maintaining their indiviuality. Alive or dead, this is the truth.<br /><br />Moreover, by refusing walk on paths thay may intersect Bear's joy's were isolated as were Comedian's, as Emma's contined to be etherial, intangible, mine.<br /><br />As of late this has shifted. Without a conscious effort I've noticed how she lives within them, within their play, their moments of elation, and in their tears of dissapointment. She is not just in the breeze, but in their movements, the manurisims. Of course, I cannot know with any certainty what is 'hers' vs 'theirs', but it seems not to matter. Not anymore.<br /><br />I suppose this is the integration I speak of so often. Whatever it is, it feels good. My children, all three of them, live in this home. They inspire me. The educate me. They love me. They are all mine, however they exist.<br /><em></em>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-74132885305313113282010-01-25T16:06:00.000-08:002010-01-25T16:12:28.270-08:00Tuesday, January 26 is a special day for us. Our Comedian, our last rainbow, turns five. <a href="http://thebearandthecomedian.blogspot.com/2010/01/on-eve-of-birthday.html">Please click over for a birthday post if you like</a>. She is featured in a photo...<br /><br />Tuesday, January 26 is also a special, albeit difficult, day for other families. Two of our angel wall families are remembering their babies tomorrow. The function of the Angel Wall has been expanded slightly. <a href="http://wallofangels.blogspot.com/2010/01/remembering-all-our-babies.html">Please click over to read about it and remember</a>.<br /><br />Sending love to all of you... CaraCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-47349312604541824562010-01-21T03:35:00.000-08:002010-01-21T03:58:17.657-08:00EmmaThis post is easy - and yet, it's hard.<br /><br />I find I don't have much to say lately, here. I have pictures galore and stories to match at The Bear and the Comedian, my <em>other </em>blog. I am finding such joy in my growing children, trying to document it all so I can look back someday and know I really lived it.<br /><br />This space remains vacant, blank. The stark contrast made me stop and think.<br /><br />After much reflection I seemed to find an answer. BHB was created with a purpose. It is an 'Emma driven' blog, a window where I journal about her presence in our lives. My lack of stories doesn't mean that she isn't here, showing herself in small ways, comforting our hearts in time of struggle, and appearing on the lips of her sister's daily.<br /><br />What came to me was that I had unintentionally futher defined this space as a place to write about the emotionally challenging times that Emma's presence and past bring to me. The tears, the strife, the worldly conflicts, the righteous indignignation, the anger, the frustration, the love that tears you in two because you can't fullfil it with touch.<br /><br />Yes, this was the vapory place. The space for all the emotions that only <em>you </em>would understand.<br /><br />So, what's happened?<br /><br />Joy, in larger doses than I've ever imagined. The thought of Emma's presence brings my heart joy, swelling it momentarily. Tears still sting my eyes but they are simultaneously accompanied by a wide smile.<br /><br />I often speak to the SSV support group about 'integrating' their loss. Acceptance is a fallicy, but allowing your child's spirit to live on in your family by integrating them in the way their story allows is a healthy grieving process. As I recently wrote in a grant to create countless more memory boxes for families, "Healthy grief leads to integrated grief, empowering grieving parents to give back, to reach out to the newest families struck down by the tragedy of loss".<br /><br />Apparently, with the exception of minor annual 'blips' and my downtime during the season of her birthday, I have done that.<br /><br />This is why I haven't seen fit to write here lately. Not because I don't have things to say, but they are all upbeat, loving, signs of her integration, and - yes, joyful.<br /><br />Recognizing how I defined this space has allowed me to expand that definition. I want to share these heart-lifting times with you too. I'm just not sure you want to hear them, yet, depending on where you are in your process.<br /><br />I suppose that is your choice, to read - or not to read. Just know that it is possible you will find uplifting tales of the '9 years after' variety, and if you do choose to read through may they bring you hope that the dark early days do dissipate, that you will choose to re-enter the world, and that the attacks of grief which blindsight you so often in the early years receed, slowly, with time.<br /><br />Someday, his name - her name - their names, will cause you to tear up and smile simultaneously.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-85133227642637337942010-01-13T11:34:00.000-08:002010-01-13T11:42:42.371-08:00Share Newsletter and Submission Opportunity<em>I try to keep what's Emma's Emma's and what's Share's Share's, but in this case they are one in the same.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I recently put up a post at SSV's blog about the newsletter that comes out every two months.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I'm re-post it here, primarly for the submission opportunity. I know many of you write about the grief of your losses. Here is an outlet for submission that is SURE to get distributed to others who may share your experience.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Let me know if you do. I'll look for it in coming issues! - Cara</em><br /><br /><strong>If you are a bereaved parent you may already be sent the Sharing newletter put out by the National Share office.If not, we will link to it here every two months for you to access. Each issue has a topic.<br /><br />The January/February 2010 Sharing newsletter is now available online at </strong><strong><a href="http://www.nationalshare.org/Jan-Feb_2010_with_cover.pdf">http://www.nationalshare.org/Jan-Feb_2010_with_cover.pdf</a></strong><strong>. The topic is Meeting Milestones and we hope you enjoy it.<br /><br />The editors are always looking for sumbissions to match a future topic. If you experience fits the topic, feel free to send in your piece.<br /><br />The topic for the March/April 2010 issue is Recurrent Loss. If you have experienced recurrent pregnancy losses, we invite you to share your experiences with other readers. We are looking for stories of how you coped, any answerers you received, and how you eventually felt hopeful for the future. The submission deadline for this issue is February 1. Please send your submissions to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/rcarlson@nationalshare.org">Rose Carlson</a>. </strong>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-81786041191657373402010-01-09T16:13:00.000-08:002010-01-10T09:49:48.369-08:00A Construction PlateauThe odd thing about a project is that when completed, you rarely remember how you 'lost steam' midway and it just sat there for a while.<br /><div><div><div><div><div> </div><div>I don't mind, really, we have all been so sick. But, still - it would be nice to get to<em> my</em> part of the transition! Ok, I'll enlist help picking paint colors<em> </em>(I always do), even so getting Bear in her new room will be so nice!</div><br /><div>If you need the sorted tale that is: <u>the beginning of the project</u>, <a href="http://buildingheavenlybridges.blogspot.com/2009/12/show-and-tell-demo-and-its-about-time.html">click here</a>, if not - say some inspirational, under-the-breath, mutterings in Jer's general direction. </div><br /><div>And, to show how much faith I have in all of you -- I'll start consulting my color guides.</div><div> </div><div>Where we currently stand:<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425168075797058818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgIvKKhs8Y257Rwi8xBT8lXkDAJjKQ3eRGYr44ch6oRSFlLxDNDpUGV14IdlRbLYPwLU3EiRcpG28AgyrrGdf7k-L1LqSHUIFp7Y431Ng7QU3F-FdifkHei4srUmz5zIQ-1uPx_R4y43h/s400/Jan+10+Construction+001.JPG" border="0" /></div><div> </div></div></div></div></div><br /><p>The smaller bathroom -- with a wall!</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425168090890632658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDwsbKnwoO_mZAXU5xq4qImjWPjOl31gy5_2umZzx7hh_HLjNzQP9eNC3MmisDrUEZSXABr1gnwWuiwxJCi4z3s9sr-3iDMAqppLj_7LZ4e3Unp7PGeT53aFDiaTCbjk9KqLFiF5Y4DmKu/s400/Jan+10+Construction+003.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>The same wall, from the other side: becoming Bear's closet. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425168096869873090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6KAPuXlG3uFvCN-f8m_5NWP5t0PuvSzh-2eJ-YYvzo1Gb3NFQVSUbb_NXT624WoiETaZ20wR4gGq7lCkje9KRry5GVGM_UgMZYL2GkXaz_7cOTQK13J1uZf6t3ozzCYhKN1VNY5nOn6H/s400/Jan+10+Construction+004.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>Look, electrical and all!</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425168088409931410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTDC0INR4qJawxdaMru3V1g5oicihSg02bp3eia0GySSJKDLBnhPmUqEV7dH6MXvmMaJEwb5iCwUb0GUQauZx6ZlmGHGYAkxgac9ucZl0jKEQ54Spqi1X1i440RkwoYI3ONBIZ1KgLGlt/s400/Jan+10+Construction+002.JPG" border="0" /></p><p>A new door frame!</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425168102428878546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORVGP9RA8aB14vF40VlETojvDoXug3tso2_jfbOcP_bCq0bEGBf4zpeFZlVjY9AZwHm_JqABlHn6nGruk3unzQroFqYvbjxB9IeT67dDPzpYS-AgY0s__SPVVYjsCJr8GCO9Q48RCLBPM/s400/Jan+10+Construction+005.JPG" border="0" /></p>Comedian's room, with wall! First paint choice goes here!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-9464153722542771322009-12-23T16:06:00.000-08:002009-12-31T07:10:05.365-08:00Show and Tell: Demo and It's About Time!!I have mentioned before that I live in an old house, a very old house, an 1800's farmhouse to be exact.<br /><br />We love it. We fell in love with it the minute we did our first walkthrough. This love may have blindsighted us to the degree the current owners lied through their slightly-crooked teeth<br />about how much work had been done to the place.<br /><br /><em>We've re-wired the whole place. </em><strong>And that's why my husband nearly got electricuted when the knob and tube in the kitchen was still live...</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><em>Oh, the septic tank? It's been pumped every two years, and the most recent pump was just last year... </em><strong>Really? Is that why the guy from the septic place said it was full to bursting and we just nearly avoided it bursting cause it hadn't been done in at least 4 years?</strong><br /><br /><em>Oh yes, we gutted every room, took out the plaster and lathes, added sheetrock and insulation -- </em><strong>*ahem*</strong> -- <em>except the kitchen. </em><br /><em></em><br />Ok, they told the truth about the kitchen. But they had to, with it's obvious plaster sticking out behind older-than-dirt wallpaper and the stunning hot-pink, plywood kitchen cabinets!<br /><br />Anyway, over the course of the 8+ years we have lived here we have done little to the interior. Painted some rooms as rainbow babies arrived. And, yes, contracter Jer has <em>actually </em>re-done the kitchen, making his own cherry cabinets and an exposed beam ceiling I could still lie down and stare up at for hours.<br /><br />And so recently we began a conversation we've had about a million times. "You know, for being such a big house it really only has three bedrooms" he said. "Yeah" I responded, "and I really miss my guest room. The girls need a playroom. *sigh* I know we've proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they cannot sleep together, but - seriously -..."<br /><br />And together we finished, for we have said it to the point of naseum, "girls that size do not need bedrooms that big!"<br /><br />Oddly, the conversation we've had a million times resulted in a different ending. "Well" my amazing husband said standing in the upstairs bathroom staring at the jaccuzi tub that doesn't actually work, "if I eliminated that wall and put a door here I could put a wall here, then here, and...."<br /><br />You get the point. He has vision like that. I just nodded and smiled because I don't, and, even though the conversation had never progressed to this point, I still thought it was all musing and possibilities.<br /><br />Until the day I came home to, <em>this:</em><br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421405968396032866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvvDZEA9om5fD8RwwrF8akiqnLy-ovvavJp-yJBl8OKH9PfHUf2IJiiY8ft30-VWtQDq944qaYAkBDH3OH_0IOUuX5DhJNy7m2YrX8Aoscle-morMofDAa6MY3O10jGpZTMR8gcBZck5G/s400/December+09+014.JPG" /> It seemed our 'project' had begun.</p><p><br /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421405962862461746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_JtlmPvtJoA9S_M88wpZ9JWJILlyaKDwsvY_dR3OWHAI9RSzHhTA9GrEWD9EYf7QFaDVQCXsFbRieCOf4D3B-EJFUMMekYlJElJ_nOMDUlGsy1QOAdJcXIWjqnKYk2snaI5rpSAmxeBa/s400/December+09+021.JPG" /></p><p>"This is a perfect size bedroom for a little girl, don't you think?" he asked me. And, yes, it looked lovely from this side of the camera. Check out the 180 degree shot!</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421405953217866786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIu6fHuLLommzDqb7V4Tem3nLcGkbmY7TrMowf-wO44DkdtL8OGX6dUaQoX991woVEmhozuvrGojGfXHcBu9pwPeXgb8hAYjx8HGUS2RDLppNW8uS5UY0Djv9npsHyYw4LlroFR_C_QSB/s400/December+09+018.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421406858444092754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4U8g0iCJmJc2FSkfedpwdBEvqtwz_CR7x_DxCg-1Ncj7DkGYdYqnL4rvb-eJVudxw03Iean0fUrug1kuw2K9MIAmXp1xV6roighvu-1wut2ceFw_iK3AyDkzjygIF9IH0A8NvlZ730cq/s400/December+09+038.JPG" /></p><p>Bear even got in on the action! She loved demo and was quite good at it.</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421405955696789554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPC8wgmiICbqpM77kqY32Lxre83T1xfgCkJzUCekTvFchHZ8KHRZEUH-1d9fK3w0dDSk3WVq2Et9HsZoJAYcbSOCUmgEi6rAB1HNl05POwLvMZp6nYiTlwUF6vHSp6xLLcUWe-LqnfBQ-/s400/December+09+020.JPG" /></p><p>She <em>really </em>loved throwing all the lathes out Comedian's bedroom window! Oh -- and in case you didn't catch on. Do you <em>see </em>any inulation? Sheetrock? Um, no -- really? Grrrr.... can you say, can.of.worms?</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421406863542398258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRz3yldY9X-oOclAvWAnWu0n2HFIWLLBhkonTF_0Z52x6hec1dd72PIM_jVMETG9IxYp-RRE7DWJ6viTLuYqqtr6Nra08EcwsxJ5wAJFsxmAZeOxDRFav_DsKD3PnFJsgGQeEAf13BFX2W/s400/December+09+039.JPG" /> I won't even tell you about the mess the pluming is in. Liar Liar, pants on fire....that's all I have to say.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418588665156819746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQLnaDV1W9NMMMuFhpHHvYIjeqA_L_jNtd61wnLgahL7bE7C_ZJUFS5sGibtm5dYhwA7Fj8xqPEz3H-BjB9e2mCNQrA_vVOg3cafprObKhKvyYVLOtmfxs9hA0Ou1bM1mI0TgMIqaSAtpk/s400/December+09+016.JPG" /> Even still, the ever growing project seems to make my family happy. I, for one, have never been happier to live within the realm of chaos. It means change is coming! Bear loves beating on things with a hammer. And Comedian, well -- just look at her and her daddy!</p><p><br /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418588669972433554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSLzhbiZrgA0mWHagBeIfDZTNPO3mpJy8QRmGaQpDtS_6KoYiznixYTGWF84oHduYkySrduzbo5E0yB97JFoCvrwqCOSvgAwpXFxqzV8F2MBHflKxBGU4faoUh51c0kLljKBqhZ98RE59/s400/December+09+010.JPG" /> Current Status: The bathroom is in the hallway.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421408333682517138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJPq-KNTEoFU5o43wyQhFd-jzYC5j5h9OGt9JD3kHJM4PyYfT2tChFsy0lOMkLHwffjMZ94gZojiAP5F4TDjwCyCB0-ompjX22BWdkiVvOoiIOGwtTnlmEunu-4u2MHThqBSswk2S1815s/s400/december+09+079.JPG" /></p><p>A new wall is under construction...</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421408341541016850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzFFjY04oYDZDihjOFdlEkHRi3u71xzZJd9uJ1OQ_iO5NRdNdpO6cZ15mtV7KK_7xju4B2yTxrhdLTMJVgHPSWN4IGeXlM7nQCyoSWj6aCDcaJXBoUMsZboEvJzCa807p89hKGJYSFudC/s400/december+09+080.JPG" /> Comedian sleeps nightly in a 'room with a view' - if you will... (the other side of the room - to the right- is the nice, homey shot from the beginning of this post!)</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421408352321679874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjul_gDOMO_JGJlUfqzn6qmzqhCGhHKvLG2YUvUw8cX6HXXaeGM0UXMMEe6CWoByFlQpjFA0edIZivXJ4a1L1SPptTtcKYDn3htFiUxeMwfsv7GWWNGdjLUuBn6HnPjE-Tbf2c1TCcxZo-b/s400/december+09+082.JPG" /><br /><p>And, the jacuzzi tub still sits on the front porch. Does that make us the owners of a 'redneck yard' I wonder?</p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421410471016182290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpSGYzsnqPrIESp1rSCZpbSrdCbYy-AeIILo3zyFMM6NCSDMQB-v8zuB0GeM1rHBLLWVk2Yl7H-xEBVhWIRq1pmyaNBVnRYG4Xnm1Klcwn_ZQF4cmyBnVYZYt8pp3M-O__CO-CnpbomJh/s400/December+09+015.JPG" /> </p><p>Stay tuned, this project is sure to get more interesting or frustrating or expensive, or -- all of the above! But, one thing is for sure it will result in: 2 appropriately sized bedrooms for small girls and a playroom / guest room for playing and visiting!</p><p>Ahhhhhh.....progress. Nice yes? <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2009/12/the-85th-circle-time-the-show-and-tell-weekly-thread/">Dont' forget tos check out what everyone else is showing and telling. </a></p>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-51655150492586791612009-12-22T03:44:00.000-08:002009-12-22T03:48:51.687-08:00Happy Birthday Share Southern Vermont!Hard to believe, but today is Share Southern Vermont's first birthday!!!<br /><br />For my gooey, heartfelt post about the meaning of this day at SSV's blog <a href="http://sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com/2009/12/happy-birthday-ssv.html">CLICK HERE. </a><br /><br />Oh, and if you feel like adding to the mush I am today, go ahead and leave a birthday wish for us. <br /><br />Amazing, this all started with a post (Hmmm, I'd like to start some kind of support group) and a comment, (Well, have you ever heard of Share?)Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-59037528152082750332009-12-17T17:01:00.001-08:002009-12-17T17:15:31.682-08:00Puff-Puff...Chuga-Chuga<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/615C9KH7RPL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA240_SH20_OU01_.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/615C9KH7RPL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA240_SH20_OU01_.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Is a very cute book about a train conductor concerned his little engine will never survive the track with three big animals on it. </div><br /><div></div><div>It is also a euphamism for my current mindset. Read on, and you will see why!</div><br /><div></div><div>I am still sick. It stinks, as there is so very much I was supposed to have done / still have to do for Share by the end of the year. </div><br /><div>It used to seem far away. Now it looms. And, so does my cough of nearly two weeks. It led me to the doctor today saying inane things like, "But I don't really feel <em>sick</em>-sick; I just can't stop coughing, you know?"</div><br /><div>He raised his eyebrows at me. It was a bit daunting as he was wearing a mask and all I could see were his eyes. </div><br /><div>One nebulizer treatment later I am now the proud owner of my very first inhaler, ever. No, I don't have asthma, but apparently whatever cold virus got a hold of me grasped tightly to my lungs (literally) and my future for the next week is measure in puffs: 2 every four hours, with kick-a$$ cough/codine medicine as a chaser so I finally get some sleep in my <em>own bed</em>, not sitting straight up on the couch. </div><br /><div>Comedian doesn't sound much better. Her appt is tomorrow afternoon. </div><br /><div>*big sigh* <em>cough-cough -cough-cough</em> (Note to self: deep breaths induce coughing fits...don't do it!)</div><br /><br /><div></div><div>I have to say, unlike last winter (which appeared to be Mrs. Spock's barnacle), this one is dragging us down in germ fest after germ fest. </div><br /><br /><div></div><div>Is it the new 'strains' of things floating around?</div><br /><br /><div></div><div>Is it because I work in a preschool where kids pick their noses then touch toys and walk away like nothing happened? </div><br /><br /><div></div><div>Is it because fatigue has reached a new high for me trying to burn multiple candles at both ends?</div><br /><br /><div></div><div>I have no idea. But I <em>am </em>looking forward to our 10 day break. And I am praying that the new year finds me healthy and restored with all the energy I used to possess and more. </div><br /><div>The grant is due Jan. 11th, you know...</div>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-56473621712967130192009-12-13T08:00:00.000-08:002009-12-13T08:13:41.954-08:00Stepping Back - And Not Feeling Guilty About It!I am not supposed to be here right now. We were suppoed to be at church early today. I was supposed to fill in for the church pageant director and lead the rehearsal. I was supposed to bring a quiche for the after church luncheon. We were supposed to stay and decorate the tree, while the kids all received small gifts.<br /><br />We are not there.<br /><br />The flurry of phone calls it took to un-clutter our morning wasn't fun. Making executive decisions never is, but it was necessary.<br /><br />Comedian isn't well enough to be there. She needs to rest, to get fully better from the hacking cough and faucet of a nose she's lived with this week as we dragged her from one 'must attend' event to another, and yet another.<br /><br />Bear isn't quite that under the weather, but has that peaky look around her eyes. A sign of fatigue that even I can't miss while she says, "I'm fine! I can go to everything!"<br /><br />I was quite sick mid week, berating myself for staying home from school, even while I was shivering under the covers and my fever steadily climbed over the 102 mark.<br /><br />And, to complete the family experience Jer was up all night, most of it spent in the bathroom, and looks like a paler, droopier version of a man today curled up on the couch unable to move.<br /><br />So, I decided to cancel our morning, letting go of whatever the fallout is on the world. Truly, I don't think we can matter quite that much. The girls are snuggled under layers of covers watching the classic Santa Claus Is Coming To Town, and I felt great joy catching up on some blogs that were long overdue.<br /><br />A lesson is to be learned here. I can say it out loud, as I did to my mother, "If it is a lack luster pageant next weekend it won't be the first, and probably won't be the last".<br /><br />My family comes first. Their health is more important. <em>Yes, </em>Bear is Mary, mother of Jesus in the show. Oh well, he'll have to get by with Joseph for the day. <em>Sure, </em>I made a quiche for the lunch. Aw heck, guess I'll have to have a slice or two.<br /><br />I think my husband put it best. "It just shows you that all the things we think are important really aren't. We have a good life without all the drama. It's that simple."<br /><br />Hope your day is calm and bright and not filled with overwhelming drama!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-10303579369954553612009-12-06T16:20:00.000-08:002009-12-06T16:29:59.941-08:00BlogseccibleJust because my life isn't 'blogseccible' (blog accesible - made up a new word, <em>that's </em>how crazy busy I am!), I still want to exchange holiday cards with those of you that mean the world to me.<br />Ha! The world. And, you span the world.<br /><br />I'm cracking myself up.<br /><br />With bad jokes.<br /><br />That happens when I'm overtired and stressed.<br /><br />Anyhoo, the most amazing thing happened. We went to the post office yesterday and got two festive cards! I suppost, that in-an-of-itself isn't amazing, but they were our <em>first two of the year </em>and <em>from bloggy friends!!!</em><br /><em></em><br />Oh you guys and your holiday spirit! Love you so much Mrs. Spock and A Mending Heart! (<em>sorry no energy to link but search them out - you won't be dissapointed)</em><br /><br />Soooo, if you want to trade super cute mugs this year (yes - faces, and yes - another bad pun) then <a href="http://www.blogger.com/carajer@tds.net">email me!</a> We've got a GREAT card, featuring our two living angels <em>together in one picture </em>and their <em>real </em>names if you don't already know them.<br /><br /><strong>Summary:</strong><br /><br />I'm rambling. I'm stressed and overtired. I have two formal presentations and a grant to write. Tomorrow is a school day. I'm going to bed in 30 minutes. And, <strong><u><em>I want to do a card exchange.</em></u></strong><a href="http://www.blogger.com/carajer@tds.net"> E-mail. Me. </a>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-15943288580475825872009-12-02T17:25:00.000-08:002009-12-02T17:53:45.908-08:00Show and Tell: Pumpkin Pie in a Jar<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNzlLV-pC-Q-T5jMojCYj0vumRmlQMX56f9HBexAiH9j-tF65aTr00Vb2BKG-LqWD_Zy1EnnsawxhPom5v36yZXFbyiDaWnlsUOh0PdCEvZkGMlvttFu5s5pz6d60fyXfG1eFe7DuZBSs/s1600-h/October+2009+002.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410816261543722594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNzlLV-pC-Q-T5jMojCYj0vumRmlQMX56f9HBexAiH9j-tF65aTr00Vb2BKG-LqWD_Zy1EnnsawxhPom5v36yZXFbyiDaWnlsUOh0PdCEvZkGMlvttFu5s5pz6d60fyXfG1eFe7DuZBSs/s400/October+2009+002.JPG" border="0" /></a> Remember these? Yeah. Part of the super, duper fall harvest.<br /><br /><br />Well, they sat, and sat, and sat for a bit more until Halloween had well passed and if we didn't do something soon, so would they.<br /><br /><br />"We can't let them rot" Jer said, a little manic, I worked hard growing all those.<br /><br /><br />"Yeah" I quipped, "You successfully grew a kabillion tons of something you don't even like the taste of!"<br /><br /><br />"Well" he retorted, for all yet to be retorts have to start with 'well', "I suppose it doesn't can very well..."<br /><br /><br />I felt a little be sad for him. He <em>did</em> put a lot of energy into those gorgeous pumpkins. So, I caved. I called his mother, otherwise known as <em>the queen of everything canned. </em><br /><br /><br />"Oh sure" she said in her 'we are farmers and anything can be done' voice, "it takes a little while but it can be done and it's pretty good."<br /><br /><br />When I relayed this news to him - another Jeremiah inspiration hit.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410818240565582322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKZ6ybXsO7G6N9BaNt88r8TsKZPbfPtphtQUrnGx7va73oLoaoblyWBa5JoTcgOxpJJU4MoRdYZJ10YFpg0YCQ9maxicoqCBAtqY1-5ltUOxFN0GNslF829_rk4ErbU33BJJ54q4lqrIJ/s400/November+2009+039.JPG" border="0" />Ok, it's slightly more labor intensive than my clever byline, but not much. The pumpkin is cooked and spiced. All you do is mix 4 eggs, 18 oz evaporated milk and 1 cup of sugar together. Dump in your pumpkin, stir and split between two pie crusts.<br /><br /><br />Oh yeah, forgot to mention - one jar makes <em>two </em>pies.<br /><br /><br />Cool huh?<br /><br /><br />But, just in case you were wondering, my mother in law's nonchallance turned out to be the understatment of the year to the tune of a couple early morning nights waiting for the pressure canner to de-compress.<br /><br /><br />Still - the pies are yummy!<br /><br /><br />Any post-thanksgiving food revelations for you? What's everyone <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2009/12/the-81st-circle-time-the-show-and-tell-weekly-thread/">else showing and telling?</a>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-68755449839882393232009-11-30T03:43:00.000-08:002009-11-30T03:55:42.602-08:00To Black or To Cyber?"Do you do Black Friday?"<br /><br />"Nope." I answered. "It's not my thing, the lines, the crowds, the chaos."<br /><br />"But you LOVE deals!" my friend said.<br /><br />"Yup, that's why I do cyber Monday."<br /><br />She had never heard of it. I educated her, citing years when all my Ch.rist.mas shopping was done in one fell click-clack of the keyboard as I sipped coffee and relished that I never left my home to shop.<br /><br />Oddly, I'm not 'doing' cyber monday this year. And, it's not because of any economy woes. I <em>could </em>if I wanted to, but somehow, this clean my house top to bottom, clear out corners of clutter, and - in the process - create more filled contractors bags of trash than a mini-demo team has opened my eyes to what we have.<br /><br />Enough.<br /><br />We don't need more. And amazingly, inside this minute, I don't <em>want </em>more. Not even if it is half off with free shipping and would look striking on the bathroom wall.<br /><br />It seems I actually internallized the lesson of the recession. <em>We are a blessed country. I have more than enough. What I truly need will always be provided for me.</em><br /><br />Chances are time will swing me back to some kind of happy medium. I'll shop again, moderately, I'll <a href="http://buildingheavenlybridges.blogspot.com/2009/11/complete-180.html">clean again, without the fanatical gleam in my eye</a>. I'll find a calm space to work within. But for today, I go back to work and leave the deal snatching to my capable online friends!<br /><br />So, do <em>you </em>'do' cyber Monday?Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-46615115226626353872009-11-28T17:27:00.000-08:002009-11-30T03:56:16.491-08:00Complete 180I have become a clean freak.<br /><br />Almost overnight - well, more like over the last month, but still, a - if you take something out put it away, if you turn on a light then turn it off, consistantly nagging and scrubbing something neatnik.<br /><br />I cannot go to bed with a dirty kitchen.<br /><br />The cushions on the couch being askew sends me over the edge.<br /><br />The bed must be made.<br /><br />Unfinshed projects <em>must </em>be completed.<br /><br />And, (don't gasp), the laundry must be sorted, <em>folded, </em>and put away.<br /><br />This is unprecedented for me. I have never (and feel free to ask my mother if you think I'm exaggerating), I repeat, <em>never </em>been an instinctual cleaner.<br /><br />It took an external motivation to make me clean. Often, the prospect of being judged or embrassed by my surroundings, like when people were coming over, could push me over that clorax/bucket edge. But, even then, the difference between <em>neat </em>and <em>clean </em>were lines that consistantly blurred for me and never, for one minute, did I <em>want </em>to be scrubbing the toilet.<br /><br />I'm not pregnant. Hence, I'm not nesting. We are not selling the house. I don't have any major gatherings on the horizon.<br /><br />So, what's up? I am freaking myself out. I'm white-on-rice on anyone who leaves <em>anything</em> laying around. I bellow their name creating syllables where they don't exist. It's a tell. They walk slowly.<br /><br />I suppose I should embrace this new level of white-space living, but to be honest I'm driving myself a little crazy. (Seriously, I'm considering mopping the kitchen floor before bed) And, if I'm sending myself over the edge, I can only imagine what my family must be thinking. <em>Um, did mom get kidnapped by aliens and replaced with a robot version or something? </em>would probably be pretty accurate.<br /><br />A happy medium would be great. I could get a bit more blogging, reading and commenting done too! Any ideas? Any sympathy? Been there? Talk to me!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-2280206555856037002009-11-24T18:07:00.000-08:002009-11-25T17:24:05.276-08:00Show and Tell: Click - Clack - Click - The Punchline I Never Saw Coming<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiileiIM532YfyLAGTy3YRbJuEuXiUzPowsj7M8aZm3uu9NYg9t8gpgcBIoYlrfQiEggIs9ZbMsjy4le7CoTxLY6sFl-AI6muRn47mF1Uuq6qZnsYLgW6nrR3ARV8RAbaVqLD_uz1RtI2/s1600/camera+001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407861094419986306" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiileiIM532YfyLAGTy3YRbJuEuXiUzPowsj7M8aZm3uu9NYg9t8gpgcBIoYlrfQiEggIs9ZbMsjy4le7CoTxLY6sFl-AI6muRn47mF1Uuq6qZnsYLgW6nrR3ARV8RAbaVqLD_uz1RtI2/s400/camera+001.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I love scrapbooking. I love taking pictures.<br /><br /><br />I didn't even care, much, that my camera was on it's last clicking legs. The images were getting hazier, the battery door was cracked, and the recovery time between pics had me yawning.<br /><br />Even still, when I lost the camera I was devestated.<br /><br /><em>And, </em>it was right before the bowling event when I was supposed to be uploading images of all the raffle items to the website!<br /><br />I begged to borrow a friend's. She's a good friend. She let me.<br /><br />I lived fitfully without my camera for three weeks only letting a random, "Oh - I <em>wish </em>I could take a picture of that" or "I guess this will have to be a mental picture" pass my lips, lest I receive the raised eyebrow look from my hubby.<br /><br />Two weeks before the event I raised the question of buying a new one. I approached it well, I thought and he was on board before I even finished my well practiced pitch. So, I went for it.<br /><br />"Well, I could get what we had before. You know they are pretty cheap now. <em>Or </em>I could get a <em>good </em>camera."<br /><br />He raised his eyebrows. I continued.<br /><br />"Yes, its an investement but the quality is amazing and the features are awesome and if I get it this weekend with the S.e.ar.s card there is a percentange of money off <em>and </em>no financing for 18 months!"<br /><br />With eyebrows still raised, he nodded, then smiled.<br /><br />And so, that weekend I took 30 minutes out of my 12 hour (9am to 9pm) scrapbooking day with my good friend (the one who lent me hers) to go buy my new tashmahal of cameras!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdr5cJ3NfEAc8QZredH95TczeJjXNNRxcNuLoaua-Gu3jdNLR8lHcswKtUvbuYIFOFrsh5Xw0vaJ2YDoDlOlsw2xUOlJkTxWvsEJaJd7GOT-LjbQ7W2ZY_7HqSco8dweEf7mF3LGmYAha/s1600/camera+002.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407861102544874706" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdr5cJ3NfEAc8QZredH95TczeJjXNNRxcNuLoaua-Gu3jdNLR8lHcswKtUvbuYIFOFrsh5Xw0vaJ2YDoDlOlsw2xUOlJkTxWvsEJaJd7GOT-LjbQ7W2ZY_7HqSco8dweEf7mF3LGmYAha/s400/camera+002.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A half an hour later I re-entered the Hol.ida.y I.nn proud as punch and ready to keep scrapping the backlog of pictures I had so I could take hundreds more with my new toy!<br /><br />As I approached the table my friend raised <em>her </em>eyebrows. "What did I miss?" I asked.<br /><br />"Your husband called." she said, "He found your camera."<br /><br />I acutally laughed out loud. "Ha! Good one. That's really not a funny joke, though" I said, still laughing.<br /><br />"Not kidding" she replied. "I'm not creative to make that up."<br /><br />And so, I used my new camera to take a picture of my old camera and vice versa - and wha-la, a show and tell in the making!<br /><br />Yes, I asked him if that meant I had to return the new one and the benevelent soul he is said no, but 'no Christmas presents under the tree for you' in a very soup-nazi kind of voice)<br /><br />I can live with that. My camera rocks!<br /><br /><br />Now, go see what other good <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2009/11/the-80th-circle-time-the-show-and-tell-weekly-thread/">shows and tells </a>are out there this week!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-37175061115144309952009-11-22T18:41:00.001-08:002009-11-22T18:59:21.990-08:00LiberationThere is somthing wildly liberating about this phrase: "I have the whole week off".<br /><br />I must have said it at least a half dozen times today.<br /><br />I have planned, then re-planned, then scrapped every notion of a plan for the time - just because I can.<br /><br />I realized something. I have been tired, really tired, lately. And, yeah - you could make a case for fatigue based on the hours I work plus working the strings on non-profit event after, fundraiser, after meeting.<br /><br />But it's more than that.<br /><br />I realized, the <em>idea </em>of working makes me tired. Strange, huh? But it must be true for the nearly-tangible aftershock of my repeated phrase today -- <em>I have the whole week off</em> -- was an influx of energy, resulting in a very clean house, good food on the table, 150 pages of a book ingested, and still enough energy remaining coupled with a burning desire to post, leading me here at 10:00 pm.<br /><br />And why, might you ask, can I luxioursly type to the internets at large at such an hour? I'll tell you. <em>Because I have the whole week off! </em>(translation: I don't have to rush out the door tomorrow!)<br /><br />And, quite suddenly, the Cara of last year seems reborn, or - at the very least, her spirit possesses me for the moment, and most probably, the week.<br /><br />I want to write. I want to search through emotions. I want to discect realities for their roots. I need to revist your lives. I desire to see what pages you have turned, like looking at pictures of the same person months apart and noting all the suble differences you missed in the everyday of their lives.<br /><br />Ahhh- and it feels good. I feel home. I feel back where I should be. And because I want to stay in this emotion I write my intention for the week here. With it, I give you blanket permission to point out if you feel like I am leaning hard in the direction I don't want to go. Like...if I start lamenting that I can't finish painting the section of hallway that has sat unfinished for two years because the local hardware store can't match the paint, then make it a shade lighter because that section of the hallway is really dark...<br /><br />See how easily I walk that road? Please pull me back. I'll thank you for it. Promise.<br /><br /><em>I intend to live every minute of this week with gratitude for the time I don't usually have alloted to me, with gratitude for what I accomplish but not frustration for what I didn't manage to get to, and to let go what cannot be done in favor of quiet, special moments with my kids and family.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>In short -- I aim to feel led, not lead. </em><br /><em></em><br />Missed you. Terribly. Tell me what I missed.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-42312901421772571742009-11-16T15:30:00.000-08:002009-11-16T16:40:38.581-08:00The First of Anything...(This post duplicated at <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com">Share Southern Vermont's</a> Blog with pictures!)<br /><br />She held my gaze with tears in her eyes, words tumbling out, eager to be free and I, just as eager to hear them.<br /><br />"I'll never forget the day I was reading the paper online and saw a link to 'new infant loss group'. Of course, I had to click on it and read your article. Tears fell as I read it again and again. I printed it out and held it, wanting to give it to my daugther but knowing it wasn't yet time."<br /><br />I smiled, already knowing the ending to this story, yet needing to hear it again if for no other reason to solidfy that the facts of the last year are actually true, that I haven't been living a dream that a good solid pinch will wake me up from.<br /><br />"That was last February" she continued, tears more prominant than ever, "and here we are, in November - bowling. My daughter found you, found your group."<br /><br />Yes, yes she did and we are so grateful for her strong presence, both in group and as part of our ever expanding board.<br /><br />"My prayers were answered" she concluded and I found that we were holding hands, joined in our reverie even as the chatter of giggling families and clatter of bowling balls whirred around us.<br />***<br />The event was everything is was meant to be. As always, all the right people were there and received exactly what they needed. It was advertised as a 'celebration of family' and one pan of the room conveyed that our intentions had indeed been met. Yet, even as balls hit gutters, pizza was consumed and cheering ensued as someone threw a strike, our babies were remembered, were there amounst us, smiling angels on our shoulders.<br /><br />I stop short when I think what has been achieved in just one year and look forward to the lighthearted celebratory conversation that will spin around the dinner table as the board members dine together on December 22nd, our one year anniversary.<br /><br />Even so, there is so much more to be done. Lest we not lose our momentum, but let it gather speed propelling us futher down the track of expansion, reaching every family, every parent, every heart broken by loss.<br /><br />For images from that day, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com">click over. </a>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-21472041796505996532009-11-14T10:07:00.001-08:002009-11-14T10:16:15.737-08:00EpiphanyAs I searched for formerly-stored boxes and recently packed ones, stacking them haphazardly in the corner to be loaded into the car at a time yet to be decided as it is currently pouring outside and looks not to be subsiding anytime soon, my email beeped. <br /><br />I ran to it hoping it was an update about something for tomorrow.<br /><br />It was an update, from St.ap.les. In a flash my mind forwarded to the location I will be in later today, walking the isles as the copy center prints our program. Instantly, I was calm, no longer frenzied by the mis-stacked boxes still threatening to fall.<br /><br />Is that sad? That St.ap.les is my favorite store of all time? That all the uber organized isles full of color coded binders, sticky notes, and carasouls of small offices supplies: paper clips, binder clips, and push pins, settle my soul?<br /><br />How I wish my house could inflict the same sense of peace. Ah well, back to the office to search out a few more well hidden things. S.t.apl.es, see you in a couple hours!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-22387673441018092762009-11-13T14:58:00.000-08:002009-11-13T15:05:39.322-08:00The ups and the downsThis has been such an emotional week. Half the time I'm struck by the fact that I want to fly to my friend and the other half I'm in auto-pilot, checking last-minute details off the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.sharesouthernvermont.blogspot.com">Bowling for Babies</a> to-do list.<br /><br />Honestly, it feels somewhat easier to be the computer: running and doing, thinking and forgetting, then remembering, driving to pick things up and drop things off then it does to the the compassionate friend who can get sucked into an emotional portal in a second.<br /><br />The event is Sunday. Then I plant my feet. I travel to her on Wednesday, then again on Sunday for the memorial.<br /><br />Oh, and for those of you that read the local paper <em>and </em>my blog -- the event is really Sunday, <strong>this Sunday</strong>, not the one they mis-printed for all to see. *sigh* Have to go put out media-fires...<br /><br />A good show and tell planned for next week and wouldn't say no to some benevelent soul wanting nothing more than to take over all media promotions for events!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2653918949927893637.post-66724953322855038852009-11-09T17:59:00.000-08:002009-11-09T18:07:54.665-08:00A New Day...I'm doing a little better today. The afore mentioned training has kicked in and I'm preparing a trip to see my friend. I'll be laden down with the package I'm so used to sending, minus all the share grief support materials, of course - she already has them.<br /><br />Thanks to all of you for your kind words and prayers - for her - and for me.<br /><br />What I'm wondering today is, if you <em>are </em>the support and it happens to <u>you,</u> what happens <em>within </em>you?<br /><br />Does the congntitive process of what you should do to set the stage for healthy grieving automatically start up, like a remote starter on a car? Do you watch yourself walk through each step as though outside of your body?<br /><br />Or, does the shock and subsequent shut down from the fact that it is now your reality trump what you've been taught, making you as ready for guidance and support as the person who had no idea it was possible to bury your child?<br /><br />Ideas? Theories? Personal Experience? Hit me. I'm digging deep here, for never before have I needed to do this right so badly.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08878937591945134056noreply@blogger.com9