Martin Luther King Jr. - We All Have Two Days

Today we remember Martin Luther King, Jr. We celebrate his dreams, his visions and the fact that - although he isn't here to see the measure of equality our world now stands for - it exists, because he took a stand.


He died for his visions, his beliefs, and his dreams. In truth- he was killed for those fanicful notions. As Bear says, "The brown people and the white people didn't want to sit together on the bus. So they fighted." And how, my love - and how they did fight.


So, we honor this man on his birthday, but not on his deathday. We don't pause on April 4th, when the weather is warming slightly, the snow starting to melt and our internal spirits rising with the temperature, and say, "Here's to a man who - on some level - knew he was sacrificing his life for his beliefs." No, we recognize him on the day his mother pushed him into the world, unknowingly giving life to a man that would change the lives of millions.


Why?


I wonder what the discussion around the nominating committee table for "National Holidays Devoted To An Individual" sounded like. For, as noted in the article, "It is one of three United States federal holidays to commemorate an individual person.[1]" I wonder if there was much discussion, or if the decision to honor this man was unanimous. But more than that, I wonder if , as Reagan signed the "holiday into law" in 1983, they even debated which day to celebrate - his birthday or his deathday. I doubt it.


Before losing a child, this line of thinking would never have struck me. Before burying my baby into the earth, it made perfect sense to honor this brave man on his birthday. But now, after years of answering questions with double statements...


"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss. When did she die?"
"Well ...she died on September 6th, but she was born on September 8th."


I can't help but ask the question, if we remember this man for his life actions, why memoralize the first day of his life, instead of his last?


And yet - I suppose this makes me a hypocrite. For annually, we gather at Emma's grave with flowers, balloons, tears, and smiles on September 8th - her birthday. I choose to celebrate the day I birthed her, the day we met her serene and perfect face. I keep very busy on the day I felt "excessive" movement - the day I threw my head back and laughed, a first-time pregnancy naive laugh- as she died within me.


No judgement in this post, for I would have to judge myself right along with the group of men and women who sat in that early-80's room, creating a day to honor a great man.


No - only questions. Well - one question, really.


Regardless of our children's lifespan, 30 years or 3 days, why or why not do we choose to celebrate their birth over their death?

Show and Tell - Breathe In and Out

Keeping it brief this week.. yes - I know, Shocking!
If you already know about Exhale, the totally amazing ezine for infertiles and baby lost parents - did you know about THIS?

If you don't know about this creative, literary source...GO CHECK IT OUT! You could have your work featured - photography, poems, and don't forget to enter a "first story".

So - I'm SHOWING: Volume One - Issue Two. It came out Friday and it rocks! Breaking Roadblocks is the name of my column this month.
And - I'm TELLING you, don't forget to see what everyone else brought to class!

Delurk... (with a smirk)

I borrowed this totally awesome image from Lori. Click over and read her proposal...it may help her get to Blogher 09 and you get some ad space!

Anyhoo ;) Here's smirking at all of you who read!

If you come round these parts, but I don't know you - drop a quick comment..puhleeease?

I promise to follow you back and check out your blog! And, chances are, because I have no self control and an ever growing blogroll - I'll continue to read it.

So - (said in a very Diego camera's like gait) De-Lurk...With A Smirk" ;)

Fear is a Barnacle

Fear and Grief. They are a team. The worst kind - a tag team. They surrounded me when Emma died, consuming every part of my being. When one rested the other swept in, rejuvinated, more than able to keep me wading in a broken- unable to function - place.

My grief has morphed, evolved, shape-shifted. My life is filled with moments. I can tell her story without crying (most of the time). I can feel her presence without falling to the floor. I can love my angel baby without my heart repeatedly self-destructing. To support my growth, I take affirmative action to ensure the our daughter - or beautiful Emma Grace - is remembered always.

In a recent post I said I would, "go back", but the joke was on me. I didn't need to. My fears are still here, quiet - stealth like, but part of me forever. They took permant residence within the marrow of my bones, waiting for their chance. They attacked on Sunday morning.

The girls, all four of them, had gone to bed without any trouble - two in one room and two in another. Sure, I heard some talking. The youngest had to use the bathroom, get a quick drink of water, and "check" her sister's middle of the night flashlight to be sure it was working. But, all in all, a very smooth bedtime routine considering we had three additional kids in our house on a Saturday night.

The baby, after a very stimulating and napless afternoon, had passed out early. At 6:00 I snuggled him in, read a book, surrounded him with all his familiar bedtime paraphanlia and sang as I walked out my bedroom door. The monitor was on full blast, but we never heard a peep. That boy was tired!

"Well" I said to my husband, who looked equally napless and wiped out, "He'll probably be up at the crack of dawn." We were quite mistaken.

***
At nine o'clock I tiptoed around the pack-n-play at the base of my bed. Snuggled down under the mountain of covers necessary in an old farm house in mid January, I listened. It felt so good to have a baby in our room again. He talks in his sleep, sometimes sings a little I think. For the first two hours, I was in and out of a light slumber. I tossed when he tossed. I turned when he turned. I lay still, but heard the rustle of flannel sheets moving against the mesh sides of the portable bed. And then, I slept - until 6am - (the formally referred to "crack of dawn"). The Comedian's elephant feet thumped down the stairs. Tip-toeing past the sleeping baby I stopped for just a moment to take in the sight. The peaceful slumber of a 1 year old is a sight to behold.

That's when my demons jumped out. You better check and see if he's breathing! I scoffed, Of course he's breathing, but gripped by an irrational fear, I checked.

The baby slept. I peeled hard boiled eggs. The coffee maker buzzed.
The baby slept. I made scrambled eggs. I drank my coffee.
The baby slept. The girls pounded around on the hard wood floor, doing a morning rendition of our chicks moving in their tiny coop.
The baby slept. I took out the "you can only play with these when the baby isn't here" toys for the girls.

Fear attacked again. I tried to fend off his advances, but he was too strong. He played dirty.

You better go check on him again. His head was tilted into his blanket a bit, wasn't it.

I'm sure he's fine. Had a long day. He's just tired!

You don't know that for sure, do you?

Well...no. I guess not.

What if you let him sleep and then it's too late? What if you get up there and he's still, beyond help. Oh Cara, It's bad enough that you let your baby die without taking action, but you may have killed someone else's. GO. GO CHECK NOW!

I ran up the stairs, panicked, a feeling of dread in the my chest that hadn't squeezed me for so long. I couldn't get there fast enough. I was now sure that there was somthing wrong - that I had missed my chance to save him. That our friends who are so particular with who they entrust to watch their children would feel the same fear and despair that I have for the rest of their lives. That they would never again be able to look at me with with any semblance of respect.

No longer caring about noise levels - I pushed the door open and, with fear looking over my right shoulder and grief on my left - I peered into the crib.

He lay still - with eyes wide open. At the sight of me a huge grin grew on his perfect little face. "Aaaa" he said, not attempting to sit up, but just smiling up at me. Brushing off my shoulders, I reached down to meet his upright arms.

He is fine. I am forever haunted.

Show and Tell - "Best Five Bucks I've Ever Spent!"

I've bought LOTS of things on e-bay.

It was an on-again / off-again obsession for me.

I would visit a friends house and comment on how lovely her candle display looked. And - BAM... within 24 hours I had perused the wide array of candles, holders, and display accessories and purchased an obsene amount on that addicting auction / internet yard sale site.

"Do you think an iron scroll theme will work in the kitchen when it is done?" my husband asked me on a lazy Sunday morning. Done. Even though I was still staring at demoed walls with plaster all over my floor and a basin substuiting as a sink, these were on there way to our house.

They lived in the closet for a year and a half.

Sometimes it was batch clothing I needed, a summer set for the baby or a winter wardrobe for Bear.

Occasionally, I was desperate for a hard to find item that stores didn't carry (like that oil carrafe I broke at work and got gauged on the price from some guy in Cananda - but I HAD to replace it!).

But then there were those few, rare purchases that I still look at and smile. With pride, instead of sheepish admittance, I report, "Yes. I got that on ebay for only X dollars!"

This week, for Show and Tell, I share the best five dollars I ever spent on ebay! (I didn't get the whole kit for $5 - now THAT would be a good deal - but this was the best pic I could find!)

Are you laughing? Stop laughing. Come on - just hear me out, ok?

I've always hated to exercise but I LOVE to dance. So two years ago I ordered Turbo Jam and I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it.

Yeah - it was hard in the beginning. They zigged when I zagged. They hooked when I jabbed. But, I stuck with it and now I know the routine by heart. And (here is the wierd part) I look forward to doing it! The slight definition in my abs I noticed this morning doesn't hurt my desire to work out either.

According to my weight loss ticker on my other blog I have 16 pounds left to lose before I hit my goal weight. (If you click over and scroll to the bottom you can see the GOAL DRESS too!)

So, chuckle if you must, but I say with a big smile on my face, pride in my voice, and a shrinking waistline - My $5 turbo-jam dvd is the best ebay purchase I ever made.

WHAT'S YOURS?

Commence Segregation...

This will be one of the last posts focusing (partially at least) on Share Southern Vermont on THIS blog.

Why? Because SSV has it's very own, brand-new, shiny blog!! Click over to oooo-aaahhhh and answer the burning question in the first post!

Slowly, as time allows and as I figure out this eleged new blogging feature that allows me to transfer posts from blog to blog, I will be moving the backstory over. For the month of January the SSV Memory Making Giveaway info will remain on BOTH sites, but in February all you will see is a tiny little reminder on the sidebar to click over and feast your eyes on the NEW prize pack.

This is simultaneously exciting and sad for me. This blog feels (and pardon the ridiculous metaphor) rather like a uterus to me. It grows and expands to hold all I fill it with. It is a safe place for new idea to grow and develop, but expels it when the idea is too big, needing a new home. SSV's new home is ready, both in blogland and in a meeting room in Southern Vermont. It is time for BHB to return to it's roots for a spell.

(if you are of the praying variety please send one up that the NEXT big idea doesn't hit me over the head for a good long while! Is this is a bad time to tell you that the title of yet another book swirling around in my head popped out while driving yesterday?)

Damn tangents.

As I was saying, it is time for these posts to return to the rhumeratory nature of grief and loss throughout the years.

Recently, I have received a fair amount of comments and posts about my "upbeat nature" and "positive attitude". Yes, I certainly am taking the largest shipment of nearly rotten lemons and turning them into a bearable beverage - but, and this might sound crazy so bear with me - this blog isn't feeling like the place to be positive right now.

I don't mean that I am going to morph into a scary version of a movie character. But I do mean that I have hard some dark times. I have nearly dove headfirst into the hole many times during this grief journey. And many of you are teetering on the edge, as I type.

It is for you, the newly - and not so newly bereaved parents, that I started this blog. I owe it to you, and to myself, to write about the experience from the early years and throughout. It is eerie how easily I can put myself right back there and draw from the emotion to find words. I recently received an email in reference to my Exhale column, "Did you write that after emma died, like at that 2 month mark?"

I was stunned into a computer haze for a moment as I digested her question. The answer is no. I wrote that in December as my submission to become a comlumnist for the new magazine. But her comment made me go back and read it through her eyes, through my eyes 8 years ago.

THAT is what I want to be producing here. I'm sure occassionally I'll post something surface and fun...heck- I'm addicted to Show and Tell, aren't you?

I'll make you a deal. I'll go back if you go forward...one step, one day at a time.

xoxo to ALL of you

Life Linguistics

UPDATED: THIS IS MY 100TH POST! I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE UNTIL AFTER IT WAS POSTED. THEN, I REALIZED IT WAS A VERY APPROPRIATE FIT: A POST ABOUT WHERE THE BLOG AND I HAVE COME OVER THE LAST 4 MONTHS AND WHERE WE ARE GOING FROM HERE!

Thank you to all of you for your your heartfelt comments on the last post in response to the RH article. My two worlds ARE colliding and my real life one is exploding.

"Man! Your wife is famous!" the cashier at the local building supply store said to Jeremiah as he hoisted a bucket of mud to the counter.** (famous is a very relative term as I live in a TINY little town)

He shrugged. "You saw the paper, huh?"

Everybody has and that was the point right? The ultimate goal here was TO GET THE WORD OUT and start helping people. But, I have to admit -- the phone ringing off the hook, my inbox being flooded with responses and my Share Southern Vermont to-do list growing by the hour IS a tad overwhelming.

So, I feel led to write this post. I do not believe that it is a linguistic conincidence that responsibility, accountability, and priority rhyme. They are interconnected in the most intimate sense.

RESPONSIBILITIES: I have many, and yes --they are all a result of my own doing. Regardless I take them very seriously, and so I map them out for you here.

• My family (they do like to wear clean clothes - occasionally)
• Growing Share Southern Vermont (SSV)
• Writing a thought provoking column for Exhale Magazine
• Completing my book proposal and Selling the book!
• Distributing Memory Boxes to families

ACCOUNTABILITY: I feel accountible not only to myself, but to you. You, both my bloggy friends and IRL supporters are the reason I have made it this far in the journey. I know how important it is to stay "well" within myself and so I break down this action into two steps.

TO SELF:

• Make time for meditation and exercise
• Finish each day pleased with whatever I have managed to accomplish

TO YOU:

• Stay current with my google reader. I have enjoyed following each one of your stories and watching as you grow within your grief. I don't want to lose that even as my life demands more of me here. I will do my absolute best to stay current, but if you don't see my mug pop up for a few days...don't worry -- I'll Be Back!!!
• Segragate my topics. Once again this blog is become home to so much more than my continued grief journey of Emma Grace. Soon you will see a post about a blog dedicated JUST to SSV! Once that is complete, you will have the choice to click to my grief blog, my parenting-after-loss blog, my angel wall, OR my Share Southern Vermont blog!

PRIORITIES: It feels like time to prioritize. I won't be able to run an effective non-profit if I don't. I won't be able to attend to every part of my life, every day. That is a fact I have to accept. (read: NOT easy for me to accept and even HARDER to do)

Again, THANK YOU to all of you for your never-ending support. WE will make a difference. I just have to take it slow...one effective step at a time.

** If you read the article then you know my families real names. So, the cat is out of the bag, as they say. Even so, I'll still be using Bear and Comedian cause...well - their just too cute to let go!

Show And Tell - Holy Cannoli!

That's what I fell out of my mouth as I opened the Rutland Herald this morning to the "magazine section".

The staff writer had called me to shore up a couple quotes the other day, so I knew it was going to be in the Sunday edition, but I wasn't ready for THIS!

I have to admit, after writing my own article for the smaller local papers about Share Southern Vermont, I was concerned that someone else was writing about me and our group. With the wisdom that only grief gives us I banished the "what-ifs" and dove into the article.

It is wonderfully written. I am like a new mother today who just delivered a screaming healthy baby -- Today, I truly believe that our outreach is real. And in 10 days the sad proof will be sitting with me in a conference room sharing our stories.

A few thank you's:

• Thank you Sara for bringing my attention to Share and reminding me that I don't always have to re-invent the wheel.



• Thank you Dora for supporting me in this endeavor in so many ways, most recently with the hat-raffle.
  


• Thank you Kristin - you know why.
  


• Thank you Mel for micro-managing the blogosphere so well that we are all listed in one place. (and for enduring all my book related questions)
  


• Thank you to ALL who have donated, both here in my real-life world and from blogland. You mean so very much to me.**
  


• Thank you Carol for taking the better part of an evening to answer my endless questions about start up! And thank you for the amazing work you do in Northhampton. (I'm not done with my questions...just saving them up for my visit!)
  


• And, there is no way to thank Martha enough. She connected to this mission from 3000 miles away. She became my "West Coast Publicist". She is the one who emailed the Rutland Herald. Thank you Martha! Without you this article would never have happened.

PS - I ALREADY got a call from a sketch artist / wood burning artist who is willing to volunteer his services to personalize the boxes for each family!

** A brief explanation. Although I tried my best to convey to Josh (the writer) the mutually exclusive relationship between my face-to-face outreach and the emotional family we have in the computer, I don't think he really got it. How could he, really? It is the only part of the article that I cringed at.

** Oh - and he missed a word in the book title: After Emma: One Mother's Journey of Self-Discovery Through Grieving The Loss Of Her Baby.

"If you aren't growing - you are dying" --January SSV Prize Pack Revealed!

I heard that quote at a seminar a few months ago. It is very open to interpretation, yet also a clear and finite statement.

I read it to mean, if the results of your actions were not what you expected, then shift your action and the outcome with reflect your growth.

Last month, we had a WINNER in the Share Southern Vermont Scrapbooking Raffle. As you might recall, I was overjoyed that she won, even if it was because she purchased the only ticket!

Obviously, that wasn't the goal. I didn't manage to get the word out effectively. So, I have sat with this and decided to make a few "tweaks".

1. Tickets are now $5 instead of ten.




2. Link to the blog using the slideshow or video walkthrough to earn a free ticket. (comment, then email me for the code)




3. Write a post about SSV and the raffle and earn another free ticket.

Enter as many times as you like, and please...help me get the word out. I recall spending WAY too much money on scrapbook supplies. (I mean WAY too much! ...ok - I still do, a couple times a year) But enough about me and the ways I rationalize my hobby funds. For YOU to potentially win this fab prize pack for a mere $5 donation blows even MY mind! (Did I forget to mention these are ALL C.reat.ive Me.mem.ories products?)

Without further ado...

SHARE SOUTHERN VERMONT'S -- JANUARY PRIZE PACK

Sugar and Spice And Everything BABY GIRL!

The 12x12 album WITH pre-decorated pages and a raised image of baby shoes on the cover.

Ooodles of accessories: baby girls stickers, die cuts, write-again paper, memorablila pockets, titles and a set of fine tip journaling pens.

AND...

An assorment of baby girls papers with a whimsical birthday die-cut set.

10 Chicks - 1 Winner - and A Prayer

It takes 5-6 weeks to know the sex of a chick. So - I proudly introduce our first born. S/he arrived at 3:30pm on 12/31/08. Bear said 3:00 and was the closest. Wow - an in house winner. Most of you went with the class clown's solid "fifty-o-clock". She is going to be the class clown isn't she?

The rest of the clan hatched intermittently throughout the evening and all through the night! Yes sir - that's right. My DH (who is a truly amazing man - but never, and I mean never gets up in the night) stayed on the couch last night hopping up ever two hours for a new babe.We even have a black one! Do you see it?

We also have a sick one. H/she can't stand up and looks weak all around. Fellow chicks are lending support and if any group of connected people can pull off a miracle...it's you, but it's not looking good.

Oh- and the existing female in our house - Ms. Sally - is less than thrilled at this turn of events, or to be more specific, she cranky because we won't let her eat one.

And, CONGRATULATIONS! to Martha, winner of the SSV scrapbook raffle by default! I can't think of anyone better to kick off the winning in the monthly* raffle! Go over and nurse her back to health as she has JUST has her wisdom teeth out and is feeling pretty bad.

*I am supposed to put up the next prize pack today - a baby themed one - but I have to concede defeat to three nights in a row of waitressing until past midnight AND carrying trays up and down the stairs to the upperlevel seating. Put a fork in me ...I'm done.

And our family grows...

WHAT??

NO! I am not pregnant. What on earth would make you think that? (I do have an uninvited cyst on my left ovary - but that is neither here nor there as it is fluid filled and should "wash away" soon)

So - how is our family growing?

A few months ago, DH starting building this.

In our small town (without zoning) questions came at warp speed, "Are you building a tractor port? Oh, is it a sugar house? Gonna put a hot tub in there? (if only that were true!)"

With a broad smile he answered, "It's a chicken house! I'm hatching chicks."

A quick stop at the local W.A.W.W.E (we are what we eat) organic farm had him proudly brandishing a dozen fertalized egges. "And she gave them to me for FREE!" he reported "She also wished me luck."

Fastforward to yesterday as he turned the eggs with pencils so hand oils don't make contact with the eggshells and filled the water making sure it was just the right temperature to compliment the heat from the lamp. I heard a big sigh.

"What's up?"

"Eh- I just don't know if this is working. Probably not. But, no biggie, right? I didn't pay anything for the eggs."

"When are they supposed to hatch?" I asked

"Tomorrow" he said, still rather dejected.

"New Year's babies, huh? Wow - that will be something."

"Maybe"

This morning we came downstairs to the faint sounds of chirps! They are still in the eggs but they'll be here soon. The girls are so excited and DH is out fashioning a temporary living space until the wiring is completed in the "chicken house". Typical of a parent-to-be to not quite be ready for the babes, yes? (UPDATED - TEMPORARY LIVING SPACE COMPLETE!)

Ahhh - now only six months until we have fresh, organic eggs just outside our door! Come on little chickies. Hatch!

BTW - Bear says they'll hatch at 3pm. The Comedian weighed in at "fifty-o-clock". What do you think?

JUST A BLUNT REMINDER!

I wouldn't be sad if my good friend Martha won this totally kick-a$$ prize pack for a mere $10 entry. In fact, I'd be overjoyed because it wouldn't even begin to thank her enough for all the time, energy, love, and friendship she has put into promoting Share Southern Vermont.

And - since she is the ONLY one who bought a ticket, then linked to my blog (and earned herself a FREE entry) - the chances are pretty good she shall be ...da winner! The drawing is tomorrow night ya know!

Unless.....YOU decide you want it more. The chip-in widget is still going - seriously ONE ticket and ONE link evens your odds! And here is a refresher of what you could win!

MEMORY MAKING PACKAGE #1

"TRUE LOVE"

Perfect for any couple getting married or currently in wedded bliss without an album to show it!

PICK THIS ALBUM

OR THIS ONE
AND GET ALL THIS TOO!


INCLUDES:

• 1 set 12x12 pages1 set mini silver abc/123 stickers
  
• 1 photo labeling pencil
  
• 1 pack natural correction stickers


• 1 Simple Expressions quote book


• 1 Neutral Snap Pack


• 1 Formal Affair Done-With-One


• 1 Garden Illusions textured paper pack


• 1 Elegant Sticker strip and 2 peace/love/joy small sticker sheets


• 1 Pack Elegent Letter Laser Stickersand


• 1 Complete "Once Upon A Wedding" Album Kit (including idea book)

ALL TOGETHER THESE ITEMS RETAIL FOR OVER $100.00!

And don't worry...If you don't win the grand prize, you might get this totally must have Side-Kick. (my customers used to tell me it was an "accessory" that you feel guilty buying for yourself...well now you don't have to - you might win it!)

See you in the New Year and COME BACK NEXT MONTH FOR AN ALL BABY PRIZE PACK!

My Third World Is Not A Country

"Mom - fairies are real, you know" Bear said to me on a walk this morning. "Hmmm?" I answered. "Oh yes" she continued, "I went to check on my fairy house and all the food is gone. It was sticks and twigs and no-one would want that kind of food unless they were a fairy - so - now I believe."

Heaven and Earth -- The Seen and the Unseen

I talk about them all the time.
I write about them even more consistently.
They permeate my every thought.

I have three daughters: one in heaven, two on earth.

Two Worlds Collide was a working title for my book. A quick google revealed it was also a sci-fi novel and as much as my life experience may feel like science fiction at times, a book on grief and healing with the same name wouldn't really resonate with the literary public.

Regardless, for eight years I have worked to resolve the infinity sized gap between my two worlds. I have searched for earthly objects to represent the spirit form - grasping at their tangibility with my mortal soul, while crying oceans of tears knowing it would take a lifetime - my lifetime - to really narrow that chasm.

Perspective. It all comes down to the way we choose to see the world. This is what I told myself recently.

My two worlds are like a swinging pendulum in constant motion. There are moments, pinpointed seconds in time, when they collide with such force even I, moving in an opposite direction, cannot miss it. Time stops. Peace resides. All is right with both spheres - for a moment, a mere instant - we are a connected family. This I have made peace with. I no longer create questions or make up answers when these miracle moments come. I sit in them. In fact, my longing for them to stretch into forever is most probably what makes them dissapear. I can see them slip away, and feel the struggle return.

This has been my road, my two-laned highway for so long I don't even need to check lanes before passing. But this week, a third lane appeared. It came out of nowhere. It blind-sighted me with such force that I didn't notice in time. I crashed.

On Christmas Eve night I logged in to check my google reader. Ok there's no keeping secrets from you, is there? I logged in to see if Antigone had begun labor yet. And maybe that is why reading of Emilie's death reduced me to a sobbing mess. But if my all-consuming reaction could have been explained away by a diversion of focus, then I should be able to speak of it or even think of her now without tears. I can't.

I cried while asking for prayer at church for her husband, parents and boys.
I cried while writing my previous post regarding her loss.
I cry, now - writing this.

I know Emilie wasn't my third lane, but she represented it. She is the gorgeous spirit who knocked down the divider so I could finally see the world in triplet. Her death revealed how powerful this blogging community is to me. It cleared the fog allowing me to see past a rectangular computer screen and hear more than the clickety-clack of my partially grown nails on the keys. It brought my thirld world into focus - You.

I feel you. I feel the community. Apart from the occasional world tour or a decoration crisis, you have not seen the inside of my house, but you are here. I walk through my days and thoughts of you walk with me- I wonder if Stellan is breathing easier right now. ~ I hope Hope's Mama's non-traditional Christmas dinner is coming out all right ~ Wow! I wonder how many pre-sale copies of Lollipop's book have flown off the virtual shelf already. mingle with my typical (and boring) daily musings, I should get the mail before I go to town because there might be a check to deposit ~ What the heck am I going to feed my family tonight? ~ When will I get to watch the next episode of Brothers and Sisters? (yes Mel - I'm hooked)

Over the past four months you have become part of me. Your families, your tones of voice (or at least the ones I use when reading your words), your struggles and your rejoicing events walk through my days. But it happened so fast. It was like falling in love and not realizing it until a starry night when you looked into his eyes and nearly fell over.

Reading of Emilie's death knocked me over. I'm up. But I feel compelled to make you a promise - Never again will I underestimate the power of what we have. I cannot see you, but you are part of me. You are my third world.

"Bear" I said, crouching down so we were level - eye to eye - "Of course they ate the food. And I want you to know something. As you grow up - never forget - it is so important to believe without seeing."

Show and Tell - Sunday School Take Two

Twas the Sunday after Christmas and in the Sunday School room..this was our lesson:

We received with gratitude - We gave with love.

The kids drew a picture of their favorite gift and told why they were so grateful for it.

Then, they drew a second picture of the favorite gift they GAVE and told why it felt so good to give it.

Teaching the real meaning of exchanging gifts felt so good - but I didn't get to participate...so here is mine.

Every year, for the last few, I have said, "During the holiday clearance I am going to buy myself a quilted advent calendar - you know the kind that you can countdown to Christmas without consuming chocolate."

Every year, for the last few, I haven't.

This year, my mother surprised me with a hand quilted pocket advent calendar. It is my favorite gift. I received with gratitude.

I don't have a picture of the favorite gift I gave. It was a mini day calendar for a very close friend to celebrate how our relationship has grown and deepened this year. It felt good to recognize our connection. I gave with love.

What is the rest of the class show and telling?

A Sad Goodbye

I just came from Emilie's blog. She passed away.

Only days ago I was reading her devestatingly calm, heartbreaking last post filled with acceptance that she was going to die, that she would have to say goodbye to her husband and her boys and hello to her maker.

Tears streamed down my face as I read, unable to imagine the overwhelming conflict of emotions that must have existed within her as she typed. I wished I could see her face, if only to get a sense of how she was really feeling and, if it was at all possible, how best to respond with comforting words.

Now, I am weeping. I am crying like I haven't cried in a very long time - in 8 years in fact. I never knew Emilie. To be honest, I only had the blessed privilidge to begin reading and following her blog last month but the devestation within me is so real. The fact that I never met her face to face, is not a factor for the raw, clenching I feel withing my chest.

I remember this feeling, like the world is closing in and nothing you do or no-where you run will allow you to escape from your heartbreak.

My heart is breaking tonight for her husband Stephen and her two young boys.
My heart hurts knowing their road, once made of love and determination is now forever entwined with grief.

Please head over and give some support.

Alternative Christmas Traditions

"Why is she sleeping so late?" I wondered. It was Bear's first Christmas and I was overjoyed with possibility. Yes, she was a baby - 10 months old - to be exact, but still she NEVER slept this late in the morning. Smiling, I shrugged it off as one of those things babies do because it is the last thing you expect.

"I wish there was a red warning button that could alert us when she was going to sleep this long." I said as I rolled over to greet my husband on Christmas morning. Slight panic struck - Is she ok? Did she roll over onto one of her animals and get stuck? Can she breathe? Is she...

I couldn't finish the sentence. This wasn't the first time I was consumed with irrational thought when Bear's sleep patterns, eating habits, or any minute behavior was the slightest bit off her typical schedule. Typically, I washed it off with a cleansing head shake and a peek at the monitor. But today, I couldn't let it go. As I walked into her room and saw her back rise and fall with even breathing, I let my own out. I placed my hand gently on her back and that is when I realized she had a fever.

And - hence... a family tradition was born. Nearly, every holiday one of our children is sick or injured. Seriously-

• Bear's first Christmas she suffered a fever of 104.5, projectile vomiting, and a trip to the walk-in clinic.
• Her third Easter she went for an x-ray. We thought she broke her wrist when trying to put on one of those fancy elbow length gloves that accompany the even fancier dress. An untimely twist and fall to the floor left her hurting.*
• The Comedian's second Thanksgiving she deemed herself done with her crib. We woke to a BANG. She had climbed out and fell - landing directly on her head. Slight concussion and very lethargic the rest of the day.

Those are the big three, but truly - there seems always to be a cold, cough, slight fever or antibiotic on the major holidays.

Today - is no exception. The Comedian woke up CRANKY and warm. Sure enough - 101. She is sleeping right now (since 10am) in hopes that she might make it through the rest of the day with family.

(sigh) - well - at least we are a consistent family.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND STAY HEALTHY AND SAFE!

* - she acutually had "nursemaid's elbow". DH said there was a loud POP as the doctor put her elbow back in.

Show and Tell - Bushy Tails!

We are covered in feet of snow. Another foot is falling today. Throughout the week, well - you guessed it ALOT MORE SNOW!

Before the white stuff graced us this year our girls collected hundreds of acorns. They spread them, piled them and buried them - "chickmunk helpers" they called themselves. The wagon overflowed with all their hard work!

Well - a sweet little gray squirrel family of four has moved into our playstructure.

He's trying to escape the camera!

Perched next to the yellow crate that is FULL of acorns.

Just Hanging on the bridge!Looking Right at me!!

(Oh - and quick props to my totally amazing husband for building this structure for our girls and -apparently - for the squirrels!)

But- far and away the best part of this day was The Comedian's little chant. Her preschool class, as it happens, adopted the ...wait for it... Gray Squirrel as their class mascot this year.

So, this is what I hear as I'm snapping pictures...

***** GRAY SQUIRREL - GRAY SQUIRREL - SHAKE YOUR BUSHY TAIL

GRAB A NUT BETWEEN YOUR TOES ... WRINKLE UP YOUR LITTLE NOSE

AND.... SHAKE YOUR BUSHY TAIL ****

What is shaking your bushy tail?

Go Tell It In the Sunday School Room...

I clapped three times to get the kids attention. Twelve little faces turned to me as they clapped back, then silence- waiting for what I was about to say.

"Ok! I'm so excited! Today we are going to start talking about our Christmas play. Remind me" I say with a quizzical look on my face, "Why do we celebrate Christmas?"

Our sunday school class hasn't always been this big. A few years ago, we needed one teacher, one room and homemade lesson plans sufficed to teach the message. Families started to hear of our church and now these twelve represent the middle group, pre-k through kindergarten. We have babies and bigger children as well. We have half a dozen teachers who rotate through a catalog-bought curriculum. We host kick-you-know-what Vacation Bible Schools in the summer and faces we have never seen before walk through the door. Boy - have we grown.

"Presents!" they shouted, nearly in unison.

Ok, maybe we haven't grown so much.

They are kids. I know that. For them, the thrill of Christmas is that elusive red-clothed bearded man and the loot he manages to tote around the world in one day. But, their instinctive response got me thinking...Even if "Because it is the day that Jesus was born!" isn't the first response out of their sweet little mouths, then why isn't a close second? Literally, a second behind the ego-induced reaction?

It's not. I can tell you that with certainty, because after I had gone through a series of looks: shocked, confused, dismayed, then determined, I said "Yes. We do give presents on Christmas, but who was born that day?"

Sadly, only a handful -(ok three) - answered without hesitation.

*********

Teach by example, right? What they see, they will do - yes?

Each week for the last two years this is how our Sunday School class begins. A song. It is an original so just make up your own tune - but it is the words that are important.

..."Good Morning - Good Morning - I'm grateful for this morning.

Good Morning - Good Morning - I'm grateful for my class.

Good Morning - Good Morning - We're grateful for this morning.

Good Morning - Good Morning - Bear is grateful for _________"...

We go around the circle and each child fills in the blank, stating what they are grateful for that week.

*******

I have been approaching this holiday season from a completely different emotional and mental place than usual. I am really moved by the "reason for the season" as some say. I get all warm and fuzzy inside just thinking about spending time with family void of any expectations and without a timeline to meet. I took more pleasure than usual this year getting the tree, selecting decorations and chatting with Bear and The Comedian about each one. They wanted to know all about each of Emma's and I told the stories with gratitude that were ready to hear.

Not surprisingly, I'm unconcerned with receiving gifts. "What would you like this year?" is met with a glazed expression. In the past, I might not have known what I wanted, but I wanted something. Actually, what I wanted was for the person to really observe me, listen to what I wasn't saying, think and search for the perfect surprise gift and present it with a flourish. How greedy. How selfish. How NOT what this season is all about. How very much I sounded like the Sunday School kids. The ironic piece is, I got exactly that. Last year, my husband followed each unspoked direction and I was flabbergasted when the perfect laptop appeared under the tree.

I got mine last year, and so this year - something has shifted. And, yeah - I know, saying you really don't care about getting presents is all noble and stuff, but I'm not done. I don't really want to give any either. And this is the part that really baffles me.

I'm NOT bah-humbuging! If you need a review see section 2 - paragraph 1. I am more connected with the spirit than ever. I am living in the moment, taking every experience for what it is even if it isn't the picture I saw in my head. I am satisfied with my daily life. The conflict here is that, I am a giver by nature. I LOVE to give. It feels good to give, to see people's faces light up when they receive. So, why this year is my givemeter equal to my receivemeter?

I have thought and prayed and meditated and ...I just don't know. The best I can come up with is that once you truly feel that you are blessed just by being where you are and surrounded by people who love you, then the other pieces seem less necessary.

That said - I know I can't - just, not buy things for others. (for the record - the kids gifts are wrapped and ready)

Any thoughts?

UPDATE: SOMEWHERE BETWEEN BRINGING COOKIES TO MY CO-WORKERS AND DRIVING HOME IN THE TWINKLING SNOW MY GIVEMETER STARTED TO RISE!!

Nearly Wordless Wednesday!

Emma's Ornament - 2008 "A Wish For Peace"

Reality Versus Fantasy

I sat up in the hospital bed, my swollen belly leading. Wrapping my arms around the protruding bump, I forced myself to breathe deeply - not because of the mild contractions consistently squeeqing me, a gentle hug from the baby within - but in a hyperventillation response to the questions the nurse had just rattled off.

Minutes earlier, she entered the room wearing scrubs, ironically featuring a host of whimsical little angels. Without prelude she began peppering me with questions. “Have you thought about which funeral home you would like to use? We can coordinate with them. Oh, and do you have an idea what day the funeral will be?”

Without awarding me sufficient time to process her words, let alone attempt a response, she kept firing “Do you want to have a full autopsy performed after the delivery? I can arrange a time for pick up and transport to Burlington”. I was stunned, immobile and effectively rendered mute.

The walls closed in, the gaping hole in the floor widened, beckoning me to jump. Why stay here in this world of tragedy and madness where nurses speak of funerals and autopsies? How could I answer or even think about those things. Why did I need to? It wasn’t necessary. I will feel every part of this delivery. I will use my well-practiced breathing techniques to endure unfathomable quantities of pain. My baby will cry when she arrives. She will live. The miracle will blow them all way.

As I existed somewhere between reality and fantasy, my parents and in-laws, informed the staff, “Any further questions about necessary arrangements will be directed to one of us”.

They met with the director of the funeral home, they arranged for the burial service, they picked the casket, and they paid every penny. My mother-in-law graciously donated her pre-owned plot and my mom went to our local children’s shop to find a burial gown. The owner noticing her obvious dismay helped to pick out the perfect gown, a delicate white dress with embroidered red rosebuds. Beneath the handmade quilt Nana had just finished, her burial would be warm, cozy and full of love.

A newly forged team, the four grandparents planned the reception, contacted the priest, and countless other duties I was never told. As a group they came together to make all these decisions and only when I was ready, did they tell me the parts I wanted to know.

*******

"I read your article in the paper and was touched" my postmaster said Friday as I opened the PO box to check the day's mail. "I'm so glad you started a group. Would you be interested in some homemade baby buntings?"

We talked further. She told me how she connected with a group of women online who make these for families after a loss. She's been making them and sending them out to Ohio where they are distributed to hospitals and funeral homes for infant burials. We talked about how parents are often overwhelmed with grief when told their baby is dead, and the idea of making funeral preparations is beyond their ability.

If not for my parents and in-laws, I cannot say what Emma's funeral would have been or when - for that matter. If not for them - who knows if she would have been respected, let alone loved.

MY SINCERE THANKS WITH ABOUNDING GRATITUDE TO PAM FOR MAKING THESE!

Parenting a child in heaven

I said this to my husband the other day. Well, acutally I said - "It feels so good to be parenting ALL our kids this year."

He looked at me like I had just said I would be going skydiving next week - naked.

"What?" I asked.
"Nothing." He replied

But his nothing said plenty. I sat and thought with my meditation music on the headphones.

He has been so on board with the development of this Share group. He volunteered to make the memory boxes and has even been enjoying it. He has listened to me talk about each step and stage of the set up. It was his idea to go as a family this year to pick Emma's ornament. He talks about her more than he has in the last eight years - in public even.

Have I mis-interpreted his emotional involvement in celebrating Emma this year?

I asked him as much. "Yes." He said, with a sweet smile on his face. "I guess you have."

The fact that I didn't break down into tears is a clear indicator of how much I needed to have this conversation with him.

He went on, "This is your project. This is your mission and I support you completely. You have always had a real connection with Emma. You carried her for nine months. You delivered her and you focused on grieving like it was a job. I have my moments, but they are private and not all that often. I'm celebrating you this year."

I stared at him. I wasn't upset. I finally understood. He loves me. He supports me and through this - he honors Emma, his daughter. I get it - at least for us, Cara and Jeremiah - I get it. Long ago I accepted that we grieve differently. I allowed him his road while I walked mine.

But, three months ago, unconsciously, I thought our roads had merged. That we finally walked, hand in hand, while staring up at the sky in unison toward our angel in heaven. I was wrong. That isn't possible, but I was right about the merge in the road.

Three months ago, my road merged with yours - and you get it. When I say, "It feels good to parent Emma this year" - you totally get it.

Thank you.

Show And Tell - An Angel Tree

Christmas arrived three months after Emma died. I still hadn't resurfaced into the world. As many parents of angel children do - I emotionally boycotted the holiday. It was empty, devoid of cheer. I saw no reason to acknowledge the lifetime rituals and traditions ingrained in me. Just glancing at a storefront trampeled my heart with "Baby's First Christmas" onsies. I went inward.


Annually, my affection for Christmas crept back. As we welcomed another child, and then another - it seemed we were committed to celebrating - for who can deny a small child the delights of a first Christmas?


(random side note: Bear's first Christmas she suffered with a fever of 104.5 and threw up all over the floor of our neighbor's house. We came home -immediately)


However, I had one requirement. The holiday must include Emma, just like every other part of my life. My everyday had been permanantely altered by her absence, so this special day must be equally touched by her presence - her spirit.


We began buying Emma an ornament, every year. Some have her name on them - some have the year, but all have angels. Bear and The Comedian come home from school bearing bright primary colored home-made ornaments. I love them and will proudly display all the products of their brilliant little minds for as long as they bless our home.


But, I love the idea of my angel tree. Someday, when Bear is an architect who dabbles in fashion design on the side and The Comedian is hosting her own talk show, making people laugh every day, they will each take a box with them labeled: ornaments.


I will be left with a box too. Emma's Ornaments it will say. It will hold 25 years of angels, each unique, a representation of how her memory integrates into our family as time passes. I will have an Angel Tree.

Our collection - so far. Some are gifts. Some I chose. But, my favorite, by far, is the green angel below this text. J picked it out last year.

What are you showing and telling this week?

Did you Know??? AND Do You Want???

DID YOU KNOW???

• How much an organization has to PAY to receive the label "Non-Profit"?




• The Massive quantities of paperwork and red (chicken-before-the-egg) tape one has to endure to do something good in this world?

AND HOW THEIR REQUIREMENTS OF ME - CAN BENEFIT YOU???

Well- I didn't, that is - until yesterday when I sat with my tax advisor, pouring over the TWENTY-EIGHT page application for non-profit status, and I saw stars. With each page, and moddicum of mental energy spent trying to de-code the language in the document -(I swear there IS an English version of Greek!) - my fatigue grew - and then - we reached the LAST PAGE.

"So," my advisor said - clearly as tired as I was - "Sign here, and attach the $300 user fee payment and ..."

(pause here to imagine my mental state...HINT: the stars were shaped more like dollar signs)

I won't bore you with the ever increasing, over-priced start up budget demanded by each state run and government dictated office.

INSTEAD....

I GOT ME AN IDEA!!! (THIS IS THE PART THAT PUTS STUFF IN YOUR HOT LITTLE HANDS!)

First, please let me indulge in a brief Caratale story...

Once upon a time, a stay at home mother to her second child - as her first was gently nestled in heaven - began a stay at home business. With a love of all things creative, she became a Creative Memories Consultant. For years she reveled in inspiring others to get their pictures out from under dusty beds and create life-long memories for their families. (and - if she's being honest- the product discount was pretty cool too)

To keep a long Caratale short - when this mother was no longer of the stay-at-home variety, she said goodbye to her fairytale classes (but not her customers as they were now friends)! Yet a quick glance in the closet-of-wonders affirmed - PRODUCT still abounded.

"How will I ever use all this?" She asked herself....

I WON'T! I SHOULDN'T. YOU SHOULD!

So, without further ado - I present to you SHARE SOUTHERN VERMONT'S MEMORY MAKING MONTHLY FUNDRAISER!!! (don't attempt to say five times quickly or you might go crosseyed!)

OK - Here's the skinny!

-On the second of the month I will announce the prize package (and they rock - if I do say so myself!) If you don't know about our cause - click, SSV to read about our community outreach for greiving families.

-Each $10 donation equals an entry ticket.

-Enter as many times as you like. You will receive an email confirmation for the number of tickets you hold that month.

-If you prefer to send a check, your donation must be received by the 29th of the month or it will roll over to the next prize pack.

-The drawing will be on the last day of the month, via random selection by either Bear or The Comedian.

-I will upload the video of the winner's number being picked and offer wild congratulations!

Oh, you say, But there are only 19 days in this month. Will you offer a full prize package?

YOU BET! AND...because I am such a sweet girl (and as the drawing will be on New Year's Eve so I'm feeling extra festive) I have included a single item for a second place winner!

THINK GIFTS!

TELL ALL YOUR FRIENDS!

AND

LINK TO THIS PAGE ON YOUR SIDEBAR USING THE PRIZE-PACK PHOTO AND I'LL THROW IN AN EXTRA TICKET FOR YOU!

MEMORY MAKING PACKAGE #1:
"TRUE LOVE"
Perfect for any couple getting married or currently in wedded bliss without an album to show it!

PICK THIS ALBUM

OR THIS ONE

AND GET ALL THIS TOO!

INCLUDES:
1 set 12x12 pages
1 set mini silver abc/123 stickers
1 photo labeling pencil
1 pack natural correction stickers
1 Simple Expressions quote book
1 Neutral Snap Pack
1 Formal Affair Done-With-One
1 Garden Illusions textured paper pack
1 Elegant Sticker strip and 2 peace/love/joy small sticker sheets
1 Pack Elegent Letter Laser Stickers
and 1 Complete "Once Upon A Wedding" Album Kit (including idea book)

ALL TOGETHER THESE ITEMS RETAIL FOR OVER $100.00!

And don't worry...If you don't win the grand prize, you might get this totally must have Side-Kick. (my customers used to tell me it was an "accessory" that you feel guilty buying for yourself...well now you don't have to - you might win it!)

That was ALOT of information. So, in summary:
1. Donate
2. Tell all your friends
3. Link to my blog, then comment that you did to get a free entry
4. Take a quiet moment for all those who are suffering in their grief this holiday season.

Wanna Save The World?

I did - at 14 years old.

The commerical ran all the time. "Give to the Christian Children's Fund. It only costs .60 cents a day to sponser a child- less than the cost of a cup of coffee." A train rambled across tracks bringing with it the 800 number to call. Pictures of gorgeous but pitiful looking children flashed on the screen, one after the other. Sixty sents a day? I have that and I don't even drink coffee.

My parents said no, I couldn't save the world - not yet.

My euphoria became devestation in an instant. I cried for days - sure a child would die because of me.

-----
I seem to have two writing moods lately.

Introspective and Serene... you know - like the way your body feels calm and flowing after a good meditation or yoga class. The way your heart feels settled with an epiphany that sidled up and startled you with its clarity. The, I-have-made-some-kind-of-peace-with-the-cards-I've-been-dealt and the words just flow onto the page, kind of mood.

OR

Sarcastic and Angry ...you know - the return of questions that I know can't be answered and the overwhelming injustice that babies die in the first place - kind of anger mixed with a sarcastic tone representive in phantom posts that only exist in my mind.

I truly thought I was done with the anger. It has blind-sighted me. I think it might be because I read about my friends losing baby after baby. I read about triplets that die, not all together, but one at a time - days apart - so their poor parents have to live the torture in triplet too. I see a picture of a sweet girl that swallowed a tiny button-battery by accident and lays in the ICU. I hear of countless IUI's and IVF's - and more specifically suffer with you during a two week wait - only to feel your devestation ooze through the screen as a teenager down the road cries into a tissue at her guidance counselor's desk.

See? These are the bitter, angry, frustrated thoughts and emotions that flow through me, well - some of the time anyway. The issue is that when the pendulum swings it rockets back to the "all -is-right -with-the-world, guardian angels and blessings and kum-buy-ah-ness" mindset.

It is exhausting. I feel like an over-used tennis ball in a VERY long match.

But, here's the thing. Even the not so lovely emotions feel right. This road I'm on, even when I trip headfirst into a human sized pothole, is definately the road I'm meant to be on. I seem to be living my emotions vicariously through all of you -and sometimes that is ok - a reminder of what the world is facing and varied perspectives attached to the experiences.

But, I have to be careful not to lose myself. Yes - I'm a creature in constant emotional evolution. I don't want to lose that. In the past, this hasn't mattered so much to me. I was. I grew and changed. Then, I was again - but different. That was all about ME. My world has shifted on its axle and it is very much about YOU now (the collective you that is). I guess I'm a human cocktail - but I haven't determined my perfect mixing ratio. 4 parts me and 2 parts you? 3 parts the world and 3 parts instinct? Ah - hell, just pour me over some rocks and drink me straight.

Starting next month, I will be surrounded by a group of grieving women, each with their own story to share, each on their own intimate and personalized journey, and my job will be to support THEM - to take on their pain, let it wash through me and leave it on the conference room floor. I'm not sure I can. I've never been one to leave the world's troubles behind...they just follow me home and sit in the corner waiting for me to attend to them - or, at the very least, insert them into one of my real life issues creating a melodramatic effect.

So - here is my intention. To listen, to lead, and to cry with these women. To support, to guide towards appropriate resources, to hug and smile. And then, to come home and peek in on two sleeping girls who fill my life with reasons not to hold onto other people's anger, sadness, and heartbreaking indignation.

I'll let you know how that goes. I have always wanted to save the world after all.

What's In A Number?

Eight was the number for me. Eight years into grieving - Emma's eighth birthday on September 8th or 2008, no less.

Something about that infinity shaped digit put a fire under me to act - and now big things are happening.

Share Southern Vermont is real - with offical paperwork- So much so, that I have an invoice to pay for start up fees! I've never been so excited about a bill in my life. It affirms our group!

-The bank account is up and running.

-The article I wrote is coming out in the local papers today, along with a photo of the memory box.

-And, my interview for the newspaper with a larger readership is slated for Thursday.

With this evolution of our idea happening so quickly, I paused to ask myself... Cara, what made Emma's 8th birthday such a turning point? Why did this year speak to you, when others haven't?

Certainly, I don't have answers. I wish I did. I wish I could send each of you grieving and broken mothers a letter on fancy letterhead in cheerful writing that said, "I know this sucks. I know your insides are broken and eating you up with an overwhelming sadness - but 8 years is the mark. Make it there and your smile will turn upside down."

I can't. In fact, my upside down smile isn't really up - it's more angled. Most of the time lately, I host a smirk. It's not snarky, as Nancy would say. But, aware. Aware of the work that Emma is doing. Alert to her presence here, in this house and within me.

I hoarded her for all these years, afraid that if I disengaged for too long or shared her with others, my daughter would somehow become -less mine. My experience, would somehow - become diminished.

I allowed my emotions to mislead me. And somewhere, on that road to eight, the world finally appeared, opened before me saying, "Welcome, to you and Emma. You can keep her with you as you walk forward. You can share her with others as you trudge on in this life. She will never die as you are alive and doing work in her memory."

I am enternally grateful to those who make this possible. Thank you for allowing Emma to work here, to touch lives. I know this will not always be my exlusive mission in life. But for this year, her year - Sept 08-09 - I am devoted to creating opportunities where there were none.

My darling girl - I love you with all my heart. Thank you for speaking so loudly, that even I - couldn't miss it.

Hearing Silence

When you start a business they say it takes five years to get your financial feet under you, to show a resonable profit and to feel like you can predict your market.

When you own a resturant, you can look back at last years numbers for this weekend to gauge how many staff to have on and how much food to prep.

When you author a blog in September and coast into your first holiday season surrounded by others touched by infertility and loss, you have no idea what to expect...so I ask this question without any statistical foundation or past experience to qualify it.

Is is just me or does it seem like the blogosphere at large is slowing down, going inward this time of year? A few weeks ago I could hardly keep up with the daily posts, and those were just the ones coming up on my reader. Now, I can catch up in a brief spell at the keyboard.

The tone of the posts I am reading are somewhat guarded. The world and all it hoopla surrounding Christmas is difficult to miss - blinders only dim the flashing lights of joy and optimism on every rooftop. Are we all feeling conflicted? To celebrate or not to celebrate...is that the question?

And then, there are the every growing group of wonder-women who are hoping for a BFP under their Christmas tree (or in whatever form your gift giving traditions hold). Your TWW nearly coinsiding with the number of days until Christmas only further murkifies (I know - definately not a word) the way you see this red and green world. For you it all comes down to one or two lines.

So, is that why people are more hesitant to put their thoughts and ideas out there - because we have no idea what to say, let alone think, within this socially prescribed blender of holiday cheer?

It could, of course, be as simple as a time crunch: too much to do in too little time. If that is the case, then chaulk this post up to a writer's need to over analyze.

If, however, my ever dramatic intuitive nature is serving me, and you are feeling blue, perheps even falling into a holdiay depression - then please know that this post is for you. Not to cheer you up - I doubt anyone could do that right now, but to let you know that you are missed.

A philosophical question: If a tree falls in the woods and no-one is there to hear it does it make a sound?

We hear you loud and clear. Your melocholy resonates through the silence. Go inward. Be sad. Miss your babies. Wonder about your future. We are all here, waiting, for when you are ready to return to this forum of words, love and support.

A new year, a new start - another chance to jump up and catch your dreams.

Show and Tell - Decorationphobia?

Is that a condition? Probably not researched and proven, but I have it. Let me tell you a brief story...

Once upon a time a young couple dreamed of buying a house. On Christmas Eve 2001, as they dressed for a party, the phone rang. "What? Really? Wow - Thanks" the wife exclaimed as she put the phone back on the cradle. Turning to her husband she said, "We got the house. They accepted our offer, and on Chiristmas Eve. How perfect."

Sweet, huh? Said house is a old farmhouse built in 1868 coming mostly renovated but still complete with some old charm - aka - drafts, a plaster and lathe kitchen without insulation and knob and tube wiring in that entire zone.

Fastforward seven years and I can tell you that all structural and construction related updates have been made! That great contractor hubby of mine made sure of it. He pulled in the bowing barn with cables and erected a new 19 foot beam througout to hold it. He renovated a dusty old hay loft into a totally liveable apartment that I, sometimes, wish I could escape to. He has built outer buildings, landscaped, constructed bridges, and every summer he has the most fertile garden in town.

BUT...

The inside of the house is another story all together. We lived six blissful years amist white walls, with the exeception of a painted room as each child came along. (mostly yellow..I love yellow) I never decorated. I didn't see the need...ok - that's a lie... I didn't know how!

It is NOT my strength. I don't see finish products in my head. I panic, then leave it half done, and that, even I can see - looks worse.

So, please believe me when I tell you that THIS (with an emergency call to my mother - of course - who made a housecall) is HUGE for me. THANKS MOM!

I love it. I want to keep going. I don't know how. (did you know there are TEN ways to swag this sash? Seriously!) Are their monthly meetings for this sort of thing??

Now, finish laughing at the girl who can do anything but decorate and see what everyone else is Show and Telling!

Virtual Baby Shower For Antigone!!

Antigone - I have said before and I say again, I believe you are found. Hence, I have not written your full screen name for a while. (Antigone-Found just doesn't really work, does it?)

In the past months your writing has entranced me into your world. I watched as you processed so much of your realities while contemplating your future. You seem so ready for this baby. Little P is just blessed, to have a driven, dedicated, focused, intelligent, tallented and loving mother. Please enjoy this day as the blogosphere at large celebrates you, the new you, who rose above and shines as a bright example for all who feel, lost.

You and He - A Never Ending Love.

What hat do I wear today?

"Thank you so much for choosing (this bank) to begin your Share Southern Vermont account. We looking forward to working with you. By the way, what do you do for a living?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. Bear sat next to me, drawing, creating another five year old masterpiece. I looked at her, then back at the employee, "I am..." Again, I hesitated, so she inquired "Are you a stay at home mom?"

"Y-es." I said, clearly unsure, then quickly added, "And, I am a writer."

Saying this outloud has been a gift I haven't given myself this year. The facts all point to it:

• I spend most of my days on the computer
• I spend most of those same days with pajama bottoms passing as clothes.
• Coffee is always close.
• I'm mentally deprived if a day goes by without some kind of creative writing exercise.
• I think in opening sentences, segways and smooth retoric
• I'm not getting paid for any of it
• Oh, and yes, there is that column I write for Exhale Magazine and that manuscript my agent is selling.

Certainly sounds like the life of a writer, doesn't it? So why can't I just open my mouth and smile as I say, with pride, with affection for what I do, "I am a writer"?

It could be because I have been, because I am so many things. I am a Teacher of the Deaf. I am an Interpreter for the Deaf. I am starting a Share Southern Vermont group. I am an advocate for grieving families. I am a certified Reading Recovery teacher.

But, this year I am not teaching. I am not interpreting. I am home.

I think my inner struggle for labels is because I am home. Inanimate objects call to me. The laundry yells, "I'm still sitting here in the pile. How long would it take you to throw me in the washer?" The dishes squeak, "We are getting dried out. It will take you twice as long if you wait until later." The dust bunnies? I'm not even going to tell you what they say, it's not blogworthy. So, even as my hand hit the keys in a, click - clack - clickity-clack pattern, my guilt for not attending to the other pieces of my life builds.

Last year I taught full time. I wasn't here. The fact that my body wasn't present in my house all day as laundry, dishes and dust mocked me somehow made it easier to walk back into the house and find it in the same state. Now, I close my eyes and envision clean, crisp rooms that are clutter free and smell fresh every second of the day. But (and here is the good part) I do nothing to maintain the blissful status of our home. I mearly walk through each welcoming room to reach, my brand new ergonomic office chair (on my xmas wish list), crack my knuckles (yup - I really do) and breath deep as I look at the Angel Wall.

And then, I work. I write. Hence, I am a writer. But, I am also a mother. A driver of carpools, a packer of lunches. A rescue van when a child is sick at school, a scheduler and executer of doctors appointments. A cooker of dinner and, yes, a cleaner of the house.

Truth time? I often fantasize a world where I function very much like Carrie from Sex and the City. The world is my oyster, although I have no great love for shoes. Regardless, I would write when the perfect mood struck over a cocktail at an unmentionable hour. I would explore new ideas while walking the streets in a contemplative and introspective state. And, of course, the answer would always come, the last line - with just the right witty pun to leave the reader thinking, chewing for hours on my most recent ideas.

Reality time? That's not going to happen.

I am all the things I said and more. And, I am not balanced. I do not strive for balance for I know it only makes me feel more lopsided when I don't achieve it. I am, however, blessed for all my responsibility, for it allows me to grow into who I am becoming, after the loss of my Emma Grace.

It really bit me, this writing bug. It is part of my being now and I know it is the piece I was missing as I set and achieved every goal, then moved on.

This feels good. It feels right, flooding me with motivation, passion and desire to make a difference.

So, just in case you were about to ask...I AM A WRITER.

EIN = BANK ACCOUNT = UP AND RUNNING!

Have you seen Swordfish? Good movie. Do you remember the last bank scene when Halle Berre walks into the bank victorious? Looking very sheik? And transferrs some nine billion dollars in equal incraments to a number of accounts?

Well, I look nothing like Halle Berre, but I will be strutting into a bank this afternoon to transfer 9 Billion Dollars, um - I mean... open a bank account with the name, Share Southern Vermont, on the checks!

So, it appears the internet is good for more than just checking email, blogging, shopping and uploading cute pics to Sn.ap.fish to keep my scrapbooking addiction alive.

Last night I went the IRS website. (da-da-da-da) And...In a matter of minutes, I had applied online and been granted an EIN. (Employer Identification Number) for our Share Southern Vermont Group. Ok , I don't truly understand why I need it if we won't be having any paid employees..including me, but the bank said it was necessary because I want people to write donation checks to Share, not to me.

So, a few clicks and... wha-laa! We have an EIN. As of this afternnon SSV will have a bank account. And, those of you who sent checks weeks ago will finally be able to balance your checkbooks! Best of all! When the newspaper article comes out, the final line can say something like, "If you wish to donate to this worthy cause, perhaps in memory of a child or in support of a grieving parent, please send a check made out to Share Southern Vermont to ....x address".

Nifty, huh?

What is that they say? Ah yes...this is all coming together. Or, was it - This is going exactly to plan? No, better not say that for the best laid plans and all.

Thanks to all of you who have helped keep the momentum going for this start up effort. The New Year is going to bring much support for hurting parents in our area!