tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19076965975853070032024-03-05T06:19:33.252-05:00love, this little family.Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-51976325374406805502019-05-01T15:40:00.000-04:002020-01-05T15:40:39.406-05:00Elbows and KneesYou're all elbows and knees.<br />
That's what your dad says as you lay, splayed out on our bed.<br />
I think he gets the worst of it.<br />
Your head is always burrowed into me, but dad?<br />
He gets the knees and feet.<br />
In the still darkness of my room,<br />
you have shared with me your fears and thoughts.<br />
I can't see you, but I hear your sweet voice,<br />
it fills the darkness like a candle,<br />
bouncing light all around me.<br />
Talking in the dark,<br />
you tell me that you feel safe with me.<br />
And the truth is,<br />
I feel safe with you too.<br />
There's a joy in being wanted.<br />
It feels like motherhood job security,<br />
that you still want me around.<br />
And in the dark,<br />
in the stillness of your witching hour,<br />
your dad gets the elbows and knees,<br />
and I get your heart.Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-17245482037374389392019-02-12T10:16:00.000-05:002019-02-12T10:16:09.071-05:00You Make Me Brave<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi there little soldier,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">walking bravely up the sidewalk,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">of a school that holds no promises of an easy day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trouble with friends,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">struggles with subtraction,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">tiny setbacks your heart doesn't know how to solve for yet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi there fearless leader,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">holding your baby brother's hands,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">giving him the kindest face to look up to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Playing cars,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">rolling him balls,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">tiny moments that show the wide expanse of your heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi there curious cat,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">eyebrows furrowed as you ask questions,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">while an electric current of synapses spark in your brain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You give as much as you get,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">sharing all your knowledge with me,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">lighting up when you teach me something new.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi there gentle soul,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">your empathetic heart,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">held firmly on your sleeve.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In a world that will tell you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to toughen up, man up, buck up,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">your kind heart is an act of highest bravery.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi there sweetest teacher,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">making me braver,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and more grounded in this world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let's stand together, you and me,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">holding hands in wonder,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">at that magic that is life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy 8th birthday Jack xo.</span><br />
<br />
<br />Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-4876086119431483972018-11-13T21:11:00.003-05:002018-11-13T21:11:37.042-05:00Mountains<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today I saw a video of a baby bear,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">climbing up a snowy mountain, chasing after his mom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She traversed the white terrain with ease,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">her capable paws gripping tight to places that his could not reach.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Over and over, he slipped and slid,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">as she stared down that mountain urging him up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After his biggest fall, I looked away,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">afraid he wouldn't make it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But that mama bear never lost sight of him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And up, up, up he climbed, until he reached the top.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today I saw my own baby bear,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">walking up the stairs, chasing after your brothers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They scampered up with ease,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">two at a time, laughing the whole way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Slowly and surely, you climbed up,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">as your brothers stared down urging you up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With your eyes gazing skyward, I climbed up behind you,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">poised to catch you if you fell. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This mama bear never lost sight of you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And up, up, up you walked, until you reached the top. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And if you fall, or if you climb,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you slip, or if you grip,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I will be there, at your back,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">poised and ready</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to get you up over any mountain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy 2 Teddy Bear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">xo</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mom</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-13218900792565716392018-05-08T14:45:00.004-04:002018-05-09T08:35:25.916-04:00Just You"I want to write you a poem," I said.<br />
...<br />
"Tell me what I should write, what's your favorite thing?"<br />
...<br />
You gave no reply, sitting in my lap like the yolk of an egg<br />
"Do you want a poem about superheroes or bugs?"<br />
"How about rockets or peanut butter sandwiches?"<br />
...<br />
Silently watching Ben 10 fight aliens (or something like that), you said nothing.<br />
I stroked your hair.<br />
Your silence was my inspiration.<br />
Here is your poem,<br />
it's about you<br />
and it's about me<br />
and how at 5, you still fit in my lap.<br />
How you make no demands of me,<br />
how you don't need a poem,<br />
how of all the bright and lovely things I could write of in this world,<br />
Your sandy brown hair nestled close to my heart is all the poem we need.<br />
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<br />Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-51837446613706885182018-01-30T09:50:00.000-05:002018-01-30T10:24:37.148-05:00Cycles of 7The night before Jack turned 7, Trevor and I sat in a dimly lit living room, the remnants of Jack's birthday party strewn about the room- handmade cards from his friends, noisemakers, Lego boxes. The house was quiet and was very conducive to reflection.<br />
<br />
"We have completed a cycle of 7 you know," I said to Trevor. "I'm a big believer in cycles and I have been feeling for awhile now that we're approaching an end to one."<br />
<br />
We began to discuss the differences between the 1st cycle and the 2nd.<br />
<br />
"I think that first cycle of 7 is physically exhausting. You're physically exhausted every day from the care and feeding of your children. I think the next cycle is going to be more mentally exhausting," said Trevor, pulling the Spider-man blanket up around his lap.<br />
<br />
And it was through this discussion that a lot of things began to make sense and click for me. The 1st cycle of 7 <i>is </i>physically exhausting. It is the cycle in which you most likely have the most minuscule social life, your conversations are almost exclusively about your children, and as a million synapses snap into place as you learn the new motions and new steps of being a parent to newborns, babies, toddlers, and preschoolers, you barely have anything left over for your spouse, your friends, yes, sometimes your children, and most definitely yourself. So it stands to reason that you drop out of sight for a bit. You relish when plans get canceled, you reply "maybe" to every single event you're included in because your life is one big exhausting question mark. Retreating into your phone and seeing photos of your friends and feeling connected even when it's so hard to be connected was in many ways a life raft for me. I could have people see into my life and I could see into theirs and it was nice... was. nice.<br />
<br />
Something clicks at 7. You realize you're getting better at this. Your kids are likely more self sufficient and even if you have young ones like we do, you aren't as stressed out over the little things anymore. Those million synapses have clicked in place and you deftly and coolly go through the motions with a muscle memory that is instinctual. Alas, it's not all smooth sailing though because now the mental exhaustion sets in. Having to now negotiate with your older children. Building in good habits for them, teaching them instead of doing for them. These are emotionally draining tasks. The heavy lifting is all being done internally and not externally and that is when you realize that your social circle, the one you couldn't nurture and grow in that 1st cycle of 7 is precisely what you need now.<br />
<br />
And that, my friends, is the exact place I find myself on January 30, 2017. 23 days into my 2nd cycle of 7 and I'm realizing that it's time to reach out, which seems like a funny thing to have to do in an age of social media where the possibility of "connection" seems endless.<br />
<br />
Keep reading...<br />
<br />
But it doesn't. I have realized that it's an absolutely false sense of connection that has fueled more loneliness, more disconnection among us than ever before. I would dare say that you could be happier doing almost <i>anything </i>than scrolling through Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Like, seriously, almost anything. So it's time for a break. I'll be honest, I'm not deleting Facebook. It is an incredible time capsule of my life for the past 10 years. It's a treasure trove of photos and messages that makes it hard to get rid of. But in order to limit the amount of time it consumes in my day and to limit the amount of time it robs from my children and husband it's time to reconfigure it.<br />
<br />
My Facebook circle needs to be pared down, a ton. It's not because I don't like the people I've connected with here, it's not because I don't care about them, but it's because in this 2nd cycle of 7, real human connection is what's going to get me through, not pretending I'm connected because I "like" your meme. A friend recently commented that she misses me before adding that it's totally unnecessary since we live in the same town. That got me thinking.<br />
<br />
So, this is kind of a Dear John letter to both Facebook and the 1st cycle of 7 where Facebook helped bolster me. It now feels like a weight, something to be managed or tended to, and as I've realized, the real things in my life I need to tend to are outside of the internet.<br />
<br />
It's a first step toward being intentional about the 2nd cycle. It's time to re-organize my time.<br />
<br />
xoNancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-2020685179811744032018-01-08T11:18:00.002-05:002018-01-08T11:28:18.675-05:00On Janus<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In ancient Roman religion and mythology, Janus is the god of beginnings and transitions, gates, doors, doorways, endings, and time. He is usually a two-faced god since he looks to the future and the past. The Romans dedicated the month of January to Janus and I dedicate this poem to my own January baby, Jack.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The god Janus sits in solitude.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One eye gazing forward</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One eye fixed on the past.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I too stand in a doorway of the heart,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">clinging to your childlike wonder</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">while marveling at the fact that we just spoke about dinosaurs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">and you taught me something new.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I adore your sweetness and untarnished heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I delight in your maturity, curiosity...and dinosaur facts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Like Janus, I mark this month with a reflection on duality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My heart still sees your new baby skin and</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">still feels your fingers exploring my face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My eyes see your confident stance and</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the way you nimbly navigate this world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My heart has kept you small.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My eyes have watched you grow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And like your birthday god, I sit in wonder</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">at how everything we've been</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">has made everything we are.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One cycle of 7 complete.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You are my past</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You are my present</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You are my infinite future.</span><br />
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Happy birthday Jack xoNancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-36050084937103664562017-10-17T10:18:00.000-04:002017-10-17T10:18:02.779-04:00The Last FirstFor 9 months I carried you, with the knowledge that you were my my last.<br />
A comforting thought during the hard times.<br />
The end of morning sickness,<br />
the end of labor,<br />
the final contraction,<br />
the final push.<br />
<br />
10/15/16<br />
Holding your warm, wriggling nakedness, my tears splashed your matted hair.<br />
Hold him, yes, but hold this too, this <i>moment</i>, it's your last.<br />
The last first meeting,<br />
the last first embrace,<br />
the last first kiss,<br />
the last first cradle of your head as you nursed.<br />
<br />
You shine with all the confidence I'd expect from a boy born into a 4-member fan club.<br />
As we've journeyed 'round the sun together, you've given me<br />
My last first smile,<br />
My last first laugh,<br />
My last first Christmas,<br />
My last first steps.<br />
<br />
10/15/17<br />
I watched you gaze out the window with a sense of familiarity.<br />
I've seen this day before, you thought.<br />
My feet have been planted on 365 days of earth.<br />
I've gone around the sun and came back to where I started.<br />
In my cozy home with these wild brothers,<br />
With this cuddly mommy, with this sturdy dad.<br />
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Later, when smoke circles billowed above that 1 candle,<br />
the candle that burrowed into two other first cakes,<br />
our wishes for you sailed up into the heavens,<br />
disappearing almost imperceptibly<br />
just like the baby I met one year ago.<br />
And with one last first wish, we send you back around the sun again.<br />
<br />
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Happy birthday Teddy. We wish you 1,000 new firsts and breathless, joyful discoveries.Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-51599137810932134292017-05-19T22:16:00.003-04:002017-05-19T22:16:44.708-04:00Sweet Little Lies<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last year, my sister Mary, her fiance, and his mom were traveling through our town on their way back from vacation. Mary called me to make plans to stop by. Mary and Jack have always had a very special <a href="http://lovethislittlefamily.blogspot.com/2012/10/aunt-bean-uncle-cris.html" target="_blank">bond</a>. Knowing how excited he would be to see "Beamie", I asked Jack if he'd want to see her that night. He chirped "Yes!" and so I asked him to close his eyes and make a wish; to wish for Beamie to come that night. He did and then we all went outside to play in the yard. Within a half hour, we saw headlights coming into the cul-de-sac. It was Beamie. Jack's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "It came true! It came true!" he shouted all the way up the garden path as he ran to his beloved aunt. She scooped him up and they embraced like velco monkeys</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Two things about this story-</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1. It is absoutely true and endearing and heartwarming</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. I am a stone cold, bald faced LIAR. Pants on fire liar. I made my son believe that he could wish something into reality. All lies. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Does #2 change the story for you?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh man, the lies we tell our children! </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Santa, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Tooth Fairy, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Easter Bunny, they're all part of the magical fabric of childhood, all massive lies, but magical nonetheless. Since I don't love considering myself an unabashed liar, I've had to come to terms with these sweet little lies and the reasons we tell them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I should start by saying that in our house, we greatly downplay Santa and the Easter Bunny. We talk and act as if they're real, but on Christmas, there's not a single gift I give to the boys that's marked from Santa. To my boys, mom, dad, and Santa are all in cahoots and we make Christmas plans together, but my boys know that every single present under the tree is from mom and dad. I know that's a bit odd, but here's my rationale...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Parenting is a rough and thankless business, especially in these early years. Why in the world would we outsource one of the most thrilling moments our children experience to some mythical being? Like, let me get this straight for a second. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mom & Dad: chores, forced vegetable eating, homework, bedtimes, order, structure, routine</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Santa: heaps and heaps of presents</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Easter Bunny: heaps and heaps of candy</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tooth Fairy: cold, hard cash</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Whaaaa???? That's crazy! Parents need those other things to balance out their list of demands! Why do we give made up people all of the glory? And yet, we play along, we dabble in magic and make believe in these fleeting years when magic and make believe are essential ingredients for a happy life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So if parents dance around the truth, we must forgive ourselves. At 38, it's much easier for me to see the bleakness of the world than it is for me to see the magic. My boys find magic in everything. When they hunker down behind our living room couch with their Justice League and Power Rangers playsets and immerse themselves in a world of their own creation, they're dabbling with magic. I see tiny action figures strewn across the floor. I see the mess. They see heroes, lying in wait for the next great adventure. They see possibility. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I think we can all take a page from their book. So we are complicit in the lies. We do our best to preserve the years when the world is nothing but possibility and potential. Maybe, just maybe if we try hard enough, we can look out at the landscape that is the world in the year 2017 and see some possibility and potential ourselves. Please remind me of this the next time I step on one of those small action figures so instead of yelling out DAMMIT, I proclaim THIS IS SO MAGICAL instead.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But do try to take some credit for the magic. Don't outsource all of it. You deserve some credit for the joy. You deserve some credit for allowing childhood to be a highly filtered, special and wonderful time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"It came true!" Jack exclaimed, in awe of how inexplicably wonderful life is. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">His wish came true. Magic.</span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-47222958523742253002017-05-02T22:31:00.001-04:002017-05-02T22:39:25.807-04:00But Not YouSome kids creep into their parents room in the dead of night tip-toeing softly so as not to be heard.<br />
They sneak quietly into their parents' bed to hide from their dream zombies and monsters.<br />
But not you.<br />
You race down the hall like a fully grown elephant.<br />
You throw open the door like 100 Kramers, unabashedly making your presence known.<br />
You climb up into our bed and in full voice say "Snuggle me, mama."<br />
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Some kids act out at their new baby brothers, immensely irritated by their cute little faces and attention seeking doe eyes.<br />
They sneak in a good pinch or shove when their parents aren't looking.<br />
But not you.<br />
You mesmerize him like a street corner magician.<br />
You tickle his every funny bone like a carnival side show clown, delighting in making him smile.<br />
You get right in his face so he's positively sure of you and say "HI SWEET BABY TED!"<br />
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Some kids are blissfully unaware of the sadness of others, too immersed in their own world to care.<br />
They keep all the best toys to themselves and stare blankly at the tears of a friend.<br />
But not you.<br />
You reach out like a beam of light into dark places.<br />
Your kind spirit lifts up an entire room like a shiny elevator we all want to ride, you carry us.<br />
You lean into other people's struggles, giving them the best of you, then asking "Are you happy now?"<br />
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Some kids run onto a field to kick a ball, throw a pitch, or run the bases.<br />
They keep their head in the game, they focus and they listen intently.<br />
But not you.<br />
You run out onto the field like a jubilant mascot.<br />
You keep us going and when we want to quit, you rush the field in a ridiculous dance.<br />
You remind us that our family is the greatest in the league when you smile and sigh at the end of a long day and say "We're all together."<br />
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Some kids have great lives.<br />
But not you.<br />
You make lives great.<br />
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<br />Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-9750020280122355602017-02-24T09:33:00.000-05:002017-03-03T23:16:57.248-05:00In Defense of the Butter Pants<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've recently read a lot of criticism online about LuLaRoe clothing, and fairly recently a pretty scathing review of direct marketing companies by John Oliver. This is a blog post to provide a counterpoint about my experience as a customer of LuLaRoe, via their network of consultants around the country. A few disclaimers before I begin:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I am not a consultant, although I have a few friends who are.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- If you believe that LLR and companies of this nature are all nothing more than pyramid schemes, I will most likely not change your mind with this post. I'm not sure what to tell you other than that I believe <i>some </i>direct marketing companies are shady, their practices questionable, and their recruiting strategies, predatory in nature. I also believe others offer a fully transparent and fun way for their consultants to make some money selling a product they love. I can't speak for LLR's business practices as I'm not a consultant. My friends who are consultants in DMs, including LLR, don't at all strike me as victims, and, in fact, are having the time of their lives. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I'm sure there are many great men selling products as part of DMs, but I'm focusing in on the women who are, who I believe make up the majority of consultants.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- If you've tried the product and didn't enjoy it or didn't find it worth the money, I will probably not change your mind, but I applaud you for trying something before judging it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">-This is my experience and my experience alone, about everything from the postpartum days, to my thoughts on LLR. Your experience, undoubtedly was different, or maybe contains shades of similarity, but nevertheless, I can only speak for myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- I am not a paid spokesperson for LLR but one time, I did win some free clothes by posting a funny Morgan Freeman meme on a consultant's Facebook page...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ok, now that we got <i>that </i>out of the way...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was pregnant for most of 2016 at a time when my friends had caught the LLR fever big time. I was invited to several Facebook and in-home parties, but declined. Buying clothes while pregnant didn't sound like the most fun thing ever. I promised my friends that I'd look into it once baby arrived, and true to my word, in my first month post-partum, I accepted an invitation to shop an online boutique. I bought 1 pair of leggings to see what the insanity was all about. They were comfy, colorful and fun to wear (they are often compared to "butter" for how soft they are, hence the title of this blog). I wore them at Thanksgiving and was glad that I had found something besides maternity pants to wear that fit nicely and didn't make me obsess over my post-partum belly- a belly had that grown and delivered three beautiful boys but was certainly worse for the wear. At 37, things don't always bounce back and no matter what, your body is forever changed by this miraculous and beautiful thing that's just happened to it. But the miracle and the beauty of it all is quickly lost when you feel flabby and out of shape and when the weight just isn't coming off in spite of your best efforts. And let's be honest, sometimes in spite of your most <i>mediocre </i>efforts because when you're exhausted, hormonal, and navigating postpartum bouts of baby blues or depression, sometimes your weight is the last thing you should be thinking about and questions about your overall wellbeing should revolve around more than just what a scale says. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Many of my friends and myself included, wore maternity clothing long after the maternity leave was over, not because we wanted to, but because so many of us didn't see many viable options for those transition months. And as a postpartum mom who is already genetically predisposed to a pear shape, I can tell you, unequivocally, that clothing designers have not only let me down, they have forgotten all about me. I should mention here that LLR offers sizes from XXS to 3xl so a wide variety of women can and do wear the clothing, not just my pear sisters. Where you at, pear sisters? I like you and I cannot lie.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBdRtbtOxy5-QIZcSP8QrnpGqhVFHacmp7V517CUphtkcyWjK3WdFkY_hVs-KnnVJiJhVxkzYFMOqsMDhV4-Opjqsd2HLeb4kHofWfoDHcX5SGUa48wo4amQuTW1Zo6nONIqwu3TF45ot/s1600/pear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBdRtbtOxy5-QIZcSP8QrnpGqhVFHacmp7V517CUphtkcyWjK3WdFkY_hVs-KnnVJiJhVxkzYFMOqsMDhV4-Opjqsd2HLeb4kHofWfoDHcX5SGUa48wo4amQuTW1Zo6nONIqwu3TF45ot/s200/pear.jpg" width="187" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>https://angriestpear.com/</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Shortly after that first purchase of leggings, I stumbled upon a consultant on Facebook who was going out of business and liquidating her inventory at a pretty great % off. I saw this as a good opportunity to try a variety of styles to see what I liked at a pretty low cost. When those colorful packages arrived it was fun! I'm sure my husband and mail lady just had to laugh and shake their heads at the array of bright mailers stuffed with shirts, skirts and dresses that kept making their way to our doorstep, but it was like Christmas! Ok, it actually </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">was </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Christmas at the time, but the gifts were </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">from </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">me and </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">for</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> me, my favorite kind of gift ;) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Each mailer contained a business card and sometimes something extra- hair ties, candy, thank you notes, and jewelry were all little extras I'd find in my packages. The consultants with whom I had discussed going back to work, sent me messages of encouragement, assuring me that I'd be amazing and look amazing. The nice college-aged kid who rings me up at Target has never offered such affirmations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I decided that since it had been years since I really bought new clothes for myself, I would purchase a brand new wardrobe, almost exclusively from LLR consultants. I wanted my working mom clothing to be a show of support to the women working hard, selling these clothes from their homes, hoping to gain some financial independence and do something that is just for themselves. It also helped that I really loved the clothes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">My motivation for doing this was a personal one. I was raised by a young stay at home mom who was brilliant, creative, and charming. It's hard enough being a stay at home mom today, but imagine doing it in the 80s with no social media, no texts from friends and a lot of isolation from people your own age. My dad worked out of town so my mom was with her gaggle of young kids solo for most of the day, into the evenings. When I was in elementary school she started selling Princess House crystal, doing in-home parties to the absolute delight of her customers. She was successful and had so much fun with it and if the demands of home weren't </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline;">too great she'd probably have been their top saleswoman. I know those parties were a way for her to be independent, be social, and be herself, not her "mom" self, her own self. When I wear my "Nicoles", "Carlys", or "Irmas" to work and people tell me that I look great, I send a tip of my hat to the woman who bought, displayed, packaged, and mailed me that particular item of clothing. I think of my mom and it always makes me smile.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fancy Princess House crystal mugs; an absolute staple of my childhood</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I get excited to open up my closet every day and see the array of brightly colored clothing hanging there. I don't have anxiety about what to wear to work or about what will flatter me. The clothing I bought will work even as my baby weight comes off, it's designed to fit a variety of shapes and sizes and what is more form fitting today will be nice and loose over time. It's comfortable, it's colorful, and it represents women like my mom. I imagine some lady in the mid-80s somewhere in metro Detroit being proud to host a dinner party because of the dishes my mom sold her. How excited she must have been to set out the fancy swizzle sticks that she got as a hostess incentive and serve dessert with coffee in </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">real crystal mugs</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, not just the regular old Sunday morning mugs. To the many women I've purchased clothing from, thanks for being the reason I was excited the night before I went back to work after maternity leave. I stood in my closet staring at the options before me and eventually picked out a fancy "Sarah" cardigan, a "Perfect T" to wear underneath and some jeans. I got compliments all day, the clothing was bright and fun but the woman underneath them felt confident and that was the key.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If butter pants ain't your thing, I get it, (<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">more for the rest of us</span></i>... but I get it). I do hope if you're reading this, that you find some way to support women-owned or operated businesses, whether they're DMsor LLCs, franchises or small start-ups. Women, statistically still get paid less than men and only 5% of the S&P 500 companies have women as their CEOs, so we're not only underpaid, we're underrepresented in business. Women are still fighting to be heard, to be seen, and to be taken seriously. So here is my simple request, and it's not to beg you to try LuLaRoe. It's to pause the next time you're blasted on Facebook with party invites for makeup, clothing, books, nail stickers, lip gloss, or bags. Just pause and consider the woman behind the invite. She could be a single and savvy hobbyist who's hustling to make some extra cash, but in my circle, more often than not, she's a mom who is involved in a business that speaks to the interests and passions she has outside of motherhood. She's probably tweaking her Facebook page after the kids go to bed. She's selecting her favorite font for her business cards, and the clip art that totally speaks to the brand she's creating for herself. She's responding to emails and writing thank you notes while her kids watch Daniel Tiger and she's probably wondering if she's struck the right balance. I hope she's having fun with it and flexing talents that she might not be flexing in other aspects of her life. She's a lot like me, even though she works in her home and I work outside of mine. She's hardworking, talented and probably really tired of having to defend her business to people who are concerned she's entrenched in a scheme. So feel free to turn off the notifications for that party or group, but I'd encourage you to send her a quick note and just say "Hey, I don't know how you do it all, but I love that you're having fun with this and I support you 100%". Because regardless of whether her business is a wild success or not, she needs your support. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thanks to the ladies around the country who have given me a pep in my step and some cool new clothes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I support you <u>100%.</u></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I have a list of consultants who I love to work with, who are responsive, hardworking, and absolutely incredible women, let me know if you need a recommendation :)</i></span><br />
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Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com134tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-37624988010205674562017-01-12T21:31:00.000-05:002017-01-12T21:31:28.251-05:00Friendship Day<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You won't remember the day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">when you gave me that card.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thick and colorful marker lines</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">surrounding a round bellied stick figure.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy Friendship Day! you said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I LOVE MY MOM.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">written in the unmistakable handwriting</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">of my firstborn son, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I warned you I would cry happy tears,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">as I tucked the card into the side pocket</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">of the cooler where I stored</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the empty bottles that I'd pump in that day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You won't remember the day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">when you reminded me that I'm not</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">screwing this all up;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">that day in January,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">my second day back to work</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">after my 3rd and final maternity leave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With twisty, mixed up emotions,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I looked at that card all day,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">willing myself to believe that despite</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">my early separation from my babies,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">they were fine, more than fine,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">surrounded by a network of people</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">who love them like their own.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You won't remember the day,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">that you, newly 6,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">gave me the confidence to go back to work,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to take on the day and its challenges,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">to come home to you, your brothers and your dad,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">knowing that beyond simply not screwing it up,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was actually, amazingly, doing it right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I will always remember the day,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">you told me I was your friend.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-23850746365473471342016-11-15T19:49:00.001-05:002016-11-15T19:57:55.668-05:00Birth Story: The Trilogy<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Birth Story (n): The tale of how a pregnant woman gets a baby out from under her ribs into the waiting hands of a doctor who has gotten way too familiar with her insides without even buying her dinner first.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2016 has been a year that's taken more than it's given. I know that's an odd way to begin the story of the birth of a child, but it's impossible to separate the joy that is my son from the heartbreak that surrounded my pregnancy. But in the beginning, there was love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On February 12th, 2 days before Valentine's Day, I found out I was pregnant. The next day, I was set to host my annual Valentine's Day party for my girlfriends. I had this delicious little secret all day that I kept to myself. We had just moved into our new house and were so excited to expand our family. For one week, Trevor and I just reveled in our gratitude at this baby that would come in the fall. For one week, life was so sweet. By the end of the following weekend, life would all come crashing down around us imprinting my pregnancy in ways I couldn't comprehend until much later.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some time during the night of February 20th, during a windy, winter storm, the power went out at my cousin's home. A generator hooked up in their basement to restore power filled their home with carbon monoxide. My cousin, his wife and their 4 children lost their lives that night. We wouldn't find out until Sunday. On Saturday of that weekend, a man would drive across my city on a murderous rampage killing people at random, including a father and son 1/2 mile from our home. This little baby had appeared during a time of chaos and mourning. I carried the secret of him throughout visitations and a memorial service, finally revealing him to my family after the funeral was over. There were tears. Tears of joy this time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 was our number. We had always wanted 3 children and our plan was always to move to a bigger house and get one kid to kindergarten before having another one. 3 kids in daycare is </span><i>expensive</i><span class="">, y'all. I remember that Friday morning in February staring at 2 pink lines on that pregnancy test. "Hello, baby." I took a moment to mark the occasion. It was the first of the lasts. This would be the last time I anxiously waited for the results of pregnancy test, these would be the last 2 pink lines I would ever see. This moment would begin a series of lasts that I would mark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My pregnancy progressed through the winter, a hazy, sleepy, nausea- filled few months which eventually melted into spring when I began to feel like myself again. I was back on blood thinners- 1 shot/day injected right into my belly. This was in response to a pre-existing condition that makes me more susceptible to blood clots, as I learned during my 2nd pregnancy when I developed them in my right calf. And as painful as those shots can be, they were again marked as a "last time" inconvenience that was keeping the baby and me safe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Summer came and the big moment- the 20 week ultrasound. When you're pregnant for the 3rd time and you have 2 boys, it's safe to say that the pressure is on to have that elusive girl. We got asked constantly if this was our attempt to have a daughter or if we were hoping for a girl. Of course we would have loved a daughter, but I truly believe that you receive the children you are meant to receive. I'm sure one day I'll know precisely why these 3 boys chose me, but there isn't one part of me that feels that my family is incomplete without a daughter. I love my Three Amigos!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>Our birth announcement</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The ultrasound showed a healthy, thriving baby boy. "There's the scrotum!" is literally the first sentence ever directed at my son. I need to make sure that's captured here...for posterity's sake. You had a good looking scrotum, son.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Jack and Will had come up with several nicknames for their brother early in my pregnancy, but Kiwi is the one that stuck. It was perfect as we tend to make small, hairy babies that probably resemble kiwi fruit. I learned an interesting fact about kiwi birds during my pregnancy. The small kiwi bird lays one of the largest eggs in the bird world- taking up 20% of her body! I will get back to the kiwi bird later on as I very much empathized with her in the last week of my pregnancy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>Damn</i>.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nestled inside of me, he escorted his brother to the first day of kindergarten,he was with me at countless work meetings and conference calls and finally, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kiwi and mama made it to October- baby month. B</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">y the 2nd week in October, I was feeling pretty much exactly how this kiwi bird mother feels. The baby had dropped significantly and his head was like a round cork wedged into my pelvis rendering me barely able to walk. I knew he was coming, he had to be coming, I felt that if I sneezed too hard he would come shooting out of me like a pinball with my uterus acting like some over aggressive paddles. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On Friday, October 14th, I worked from home, doing meetings over the phone. By the afternoon, contractions had started coming in more regular intervals, somewhere between 15 and 2o minutes apart. That night, I slept upright on the couch because mama kiwi could no longer sleep in any sort of comfortable position. At 4:30 in the morning of Saturday October 15th, a contraction woke me up. 5 minutes later, another...and another...and another. I tracked them for an hour. 5 minutes apart, each lasting 1 minute. I called the doctor at 6am and she told me to come in. Unlike my first 2 labors, this one came on more gradually so Trevor and I had to time for showers and could drive to the hospital at a normal pace, which is not to say that when I had one foot out the door and he stopped to make himself some coffee, I wasn't a twinge bit annoyed. In my defense, I will just say...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We got to triage and I gowned up. A moment of your time to discuss hospital gowns. Who in the actual hell designed them? "They close in the back" is what every nurse tells you. First of all, what piece of clothing ever made buttons in the back? Even zippers in the back are a pain, often requiring someone else to help you with them. But a hospital gown with 800 snaps and 2 strings for tying is some kind of evil altogether. You know who wears hospital gowns? Sick people. And pregnant people. People who ain't got time for this. They gave me the gown and had me go pee in a cup. Peeing in a cup while contracting is, in a word, awkward. Clean catch no less. Wipe yourself, pee in the toilet, but don't pee all the way, catch the remaining pee in a cup, don't get the cup dirty or drop the cup while your body is contracting and a 7-10 lb human is suspended upside down in your stomach making it so you can barely reach your arm under your pee stream or see what's happening. Clean catch peeing in a cup while contracting in a hospital gown that is falling apart has got to be the reason why people birth their babies at home in a bathtub. The whole ordeal just really sets you off on the wrong foot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After cleanly catching my pee, they did an exam. I was at 3cm. I would have said "CHECK AGAIN" but a cervical exam isn't something you desire more than is absolutely necessary. But as contractions were consistent, they kept me in the triage bed for a couple more hours to see how things progressed. After another check, I had progressed to 5cm so I was finally admitted. Our room had a view of downtown. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The sun had come up which was odd. My first two deliveries happened at night. It was nice laboring in the light of day. It's odd, but you feel more connected to life during the day- to the hum of people moving about their day, to cars passing by, to people on their way to work.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The Making Strides for Breast Cancer walk was happening that day and I caught glimpses of people decked out in pink. The sky was gray and overcast which only served to make the autumn trees that much lovelier. The bright reds and oranges had exploded and I took it all in as my body ran through the motions of preparing for the birth of our son. "This is the last time I'll be in a bed like this. This is the last time I'll have to wrestle with a hospital gown during contractions." I took in the sights and sounds of that room to imprint them in my mind as the last chapter of pregnancy was being written.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By early afternoon I was still stuck at 5cm. Not that I wanted one of those hyper dramatic birth stories where the 3rd baby was born in a car because it all happened so fast, but I had convinced myself that after 2 pretty quick labors, the 3rd would have to be wicked fast. It was wicked alright, but I'll get to that in a minute. I remember distinctly the silence of the room. Trevor softly flipping the pages of his book, the woosh-woosh-woosh of the heart rate monitor counting my baby's beats. I watched the world from outside of my window move along throughout its day so unaware of the major event that was about to take place inside of this room. I relished the silence, something a mom of young kids doesn't get too often. I thought about my cousin and his wife. I felt their presence in the room with me as clear as anything. Len's wife Heather was an ultrasound sonographer. I imagined her standing by my bed coaching me through it, herself the mom to 4 kids, she had been there and she had seen her share of nervous pregnant women laying beside her equipment. I felt them both in the room with me and it made me glad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dr. Carly Davis, soft spoken, young and kind came into the room asking if I would be open to having her break my water to help move things along. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was, she did...holy hell, oh dear God, oh sweet baby Jesus. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She broke my water. Not much water came out. Remember that skull cork that was burrowed into my pelvis? Yeah, it was pretty much clogging up the works. So after the water broke, his head was like a dam keeping everything backed up. And then, the contractions started- unyielding, intense, agonizing. With every contraction, I could feel his head crammed into my cervix like someone taking a combat boot and stomping on a bruise. I had passed up an epidural, again, thinking that it would go quickly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">NOPE.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After an hour of combat boot on a bruised cervix type agony, I was only at 6cm. So at that point, feeling like I was having an out of body experience, I asked for pain relief. Enter the anesthesiologist. One thing to know about anesthesiologists, especially during labor is that they stride into the room like Golden Gods on invisible chariots. They know that they are the most welcome sight in the world. They go through the motions asking you questions that you can barely breathe enough to answer. You are asked to sit on the edge of your bed and curl your back into a "C" shape. Remember, baby's head was pressing so hard on me, that sitting on the edge of a rock hard hospital bed puts pressure on all sides of you. He gave it his first attempt. "There's blood in the catheter, I'll have to try again, I hit a blood vessel." "Whaaa-- u mean--uhhh--not working?" is what I think I managed to gasp out. What follows is a summary of the attempts made at inserting the epidural:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Attempt #1: NOPE</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Attempt #2: NOPE...but with all assurances from the doc that he had never not gotten this to work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Attempt #3: NOPE...but hey, now that I've got you to the point of delirium on this bed curled up into a "C", drenched in sweat, shall we give it the old 4th college try? </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At some point during the 40 minutes this was all taking, I remember Trevor asking the nurse to wipe my brow. I was sweating and digging my fingers into his shoulders as he sat on a chair facing me on the bed. He probably still has claw marks. He is amazing in every way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Attempt #4: Success? I add the ? because it was in, I was asked to lay back down, they put the smallest bit of what's called a loading dose to test it out, but by then it was time to push. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was stabbed 4 times in the back on the Ides of October. Trevor and I discussed this poetic injustice later that day once the healing could begin...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="">You know it's time to push because it feels like you're about to take the biggest dump of your life, I'm sorry but there is literally no other way to explain this. I yelled out "I have to push!!" And without the benefit of any pain relief, Dr. Davis was called into the room, gowned up, gloves on, ready to catch this baby. I gave it a push. It was really a garbage push, I knew I could do better, but I was feeling like I was on the last leg of a 100 mile uphill mud run. I tried again and gave it everything like the labor and delivery champion I knew I was. It was happening, he was coming out. One more gigantic, </span><i><span class="">get this kiwi egg out of me</span></i><span class="">, push and his head was out. I know it seems strange to be very aware of this particular moment, but remember- I was counting lasts. And I remembered the last push. By the time baby's head was out, he was crying. Trevor confirmed this for me. His head popped out and he was already wailing! One last push, one last time for this pain, this agony and this incredible moment would happen for me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Shoulders, torso, legs and he was free. 4:08pm, not many milestones are marked to the minute, but that was when our family was made complete. Trevor cut the cord and just like that, he was here, he had a birthday, he was ours. A</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> very quick towel off and he was quickly moved onto my chest for skin to skin contact and connection. As with every other moment like this, the tears flowed freely, but this time I didn't just cry for joy at meeting my baby. Remember how I felt that Len and Heather were in the room for me? After 8 months of the reality of losing them, I finally let all of that go. This baby's entire existence had been book-ended by tragedy. One week after finding out I was pregnant, my cousin and his family were gone and one week before this baby was born, Trevor lost his cousin, Kristy, very unexpectedly and tragically, something we haven't discussed much, but has weighed heavily on our hearts. Tragedy and joy were both intermingled in those tears that flowed that afternoon. I cried for joy, I let go of sadness that had been held on, buried deep so I could try to find the happiness for this new life. I let it all go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Happy birthday!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But we're not done yet! There was one thing I hadn't quite let go of. The placenta still wedged in me! Yes, the life giving, amazing, and heavy ass placenta. Dr. Davis sat at the bottom of my bed holding the umbilical cord like a kid holding the string of a balloon that had just popped. Oh yeah, I thought, I need to get </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">this </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">thing out too! I couldn't really feel the contractions, not because of the epidural, remember that was doing nothing for me, but I was just too overcome. But yep, ok, there was the contraction I was waiting for and out she came and that, my friends, was almost a bigger relief that the 7 lb human who has preceded it. And that was it. The last of the lasts when it came to childbirth. As I held this warm, squishy baby on my chest, I had the sublimely happy feeling that our family was complete. This baby was the exclamation mark on our family and the reason we all got through the ups and downs of 2016.</span><br />
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<span class=""><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After the euphoria of childbirth begins to subside, you realize that you're more hungry than you've ever been in your life. Hospitals don't let you eat anything while you're in labor. I did manage to devour 2 popsicles though which were amazing. I hadn't eaten anything real in over 20 hours. I ordered a hamburger from room service. It was a blackened hockey puck wedged between Gordon Food Service buns a sad tomato slice and a limp lettuce leaf. It was the most delicious, amazing, incredible hamburger I've ever had in my life. I inhaled it, all the while gazing over the tray at my baby boy laying in his crib. It was the first time in 9 months, he wasn't inside of or on top of me. It was a beautiful view.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Happy birthday to my baby who was born on Sweetest Day; my baby who was soon to be named.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What's in a name? I'm going to explain the genesis of Teddy's name which I fear will sound very silly when it's all typed out, but I don't care, he's perfectly named for who he is to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All of my life I have had a deep affection and connection to bears. Keep in mind, I'm a person who really doesn't love animals. I never grew up with pets, hate zoos, but just really love bears. I've had teddy bears all of my life. I've had bears as stuffed animals, art prints and knick knacks. I identify very much with bear mothers who protect their cubs to the end. So for me, bears are comforting, especially teddy bears. During what has been a very, very difficult year, my baby was a source of comfort, safety, happiness and connection to the wonderful things life has to offer if you're open to receiving them. He was always my teddy bear, the thing I quite literally slept with and held on to during tough times.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not wanting to limit him to being a Teddy or Ted all of his life, Trevor and I discussed Theodore, Edwin or Edward. We landed on Edward as our favorite of the three and we later learned that Edward is Trevor's grandpa Jack's middle name. Perfect. Jack Stefanick was a teddy bear himself being a very loving man who happened to be a large animal vet in PA. Doubtful he ever helped a bear, but he would have if one had happened into his practice!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Teddy's middle name was always known to us. Lenox. Lenox is a combination of Leonard "Len" after my cousin and grandfather and Trevor's grandpa Rex Lee, a fighter himself who's had his own share of bad health lately but who stays resilient in spirit and mind even when his body can't keep up. Edward Lenox pays homage to men who mean so much to Trevor and I and whose spirits, I know are held deep within their great-grandson/cousin.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">"Loved by my family"<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My mom has said that 3rd babies are a gift to the whole family. That has been absolutely true for us. Jack and Will adore their baby brother. They probably love him a little too much at times, I worry that they'll be like Lenny and the rabbits from "Of Mice and Men", but Teddy is used to noise and chaos. When I was pregnant, his brothers would blow raspberries on my belly and yell "hi Kiwi"! Noise does not faze this child one bit. I couldn't wait for the boys to meet their brother. Trevor left the hospital Saturday evening to go bring the boys to see us. Teddy had "purchased" big brother gifts for his brothers which we gave to them at the hospital. People ask how the boys have taken to Teddy. Let me tell you, these boys have been totally hooked up. Being big brothers is a very lucrative business, they have definitely received more gifts than their baby brother. How could they be anything but pleased at this little cash cow baby? But as these photos show, their love for Teddy is sincere, deep, and profound. In the immortal words of Maria Von Trapp- "somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I always knew my birth stories would end in a trilogy. Teddy is our Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The birth of my last child was my last crusade, the very last time I would embark on the long journey necessary to bring new life into the world based on this crazy idea that the genetic combination that is Trevor and me would bring something good into the world. That's been my crusade for almost 6 years, which is how long we've been parents. It's been our crusade to raise these little men to be loving and compassionate, curious and brave. So now we wait. Jack, Will and Teddy are in the world and we're pretty confident, the world is all better for it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So that's my birth story, the story of how the most difficult year of my life yielded the sweetest gift. In the summer of my life, the autumn baby came to town and turned this upside down year back on its feet. He is a gift to our family and he'll be a gift to the world. In the words of the great Lin-Manuel Miranda in his song "Dear Theodosia" from this little Broadway show you might have heard about called <i>Hamilton, </i>he and Leslie Odom, Jr sing the words of every new parent.</span><br />
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<i style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm dedicating every day to you</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Domestic life, was never quite my style</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart</i><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="background-color: white;">And I thought I was so smart<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />You will come of age with our young nation<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />If we lay a strong enough foundation<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />We’ll pass it on to you, we’ll give the world to you<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And you’ll blow us all away…<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Someday, someday<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Yeah, you’ll blow us all away.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I love you Teddy, you will most definitely blow us all away.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Love, Mom</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>The trilogy baby. There will be no Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull kid...</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-12734933091092836292016-09-09T22:10:00.002-04:002016-09-09T22:10:55.721-04:00Beginnings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I remember this day so well. It was the end of summer, 2011 on the shore of Lake Michigan. The wind was whipping through my hair and within a few minutes, Jack was asleep in my arms. I wondered what he thought as we stood at the edge of that great lake. It seemed so big and he seemed so small and I can remember the feeling of his tiny hand clinging to my shirt as he slowly nodded off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This morning was Day 3 of Kindergarten. We got to school early and walked over to the playground, Jack in his new Sketchers Memory Foam sneakers ("they give me good memories") and his Pokemon backpack on his back. I saw his dark brown eyes dart around at the throngs of kids running and jumping. We walked around the edge of the playground in silence until he whispered "there are a lot of big kids here." We decided to wait near the door for the bell, his hand slowly slipping into mine. We walked to his classroom, put his backpack and lunch away and just as I was about to leave, the tears started spilling onto his cheeks. "Don't leave," he whispered. We walked out into the hallway and I knelt down to his level and just like this photo taken 5 years ago, he rested his head on my shoulder, tiny hand clinging to my shirt while tears dropped onto my hair. I rubbed his head and kissed him. "I'm not good at kindergarten." "You will be," I assured him. I walked him back to his seat just as his teacher came over to give him a pep talk while I walked out of the room. The confident boy we picked up and dropped off at preschool last week had been replaced by a wide-eyed and fearful boy and I couldn't help but feel like I had left him on a vast shore all alone. The excitement of the first day of school had been replaced by a new awareness of everything that had changed.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A happy first day filled with excitement</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We've been through a lot of firsts with Jack. As our oldest, every one of his firsts is also our firsts as his parents. We go through every transition together, none of us completely knowing what to expect or how to feel. Sometimes I feel so ill equipped to see him through something new because I'm right there with him, trying to sort it all out and just hoping I'm not messing it up in the process. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A few weeks ago I heard the song "Closing Time" by Semisonic on the radio. I hadn't heard it in years. I learned some time ago that the song was actually written about the birth of a child. The lyric that stuck with me was this one- "<i>Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end</i>." I have to remind myself that our track record for getting through new beginnings is 100%- first teeth, first steps, first day at daycare, first day at preschool, a new brother, a new house and soon, another new brother. I remember the first day baby Jack and I toured his first daycare. Those little brown eyes darted all around then too. Daycare was a huge beginning, kindergarten is daycare's end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I told Trevor that we both need to buckle up for the autumn that lies ahead. This little family has been through so many changes this year and more are coming. "100% track record" is my new mantra.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But this week has come with a lot of unexpected joys- spending all day Tuesday with Jack since kindergarten started Wednesday. I took him out to breakfast after we toured his classroom and met his new teacher. At breakfast, he played barista requesting that I swirl together Vanilla and Pumpkin creamer. I proclaimed it was absolutely delicious (to his great delight).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Wednesday was another morning spent together, getting him ready for his first day, buying him his favorite donut and standing nervously with the other parents around the edge of the classroom as we watched our babies become students.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I know that with time he'll get his sparkle back about school. He will make friends and find a love of learning. At the end of every day this week, he's had more happy memories to share than tough ones. He's growing and changing right before my eyes. Before too long, he'll be one of the big kids that look so intimidating to the kindergartners. I know all of this because he's our kid. He's the oldest child of two oldest children whose firsts were also their parents' firsts. Oldest children who found their way through life whose track record of getting through tough stuff is 100%.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But my favorite image of Jack from the summer of 2016 was taken by his dad on a field trip his preschool took to Western Michigan University. The field trip was to a geological exhibit, but Trevor and Jack took a detour to the massive auditorium on campus where Trevor used to work. Trevor captured this image of Jack up on the stage and while we'll never know what he was thinking in this moment, the image of my confident and thoughtful little boy brought a tear to my eye. I've kept this image close to my heart this week as the perfect illustration of how capable my boy is of facing big things. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tonight I told him that I knew he was going to be ok because he's my kid and I make brave, strong, and clever kids who will be awesome at kindergarten.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There will be so many new and vast shores, wind whipping, sand shifting beneath his feet and I won't be there for all of them, but I won't need to be. Jack has always known and will always know, that I am always behind him every step of the way. For all the beginnings and for their tearful, bittersweet, and inevitable ends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-14112077289748419622016-06-17T10:33:00.003-04:002016-06-17T21:08:40.921-04:00Push Away the UnimaginableAlexander Hamilton is having a moment these days as his political life is center stage in the ridiculously popular Broadway show <i>Hamilton: An American Musical</i>. In one particularly heart wrenching moment, Hamilton and his estranged wife reunite after the tragic and sudden death of their son. Their post-tragedy life is narrated in the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrsmUzqweBI&list=PLUSRfoOcUe4avCXPg6tPgdZzu--hBXUYx&index=40" target="_blank">song </a>"It's Quiet Uptown". Hamilton's sister-in-law opens the song:<br />
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<i>There are moments that the words don't reach</i></div>
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<i>There is suffering too terrible to name</i></div>
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<i>You hold your child as tight as you can</i></div>
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<i>And push away the unimaginable</i></div>
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<i>The moments when you're in so deep</i></div>
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<i>It feels easier to just swim down.</i></div>
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If you are lucky, you will never find a tragedy that strikes your family covered by the media, leaving you wide open and vulnerable to the opinions and assumptions of the world wide web. I lived through that in February when I lost my <a href="http://lovethislittlefamily.blogspot.com/2016/02/len.html" target="_blank">cousin</a> Len, his wife, and their four children in a tragic accident in their home, a carbon monoxide leak that swiftly and quietly took each of their lives. </div>
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It didn't take long. It didn't take long at all for the internet comment sections to explode with armchair quarterbacks who unequivocally asserted that such a tragedy could never, would never happen to them and they couldn't imagine how it could happen to anyone for that matter. They couldn't comprehend, probably refused to comprehend that the names in the article were people who had an extended family and friends who would replay every moment that led up to that night; how any one of them would have filled that house to the brim with carbon monoxide detectors, would have swept up every person in that house during that storm when the winds howled and the lights went out and brought them to their own homes where there was light and warmth and safety.</div>
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I have seen the same thing play out in the news when a 4 year old climbed into a gorilla enclosure at a zoo, when 5 cyclists were quite literally mowed down and killed by an erratic driver in my hometown, to a much larger scale when the gun control debate roared back to life after the Orlando massacre, and most recently when a 2 year old was taken by an alligator at a Disney World resort beach. One common refrain...</div>
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<i>Not me. Never me. Someone else. I'm smarter, savvier, more diligent, more alert, more prepared than [ ]</i></div>
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And then we collectively push away the unimaginable...</div>
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<i>If she had kept her eye on her son. If only the cyclists had been on a trail. If only more people had guns. If she had read the signs. </i></div>
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<i>If only he had installed a carbon monoxide detector. If only that generator had been outside.</i></div>
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If only.</div>
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Social media and media in general has been made available to everyone, but I don't think it's designed for everyone. I've seen my friends grow increasingly anxious and nervous about how they work, how they parent, how they love their spouses, the world around them, the dangers, the risks, the pain. I worry about that for myself too. To this day, since Aurora, I have never been able to sit in a dark movie theatre without scanning the room for the nearest exit and who looks out of place, who's sitting alone, who shouldn't be there. And here I sit, 22 weeks pregnant with another child I'm bringing into a world that no longer offers me a peaceful night at the movies. What business do I have bringing more life into this world? A child that I'll fear for in a zoo or on a beach in Florida or farther into the future, in his elementary school, on a bike or in a club? That's the soul of a woman, isn't it? For centuries we've brought babies into worlds filled with war, inequality, slavery, violence and life keeps on flowing and we do our best to equip our babies for what's ahead and then we let them go. Women have been doing the <i>unimaginable </i>since women have been on earth.</div>
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In October when this baby boy comes, I will have successfully divided my heart in three pieces and sent it out into the world where I am no longer guardian of it. Becoming a parent seems like the most <i>unimaginable </i>task you could undertake and parents who have lost children like my aunt and uncle would do and have done anything to prevent anyone else from going through that same <a href="https://www.facebook.com/thequasaranoproject/?fref=ts" target="_blank">pain</a>. Whenever I see my uncle, I look into his eyes. They've changed. I see him searching for joy in whatever place he's in and when he finds it, and he laughs, his eyes crinkle up at the sides and the sound of his laugh fills the space with the spirit of his son. He tells Len's story with every laugh, every goofy joke, and every hug. When the laughter subsides, the glimmer in those eyes fades and I can see him shift and adjust to once again be the soul of where he stands and simply be present for all of us in his company. He steels himself, braces himself for the wave of grief that may crash upon him at any moment. But he stays present, he stays in the moment because for the moment he allows himself a bit of joy.</div>
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I imagine my ancestors spending nearly the whole of their lives in the same small village or town, being sheltered from anything going on anywhere else. Current events were limited to the square footage of that space. Tragedies were balanced by the fact that most days were uneventful, boring even. I fast forward to today. If you look for it, you'll find tragedy in every second of the day. The internet has exposed us to every sadness, death, war, and inequality and when we let them all in it quite literally envelops us in despair. It's crippling. <i>The moments when you're in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down. </i>I don't blame us one bit from trying to distance ourselves from tragedy. Our brains can't possibly process the sheer volume of sadness this world throws at us.</div>
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It's here that you might expect me to tell you to go out and look for the goodness in the world, go find the heartwarming stories, look for the helpers. Make no mistake, when you look for the bad you'll find it and when you look for the good you'll find that too. But what if you stopped looking for either? Look for only the good, you'll forget that people are still suffering, the world is in need; look for only the bad, you'll forget that the world is filled to the brim with caring people influencing change. My advice? Stop looking for either. Wherever you are, be like my Uncle Phil. Be the heart of that space and hold that space with the people who share it with you. Then build strong and sturdy boundaries that allow you to stay informed, but keep you grounded, prevent you from being crippled by fear or delusion. Turn off the TV, set down the phone and go put your bare feet in the grass and remember that you are a passenger of this earth in this time, for better or worse and do your part to make it better.</div>
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This weekend, we'll take our boys to the drive-in movie theatre to see <i>Finding Dory,</i> we'll do a normal family thing on a normal night surrounded by other families escaping to the movies. Hopefully for the span of time we share together, we'll all forget about the sadness, about the pain that wraps this world up like a thick black cloak. We'll hold space together under the stars watching a movie together. As the sun goes down, Trevor will point out the constellations to the boys, we'll look for shooting stars, I'll look for signs of my cousin, I see them everywhere.</div>
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In the movie <i>Finding Nemo,</i> this sweet and brief exchange sums up parenting quite perfectly:</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.32px;">Marlin: I promised I'd never let anything happen to him.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.32px;">Dory: Hmm. That's a funny thing to promise.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.32px;">Marlin: What?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.32px;">Dory: Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. Not much fun for little Harpo.</span></span></span></div>
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We can't promise our children that nothing will ever happen to them without preventing anything from happening to them. So we do our best, we love them, we teach them and then we let them go. Unimaginable? Yes. But we do it and life keeps flowing on.</div>
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And we all just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.</div>
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Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-62210181038176804602016-05-07T09:08:00.002-04:002016-05-07T09:11:44.067-04:00When I See Me in YouWhen all you want is to be snuggled<br />
I see me in you.<br />
We share a need for closeness and affection.<br />
We want to be sure of those we love.<br />
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When we sing together at night<br />
I see me in you.<br />
You have a song in your heart,<br />
And we both love The Carpenters.<br />
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When you strut around in your Darth Vader cape<br />
I see me in you.<br />
It's the complex characters we love<br />
Which is why I married dad.<br />
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When you cheer up your brother<br />
I see me in you.<br />
Our glass is half full<br />
And we're always willing to share.<br />
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When you eat chocolate ice cream<br />
I see me in you.<br />
We get most of it on our lips and chin,<br />
Sweet Wooly Willies.<br />
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When you do funny voices<br />
I see me in you.<br />
The world is your stage<br />
And you live for applause.<br />
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And then there are days when<br />
I see you in me.<br />
When I battle you with light sabers<br />
Or find Easter Eggs that you hid.<br />
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On the day you turned 3<br />
I saw me in you.<br />
Shyly clutching my face while we sang,<br />
Reveling in adoration.<br />
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If you ever lose yourself,<br />
You will find you in me.<br />
In my smile, in my laugh,<br />
In my chocolate covered chin.<br />
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I know when I'm lost<br />
I will find me in you.<br />
My tiny harbor, my sweet guidepost,<br />
My amazing reflection.<br />
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<br />Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-43399280776504345772016-02-22T15:26:00.000-05:002016-02-23T09:01:01.989-05:00Len<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last year, I blogged about the loss of two dear friends, taken far before their time was done on earth. Writing helped me process and helped me grieve. On February 21, my father called me sobbing. His first words were "I have terrible news." He asked if I was sitting down. I told him I was. Through tears he told me that my beloved cousin Leonard, his wife Heather, and their 4 beautiful young children had passed away due to a carbon monoxide leak in their home over the weekend. I can count on 1 finger, the amount of times in my life that I have burst into tears. I have wept over the loss of those I love, but my body has always taken time to process before tears could spring into my eyes. But on February 21, I burst into tears. My entire body shook so hard I almost dropped the phone. Len. Len is gone. Len's family is gone. My uncle discovered them. Unfathomable does not come close. Through the fog of grief, I have to remember the Len I knew, the Len I grew up with, and the Len who loved me with a devotion only known to big Italian families like ours. This is my Len.</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Leonard was one of my first best friends. I've said that a lot as I've memorialized him, but it's true. Memories of him stretch back as far as I can remember. As children we were obsessed with The Mickey Mouse Club. I was Annette and he was Cubby. We would watch old black and white episodes of the show in my tiny house in Redford. We would lay under a long, wooden coffee table with a blanket draped over it. Our own little fort. Afterward, we'd pretend we were Mousketeers and sing and dance around the living room. There are recordings of us singing together. Two of his greatest hits were a song about Spring and a song about a Skunk. Leonard clearly loved nature.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Len and I were named for our grandparents and in many ways we were carbon copies of our namesakes. Len was goofy, full of jokes and puns just like our grandpa and I was (am) a spitfire like our grandma. We spent so much time together as kids growing up outside of Detroit, #1 and #2 of what would eventually be 23 grandchildren. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">We were ring bearer and flower girl in our aunt and uncle's wedding. I remember twirling around my grandparent's house in my flower girl dress. Len was less impressed by his tiny gray tuxedo. When the big moment came and we stood at the end of the aisle, ready to walk down, Len was frozen. Some combination of cold feet with a dash of stubbornness kept him standing still at the end of the aisle. So I did what any spitfire named Nancy would have done, I physically dragged him down that aisle. Refusing to let go of his arm, I got that boy to the altar, all the while keeping my beautiful navy silk flower wreath perfectly attached to my head. 10 years later, that same aunt and uncle would ask us to be godparents to their son Joseph.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Len was a renaissance man, at once, incredibly gifted in all things tech, like his father, but also absolutely content growing up in his family's country home on beautiful tree-filled acreage, far away from any city. Every fall, their family would host a hoe-down with a huge bonfire, tractor rides, and of course, buckets and buckets of pasta. Len greeted each cousin, aunt or uncle with his signature bear hug. He would smile with his whole face at the sight of you. He was soft-spoken, humble, and loving. Was? Can I really be talking about Len in the past tense. I can't. He </span><i style="background-color: white;">is </i><span style="background-color: white;">all of those things. He </span><i style="background-color: white;">is </i><span style="background-color: white;">all of those things.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">In high school, little Annette and Cubby took to the stage. In a great coincidence, Len and I were both cast in the musical Bye Bye Birdie in our respective high schools a year apart. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He played Albert and I played Rosie. I remember making the drive from Holt to Linden to see him. He was wonderful, of course. After the show, he pulled me onstage and we did a duet together from the show. The song was "Rosie" and one of the lyrics is, "Now my life is rosy, since I found my Rosie." He changed Rosie to Nancy and we sang and danced together just fumbling through made up choreography. That's Len. Even in his big moment, he made it about family. He wanted to multiply the joy. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.32px;">Len and Heather's story was one filled with love and mutual admiration. As the story goes, Heather's sister Rhonda met Len by chance. He was wearing a T-shirt with a Bible verse and believing him to be someone with shared values, she asked him if he was single. Thinking Rhonda to be quite beautiful, Len was all too happy to answer "YES." She quickly pointed out that the question was on behalf of her sister. To Len's great joy, Heather was her <i>identical twin </i>sister so by nature, also incredibly</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.32px;"> beautiful. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 19.32px;">Len was the first of us to get married. Len getting married was big. All of a sudden we were grown ups! His wedding day was beautiful and Len was beaming. I promise you, this time, nobody had to drag him down the aisle. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.32px;">Heather is a woman who I admire so much. As a working mom, finding role models can be hard. Heather managed to foster a career as an ultrasound technologist while raising 4 gentle, loving, and playful children. She was a perfect match for Len. They complemented each other in the most beautiful ways. Theirs was a love that brought so much joy into the world. Luke was the second great-grandchild in the family (after my sweet nephew Tommy) I remember holding him at Christmastime sitting next to Len on our grandparent's couch while Len just beamed. Len and Heather (Leather, as they affectionately referred to themselves) loved their children with a strong devotion. We all celebrated each new Quasarano that came into the world because a Leather Q was one to celebrate.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.32px;">Memories swirl around my head- our family cruise in 2002, less than a year after Len married the love of his life. Along with my brother Tom, we all explored San Juan Puerto Rico together. I remember standing on the shores of the beach with Len, our toes buried in the sand. Len gazed out into the surf, the picture of someone whose happiness had been hard fought and hard won. Len's childhood was complicated. All of ours were. But Len's tenacity at carving out and sustaining his own happiness is what drove him to be the man he was, the man we loved so greatly. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.32px;">Spring is just around the corner. Last weekend, in fact, was quite beautiful; our first glimpse into the season that waits just on the other side of the gray. I mentioned one of Len's favorite songs was about Spring. The song, which we always called "Your Feet Go Skipping" went like this:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The air is warm and the sky is blue,</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The leaves are green-yellow because they are new!</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Your feet go skipping, the birds all sing,</span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The whole world is happy because it is Spring.</span></i></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Those 4 little lines capture the absolute essence of Len's spirit. His was one of great optimism and faith. His warmth, positivity and love of life was contagious. He is in the background of so many of my most cherished childhood memories. My little thumb-sucking cousin grew up to be a man of faith, of joy and of great talent. He prided himself on being a man of God. Let me tell you, if God is anything like Len, we are loved and cared for more than we could ever imagine.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I also mentioned that he was fond of singing a song about a skunk, which goes like this:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I'm a little stri-ped skunk</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Sleeping under someone's bunk</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>No one likes to sleep with me</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>'Cause I'm stinky as can be!</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And there you have it, the other side of Len. The goofy, boyish side of him that loved a good or bad pun. He would sing this song and we would giggle and wave our hands in front of our noses imagining a poor stri-ped skunk stuck sleeping on the floor.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Spring is a season of hope. God knows we need that now. Len, I will look for you in the spring. I will look for you in the playful, rowdy squirrels who dig through my grass and stuff their cheeks and I'll look for you in the green-yellow new leaves. I will look for Heather in the blossoms about to poke out of the ground into the light. I will seek out your children in the laughter of my own as I look at them with new and grateful eyes. I will look for you and I know I'll find you all. Your very essence is entwined with my own. Look out for me too, sweet cousin. Nobody in the world will ever greet me the way you did- eyes sparkling, arms outstretched with a loud and joyful "NAAAAAANCE!!!! Cousin!!!!" </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think you always knew how much I loved you. How proud of you I am. Your happiness was the result of all of your hard work. The legacy of your family will live on. Your light, your joy, and your spirits live on long after you're gone. I will see you all on the other side sweet, sweet family. Kiss your namesake for me. I know he's holding and kissing the grandchildren he never got to meet in this lifetime.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="background-color: white;">PS- Thank you for sending the sunshine just now. It started pouring through our windows. I wasn't sure how to stop writing, how to say good bye. You showed me that I don't have to. You're here. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hi Len. </span></span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-15717518214070840382016-01-08T08:49:00.001-05:002016-01-08T12:30:21.391-05:00Blink<div style="text-align: left;">
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*Blink*</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">9 months later, there you were,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">my 5 pound warm and wriggly baby.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew 9 months could go by so quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were a speck of a person, so tiny and delicate,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">you fit right into your dad's hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my muse, the gift which unlocked</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">a sea of emotions and thoughts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Blink*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">12 weeks later and back to work,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">my heart felt outside of my chest for a long time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew 12 weeks could go by so quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were stronger then, but still so small,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">you fit into the crook of my arm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my motivation, the reason for my success</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and the one who I longed to be proud of me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my inspiration.</span><br />
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*Blink*</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1 year old and a birthday celebration,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">with a single glowing candle for a wish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew 1 year could go by so quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were strong and sturdy, eyes darting all around,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">out of our arms and onto the ground you sprang.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my joy, the simplest love I'd ever known</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and the benefactor of all my wishes and hopes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my dream come true.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Blink*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2 years old and a cyclone came to town,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">with your mischievous grin and constant motion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew 2 years could go by so quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were fast and eager, racing across hardwood,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">when crawling gave way to sprints.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my curiosity, the mystery I tried to solve</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and the puzzle I longed to piece together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my jolt of energy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Blink*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">3 years old with a new brother by your side,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">when the laughter and tears were multiplied by two.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew 3 years could go by so quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were stubborn and tenacious, lost in your daydreams,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">when the world was your kingdom and you were its king.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my pirate, my superhero</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and I saw new worlds because of you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my imagination.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Blink*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">4 years old with a pebble in your pocket,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and a smile that lit up a city block.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew 4 years could go by so quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were playful and sensitive, articulate to your feelings,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">whether your days were "fun" or "rough", you always let me in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my companion, my buddy,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">whose smile made me believe that everything would be alright.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were my compass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Blink*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">5 years old on the shore of a great ocean called life,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">standing with an open heart and a dazzling mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew 5 years could go by so quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You are brilliant and wise, so capable of everything,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I stand in awe of any part of you that is me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You are my baby, my firstborn, my loveliest prize,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">who makes time stand still and sail rapidly all at once.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You are my Jack.</span><br />
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Footnote, January 7, 2016, 8:00am...</i><br />
<i><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In the blink of an eye we are standing outside of the car, </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">parked outside your preschool in the wintry air. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I scoop you up and hold you. You let me. We stand there frozen in the early morning light. Your feet touch my shins but your head nestles into my neck. You're silent which is rare for you these days. So in silence we stand there on the snowy curb. I whispered in your ear, "I'm so proud of you my boy, I'm so very proud of you". I remember that same head full of hair nestled into my neck 5 years ago for the first time. We stand there holding space until your brother yells out from inside the car, "MamaMamaMama" And the silence is broken in the best way it can be. I set you down on the ground, we go to get Will and all three of us walk into school, an ordinary moment in an extraordinary day.</span></i></i><br />
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Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-19099189347277269872015-12-14T18:08:00.001-05:002016-06-17T21:13:49.409-04:00Goodbye Southern Avenue<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2015 was the year that Nancy sold her house. The house that was a physical manifestation of all of her hard work; her professional accomplishments; her sacrifices as a working mom; and her heart. It was the home to her children. It was a welcoming space where everyone who entered became family. It was a house filled with music and memories. Not many people could appreciate what leaving that house meant for her. Of course it was time to go. The house no longer suited her needs and it was time for a new family to come make new memories and play new music. Not many people could understand what it felt like for her to see the For Sale sign posted up in the yard, and when an offer came in, no one knew why she resisted before signing that offer. No one could truly understand what signing that offer meant. No one could, but I can.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Nancy in that story isn't me. It's my grandma who sold her home this summer after decades of love and life filled those rooms. Now her namesake is processing all of her same emotions, sorting through bittersweet feelings of what leaving this house means. Today is the last day that this house belongs to me. Tomorrow at 11am we close on this house. What a fitting word- "close". That's truly what it is. It's a closing of a chapter, the closing of one door to make room to open a new one.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was the summer of 2006. I was succeeding professionally and personally. I had met the love of my life performing in a show and was gaining recognition and promotions at work. I was months away from finishing a Masters degree and life was good. In Kalamazoo, a new program called the Promise had been announced. Any student who went through KPS for their entire education would receive a full scholarship to any public Michigan university. I realized that my life was in Kalamazoo so maybe it was time to put down roots.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnhn77Lzzcuszj62W1U4S4Yfk2K1VabbavSgCwef6nL27_GFXDB5roC3LmwfvnuLPlA8_CpBweNzkT2rgYGB3hNW-i26HRYOJPQhBPDt2wjxgbAJw_hw9439YkFvV_ziHfj_ssUZCiQqy/s1600/1334+Southern+new-1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnhn77Lzzcuszj62W1U4S4Yfk2K1VabbavSgCwef6nL27_GFXDB5roC3LmwfvnuLPlA8_CpBweNzkT2rgYGB3hNW-i26HRYOJPQhBPDt2wjxgbAJw_hw9439YkFvV_ziHfj_ssUZCiQqy/s400/1334+Southern+new-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I fell in love with my house the minute I saw it. The same can be said of my husband. I knew I would marry him the night we met. I've never been one to overthink much in my life and my house was no exception. The sweet Cape Cod with the stone front had a cherry tree and Japanese maple in the front yard. The house I grew up in had stones out front and it took me back to those days, riding my bike out front of my childhood home. I told my mom I found my "mini-Woodworth".</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After entering through a front storm door I was greeted by an arched wooden door painted green. I swore Bilbo Baggins would be on the other side of that door. It was a magical door. That Thanksgiving, Trevor and I would take our engagement photo in front of it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I walked the rooms and just knew it was my house. In the late summer of that year it officially became mine. I was a homeowner. There is no way to distill 9 years into one blog post. If you've been to my house, you know that it was a house filled to the brim with laughter, love, and happiness. I think in some ways it was always just my house. Trevor came along to look at houses with me, but it was my purchase alone. It was a house to my tastes. Eventually he moved in and a few years later we added two giggling, rambunctious boys. We knew after Will was born that the clock had started ticking on our time there. Our neighborhood is one of the most beloved places for people to buy their first home in the area. Our neighborhood is for people starting out or starting over and we are neither of those things anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was for sale for 6 months before we got an offer. I'm grateful for that time to enjoy one last summer on our little corner lot watching the boys play outside and watching Jack ride his bike around the driveway. We hired a friend to take photos of us inside our home to freeze this moment in time- this transition summer between living in the house that was mine and moving to the house that will be ours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In a sign that was too incredible to miss, we received an offer on this house on November 11, 9 years to the day that Trevor proposed to me. If I was waiting for a sign that a new chapter was beginning, this was it. As grateful as I am for how fortunate we are to be living this life, my heart is filled with the heaviness of this great transition. Today this house is mine, tomorrow it belongs to someone else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Everything I love most in this world is coming with me to the new house, but the view will be forever different. I have walked through the rooms in my house slowly and carefully, just like I did 9 years ago. If I close my eyes, I can hear the laughter that filled these rooms, like during the engagement party we held which also served as a housewarming party. I can hear our dear friend Linda reading aloud from a book written in the 1940s on "how to make love", a primer on love and dating. Linda's gone, but in my living room, I can hear her laughter. I direct my view to where our chaise lounge used to be placed and I can see my friend Adam crouched on the floor eating Taco Bell and watching YouTube videos on my old laptop. He's gone too, but in my living room I can hear him again. The living room walls are the same color they've been for 8 years when Trevor surprised me by painting them while I was away on a work trip. In the dining room, the floorboards creak the same way they did almost 5 years ago when I paced them back and forth while timing the contractions I was having before Jack was born. When I'm in my bedroom, I can look out the window to where there lilac bush is planted. It exploded in blossoms on the day we brought Will home from the hospital. In my basement, I can trace the place where Jack took his first, tentative, steps. In my kitchen I can remember crowds of friends standing around at cast parties discussing how amazing we were that night or all of the missteps we noticed. The view is going to change and I fear that those memories will be harder to recall when I can't be in this sacred, special place anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Feeling all mixed up, I called my grandma today. I told her I was moving. "That's so exciting!!" she rejoiced into the phone. She recalled for me all of the moves she made when my dad and his siblings were growing up. Decades later, she can recall those spaces. If she can recall them, then I know that I can too. My grandma's house may have served as a monument to her success, but we know that monuments fall. I think if you asked her, she'd say that hearing that her namesake has achieved the kind of personal and professional success that has allowed her to have choices in her life and make her mark on this world is the real legacy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I will miss this house more than I could have imagined. I walked the space today and on Wednesday when we say our final goodbye, I'll take some video to show the boys someday. While walking around the house I traced my fingers over the walls. I went to the front door where the first memory I have of this house took place. I hugged it. So help me God, I hugged a door. I hugged my door and cried. My tears dropped off of my cheeks and soaked into the door. My tears are now buried deep into that old wooden door. This house and I are forever linked, forever bonded. This house sheltered this little family for 9 years, how can I be anything other than grateful for it's walls and doors.. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thank you house. Thank you for being the setting of the most incredible decade of my life; thank you for the shelter; the warmth, the coziness. Thank you for your creakiness, your charm, your stones and your trees. Someday I'll bring the boys back to your front yard. I'll tell them that we're standing on holy ground. This house was their first house, the place where they learned to walk and talk. It was the place where I became Mrs. Stefanick and Mama. But for now, it's time for a new house and new memories. It's time for a house that's ours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The new house has a Japanese maple in the yard just like the one we're leaving behind. Soon, the new house will also have our love and laughter. Soon the new house will be our new home. I can't wait.</span></div>
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Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-85027352655061438692015-06-29T16:59:00.007-04:002024-02-06T13:54:33.880-05:00This Moment Brought to You by Shelby Offrink<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNT4SNiSiXCIkHOnH359hrRJkKy-ry3-I2byl3kRxKgF8qb77XEKg5X6wO_tv0r4zysHYf3tpHq84VtrwzA3BOFBAeQ-HgUZlQou2ltJVgLEEgRX_gp9cGZjfNhKZKZzj7ytXV7jnFwzyL/s1600/Stefanick+family-0935.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNT4SNiSiXCIkHOnH359hrRJkKy-ry3-I2byl3kRxKgF8qb77XEKg5X6wO_tv0r4zysHYf3tpHq84VtrwzA3BOFBAeQ-HgUZlQou2ltJVgLEEgRX_gp9cGZjfNhKZKZzj7ytXV7jnFwzyL/s400/Stefanick+family-0935.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photography by Kerry Lake</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Do you see the little boy wearing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sweatshirt? That's 4-year old Jack. Underneath that sweatshirt is a beautiful button up shirt in muted shades of gray, green, yellow and blue- a shirt carefully chosen by me to coordinate with the rest of our outfits for family picture day. That morning, Jack wriggled and writhed around our bed as we attempted to get him in that shirt. As a compromise I told him we could go to his closet and pick out a different dress shirt. It wouldn't be as perfect, but I could let that go. When presented with two options for alternative dress shirts, he wanted nothing to do with either of them. Instead, he reached into his closet and pulled that sweatshirt off of the hook and said "I want this. I want my turtle sweatshirt." When faced with this dilemma, every parent has to sigh a deep sigh and ask "Is the juice worth the squeeze?" But for me, the answer was pretty simple. For over a year now, the answer has been so very simple. "Ok baby," I said. "You can be a turtle for our family pictures." </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And later, when he wanted to hold his Avenger's sticker book in every shot, he found no protest with me. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because, dear friends, when given the choice to have a smiling turtle in your photos or a crying gentleman, you pick the turtle. You choose to let your child's heart sing for a little while. I want a family photo that freezes us in this moment in our lives, this amazing period of joy and frustration. Our house is on the market, we've had unexpected car repairs and illnesses to address, and our children are little balls of chaos and unfettered energy. Life is very complicated, but it's also a tremendous gift. </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Life is a tremendous gift</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. And that's why the moment you see captured in that photo, and so many more have been brought to you by Shelby Offrink.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I met Shelby in the offices of our HR department at work. She had come in to talk to someone and somehow we struck up a conversation about farming, organic vegetables and food labels- because clearly that's what happens in HR offices in case you didn't know; we like to solve all the world's problems in this line of work. Shelby was brilliant and I love being around brilliant people who can teach me things. I was leading a training program called SEEK- Stryker Employees Exchanging Knowledge that sponsored all sorts of guest speakers to come in and do "lunch and learn" style classes on a variety of different topics. I asked Shelby if she'd like to do a course on food labeling and what it all meant. Shelby put together a class called "Organic and Grass Fed and Cage Free, Oh My!" that was filled with her perfectly sarcastic sense of humor. She opened up her presentation by saying "</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>There
is a lot of label generated confusion when you walk into the grocery store.
Today I am going to probably confuse you a little more (pause) (laughter). But the goal is that by the end, you are a little more educated about what this stuff means to us and to our environment."</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Shelby and I stayed in touch over the years, making plans to get lunch together when we could. She was the only person who would go eat sushi with me at lunch. Funny side note- she always gave me the tomatoes off of her salad because her amazing palette couldn't handle a non-organic, store bought tomato. The girl truly walked the walk in all that she was passionate about. I saw her briefly after she moved back to Michigan shortly after the birth of her second daughter. We had a sushi date on the calendar that was canceled after she got a diagnosis that the back pain that she had attributed to sciatica was actually an incredibly rare and incurable form of cancer - </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">stage 3 glioblastoma of the spine</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">. Shelby fought with every fiber of her being. The cancer spread to her brain and still she fought. Her husband Ben's Hodgkin's Lymphoma which had been in remission came back and they fought together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I watched Shelby's story unfold over the past year and a half. I would read updates about her setbacks, her little victories, and her indomitable spirit. I considered the little things that caused me frustration throughout my day- messy kids, cars that broke down, deadlines, bills to pay, and the litany of inconsequential distractions we all slog through over the course of a week or month or year. I began to think about how desperately Shelby and Ben would love a child's ear infection to be the worst part of their day. How they would long to only worry about paying for a minor car repair. I thought of those things and I got nervous. I got nervous that I was wasting precious time with my babies and husband worrying about trivial nonsense. I was losing my children, not literally, but it was growing harder and harder to see them through the noise and the fighting and battles of will. So I bought a ring.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">A fundraiser for Shelby came out in the early months of her fight. Beautiful beaded rings whose colors were selected by her and made by an <a href="http://www.expressionringsofhope.com/hopecollection2.html" target="_blank">artist </a>who donates portions of her proceeds to fund cancer research. When the ring came in the mail I wore it every day. The sight of it reminded me to take in a deep breath of the life-giving air that surrounded me and to feel grateful. I wasn't always perfect at it, but I have paused in gratitude more in the past year and a half than I ever have in my entire life.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6qD46q1grIS978aSo27HJOQAdd_D8MoDCX3-t6CRGPAuUERnVsdfEh1mO_j74E_9TSh7SPxbzDxMKCOuP9JQ0m074W1seXN7tQH686RA2FGSC3oxMfYRwx-5rRAxA771-tguRF42AsJV/s1600/super+hero.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6qD46q1grIS978aSo27HJOQAdd_D8MoDCX3-t6CRGPAuUERnVsdfEh1mO_j74E_9TSh7SPxbzDxMKCOuP9JQ0m074W1seXN7tQH686RA2FGSC3oxMfYRwx-5rRAxA771-tguRF42AsJV/s320/super+hero.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jack and I, both wearing our Superhero rings</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Shelby passed away last night, and now her positive, beautiful energy is scattered everywhere. It certainly lives in me. The family photo at the top of this blog post was taken yesterday morning, Shelby's last morning on earth, in the form that we all knew and loved her. The smile on the face of my son belongs to Shelby Offrink, Ben Offrink and their daughters Maeve and Hazel. Their story, their bravery, and their love were the only things that made me pause that beautiful Sunday morning, look my son right in his pleading brown eyes and say, "Ok, baby. You can be a turtle for our family pictures." I will forever look at his face in this photo, his joyful, jubilant (and yes, victorious) face and say a silent prayer to my friend Shelby thanking her for that smile. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I asked our wonderful photographer Kerry to capture us as we are at this time in our lives; who we are in this moment. I know now that what she captured was the legacy of Shelby Offrink in my life. What I hope to share with anyone reading this is to carry on Shelby's legacy in every moment you pause to reflect about how grateful you are for this life; this messy, complicated, beautiful life. In those moments when you let your 4 year olds leave the house looking like turtles or princesses or wizards because it makes their hearts sing, do that for Shelby and dedicate the ensuing smiles and laughs to her spirit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Our family photo captured us in this moment and in this moment we have nothing but gratitude.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kAwct40PaDF762OuTlNPR85-uh9kzhw6KKhdgOgdl1LMIKMYbqoXF2QK7mdImMJjE5c_WnqtCKhuILZa6PO8ccln0ME5jLKmgq6qhKX48iSKamJC8Wh2EDce9IKhtIQnVqZki0BhXkuq/s1600/shelby.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kAwct40PaDF762OuTlNPR85-uh9kzhw6KKhdgOgdl1LMIKMYbqoXF2QK7mdImMJjE5c_WnqtCKhuILZa6PO8ccln0ME5jLKmgq6qhKX48iSKamJC8Wh2EDce9IKhtIQnVqZki0BhXkuq/s400/shelby.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-11251749109641396992015-05-03T21:00:00.003-04:002015-05-05T13:08:35.116-04:00Mile 2<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Two days after turning two,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">we stood with cowbells clanging</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">at Mile 13 of the half marathon, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">waiting for Aunt Rosie and Haji to stride into view.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The sun came out in all her glory,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">streaking gold and red through your hair,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">as you clung to Momo's shoulder</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">while the racers passed you by.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Everyone you saw today</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">had two voices in their heads.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One voice said <i>stop</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and one voice said <i>go</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At Mile 13 of a half marathon,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the <i>go</i> voices were louder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The <i>go </i>voices were stronger.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The <i>go </i>voices have won.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And there in the crowd,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">in an electric green shirt,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Aunt Rosie appeared, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">with </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">her friend by her side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Later that morning, she would recall,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">how the course was tough,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">how she told him to go on without her,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">how he stayed by her side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sweet Will, you are two miles into</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">a very long race.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In the marathon called life,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the <i>stop </i>and <i>go </i>voices will never go away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In celebration of Mile Marker 2,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wish for the <i>go </i>voice to win </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and the race to be long.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For the courage to keep going</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">when the <i>stop </i>voice gets louder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When the finish line approaches</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and you reflect on every mile</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">may the people you told to press on</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">hold your hand to the end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sweet Will, this race is tough,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">but look over there behind the orange plastic gate!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There we are, with cowbells in hand,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">clanging the <i>stop </i>right out of your head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Press on, sweet baby, there are miles ahead.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You have air in your lungs and sun in your hair,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and a dance in your step that will carry you far.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May this always be so...may you always say </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">go</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKjanrrNJsyjOYxAUM_XlS0HTNfRnIthPAsXrqSZmJ_GxNwmTgNxkKI26pRvFn_c3Is0YTyjPjx4jbVKQ4WMiJJiyfCw8Z9IZmv9Rdw48xfgmy1PGCwC-I8NoiHC0kCJvwx-Dc5ZQKLoo/s1600/marathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKjanrrNJsyjOYxAUM_XlS0HTNfRnIthPAsXrqSZmJ_GxNwmTgNxkKI26pRvFn_c3Is0YTyjPjx4jbVKQ4WMiJJiyfCw8Z9IZmv9Rdw48xfgmy1PGCwC-I8NoiHC0kCJvwx-Dc5ZQKLoo/s1600/marathon.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Will, Aunt Rosie, and Haji at the finish line, May 3rd, 2015</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-64636167009918720752015-02-16T19:19:00.004-05:002015-02-16T23:32:58.365-05:00The Times Before<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>This one's for Kat. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi Boys~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I don't often use this blog to write to you directly, but this week has been a tough one for your mom and I thought I'd send your future selves this letter so that when the time comes...<i>if </i>the time comes that you need to read it, it's here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last week, in the wee small hours of Saturday February 7, I wrote a <a href="http://lovethislittlefamily.blogspot.com/2015/02/farewell-peter.html?m=1" target="_blank">blog</a> entry about the death of my friend Adam. And then I published it on Facebook and in three days, almost 6,500 people had read it. It was a mixture of grief for the loss of Adam and grief for what Adam's passing meant for me that kept me awake tapping out words onto this computer while your dad <strike>snored</strike> slept next to me. And there's a comfort in knowing that my thoughts and feelings about him are shared by so many people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Boys, the reason I'm writing you this letter is that I realized something this week and it's a lesson that I want to pass along to you...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Sometimes opening up old wounds helps new ones to heal.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jack, when you were born, it had been 8 months since I set foot onstage. I was more than ready to give it up, I was happy to give it up and I packed up every sad feeling about missing theatre and missing my theatre friends and tucked them away deep down inside so I never had to have the slightest twinge of guilt for missing them. For 5 years now those feelings lay hidden away through your obstinate toddler years, through the birth of Will, through your curious preschool years and now Will's obstinate toddler years. All tucked away, all unexamined. Every time I missed theatre or friends, I let that wound scar up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then Adam Carter died. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And the floodgates opened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And that tiny box of feelings exploded in one gray and dreary Friday afternoon when I read that he was gone. I sat in our room just crying and crying while your dad put his arm around me. So that night, I stayed up typing a love letter to Adam in an attempt to help me understand all that he had meant to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There's a question that parents get asked from time to time by other parents and it's some variation of this:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"I can't even <i>remember </i>what I did before I had children! Do you even <i>remember </i>what life was like before them?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
I want to smile, nod and reply, "Yes, actually. Yes I do remember. I had one hell of a fun, full and rewarding life. I had adventures, I performed in plays</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, I went to parties, I made bad choices. I had one </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">hell of a ride</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. I can recall every wandering around downtown, late night movie, sleeping in til noon, actually reading books minute. I remember </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">all.of.it</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you're reading this and you're 16, you're probably going to yell at me, "<i>Jesus mom</i>, did you even WANT us?!" And I'll say, "Yes dumbass and watch your mouth!!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because I did then, I do now, and I forever will want you. Feeling grateful for the life you have now doesn't mean that you should forget the life you had. I think it was a mistake for me to do just that. I forgot about it for too long until the death of a friend snapped me back to consciousness. It doesn't make me a terrible mother because I had a wonderful life before you came.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So on Saturday morning when I posted my blog, it was after opening up a very old wound. I had to come to terms with the fact that for 5 years, I have gotten in my own way when it comes to maintaining connections to the people in my past. Theatre? I was happy to give it up. The commitment to a rehearsal schedule is grueling and it would only allow me to see you boys for an hour or so every night and I love that time we have together. But friendships? Oh boys...friendships aren't grueling. Friendships don't take up hours upon hours every week. When the theatre went, so did the friendships. And for that, I am truly sorry. I think I can be a better mom to you if I keep some bits and pieces of my life before you. Your lives would certainly be enhanced by the colorful cast of characters that would start filtering through our house again. I mean look at this picture:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I'm sending you this letter because someday, I hope, you'll be dads. If you work outside of the home, your life is going to be divided into several categories- Spouse, Dad, Employee, Self, and Friend. Your kids will devour so much of your time and if you did it right, you'll be ready to have your time devoured. Work? Well my darlings, work will take everything you give it. Work will never tell you to back off or slow down, so you'll have to know when to raise your hand and say "Enough. I can't do more." Your spouses will hopefully feature somewhere prominently in your lives, more before kids, less after. Find time to do special things just the two of you. I'll come babysit, I promise. Whatever little scraps are left will be for time spent with friends and time spent alone. When your babies are little, you'll want that time alone. Alone with your thoughts, alone for a nap, alone for video games (if you are anything at all like your dad). You'll want some time in the day when people aren't begging for your attention. And that will be important time. If you've done the math (and you will if you're anything at all like your dad), you'll see that not much time has been reserved for your important role of Friend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And on the day Adam Carter died, I had to examine what kind of friend I had become. An old wound opened. I went back through years of messages exchanged. So very many talks about coffees never drunk together, books never talked about together, movies never seen together. We all exchange these pleasantries with friends so many times over the course of a life. They're the glue that holds us together in between the times we actually see each other. But you have to actually see each other. And not "Facebook" see each other (will that even <i>be </i>a thing by the time you read this?? Probably not, so insert "artificial intelligence robotic friendship machine" instead). I loved seeing Adam, why didn't I see him more? I think I got in my own way too many times. I think I need to change some things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">An exchange of messages from the spring of 2013 caught my eye. I was 7 months pregnant with Will and I had fallen asleep and missed Adam's goodbye party downtown.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 17.9400005340576px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<i><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Please forgive a tired, pregnant lady for falling asleep at 8 on Friday and missing your farewell party. I would have loved to see you and find a fantastic YouTube video on my phone to share with you for old times' sake. I wish you nothing but every single bit of happiness and success in GR- another sleepy West MI town to take by storm! It's good to know that 131 runs both ways and that I'll see your perfectly coiffed head visiting all the old theatre haunts in town. Until then, keep those cheekbones magnificent, those shoes polished and pointy and lots of confidence in yourself and all that you are capable of! xo</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Lots of love!
Nancy</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 17.9400005340576px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Nanc, no need to apologize. I will do all of those things, and you enjoy being the great mom you are! I will be back for the Improv Fest...and you never know when I might just pop up.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Looooooove to you and yours.
~O.F.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 17.9400005340576px; margin-top: 10px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Boys, I think I'm finally taking Adam's advice to be the great mom I know I am. I think I can open up that box of memories I buried so long ago and examine them a bit. I can find ways to embrace who I am while remembering who I was, free of regret or sadness. And guess what little loves? Opening up that old wound has helped heal this new one. I have reconnected with friends from my past and we have laughed and shared memories of those sweet, sweet days. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 17.9400005340576px; margin-top: 10px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So listen to your old mom boys. Carve out a little bit of time for your friends. Talk about old times and share inside jokes. Adam told me that I'd never know when he might pop up and that was true. I'd find him like a lucky penny around town and it would be the highlight of my day. And if you think there will always be time to get that coffee or go see that movie, I can tell you that I have learned the hard way this week that sometimes time runs out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you're wondering what O.F. means, it means "October Friend". Adam and I became friends in October and vowed that no matter what, come October we'd find each other. Adam, I promise that when October blusters into town, I will find you again. I'll find a dappled sunlit piece of pumpkin patch and I know you'll be there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And boys, you'll be right there with me. Because I love my life now, but it's time to open up the drapes and let a little bit of me back into the room.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Love,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 17.9400005340576px;">Mom</span></div>
Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-33988969036863987492015-02-07T09:12:00.002-05:002017-02-06T09:40:47.931-05:00Farewell Peter<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>February 6, 2015, </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Adam F. Carter<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">, every time I was around you I felt like Wendy must have felt seeing Peter Pan fly into her window. You are youth and life and adventure and when I think of my life in Kalamazoo theatre, you are everywhere. From leaning against the gold spray painted poles of T's Bar to giggling as quietly as possible in the basement of 246 while a donut-binging crowd enjoyed a Late Night, you were everywhere. I feel like someone just told me that Peter Pan died. Because it's not possible. He's second star to the right and straight on til morning. And so are you. To me at least. You'll never grow old, you will never die. I love you Great Pumpkin. I will miss you.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></i></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_AbDbYhKbQOntExwRztbi9-udlBQ_K7B4yiHeSDNFiaXGbYRdhgVh-zlA_fF1KX5CG_Qzz5issbWcx8Quis6fKnGA5A3RHdNZ5AZZIjh7-sF1DwiCy1iHF6xZTYycXI8i5WcTX5kQbaZ/s1600/adam3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_AbDbYhKbQOntExwRztbi9-udlBQ_K7B4yiHeSDNFiaXGbYRdhgVh-zlA_fF1KX5CG_Qzz5issbWcx8Quis6fKnGA5A3RHdNZ5AZZIjh7-sF1DwiCy1iHF6xZTYycXI8i5WcTX5kQbaZ/s1600/adam3.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I met Adam Carter 10 years ago after seeing him perform in the show <i>Psycho Beach Party</i>. He was beautiful, legs for miles and cheekbones that Michaelangelo himself couldn't have carved better. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Adam was my Peter Pan. He was all of Kalamazoo's Peter Pan. Everyone felt younger, happier, more energetic and more alive when in his presence. But he was better than Peter Pan because he was real. We became instant friends when we performed for two magical years in Trevor's adaptation of <i>It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown</i>. <i>The Great Pumpkin Massacre</i> saw me as Lucy and Adam as the Great Pumpkin, a pumpkin-man serial killer intent on plucking off all of the Peanuts, one by bloody one. It is no stretch to say that this show became an instant cult classic of the Kalamazoo theatre scene. It wouldn't have been without <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1lfYJPpRjc" target="_blank">Adam</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Adam was in a galaxy all his own. He was the sun and so many of us were happy to orbit around him for a little while. The magic of my friendship with Adam was that he made <i>me </i>feel like the sun. I'd go weeks or months without seeing him, especially once I stopped performing, but when he'd see me across a room, he would stop, grab his heart, and come clip-clopping across the floor in his fantastic shoes with arms outstretched to embrace me. As I type those words, tears stream down my face. Oh that we were always so free with our affection for one another like Adam was. How beautiful this world would be if we made everyone feel like the sun when they came into a room. He could have swooped me up and flown me to Neverland and I would have gone.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">And after the warm embrace, he would greet you in telegram~</span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Nancy. Stop it. That scarf. Love. Amy Poehler's book? </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">OMG. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Had to put it down. Loving. So. So. Much. Coffee? Yes, please. Kisses. Love.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">But his economy of words was a sharp contrast to the boldness and effervescence of his life. And because this blog is for my boys to someday understand what their mom took away from her own experiences, there are a few things I want them to learn from my experience in losing him.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">...................................</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">.................</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">....</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I'm so sorry boys, but I've got nothing.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Nothing about this makes sense or seems real. You see, Adam Carter was my Peter Pan, but I always hoped he <i>would </i>grow up. I hoped he'd be a fabulous old man draped in caftans and oversized sunglasses with a shock of silver hair swirled up in a pompadour. But we won't know that Adam. He is now permanently 31 in our hearts and minds. Kalamazoo's Marilyn or James Dean, frozen in the bloom of youth. And somehow the death of him means the death of my youth. He was the one person who could take me back to those fearless, carefree days of Late Night theatre and 2am Taco Bell feasts eaten while laughing at YouTube videos. Some huge door has slammed on the life that was before and I don't know who will be able to take me back there again. I'm Wendy standing next to a dark window. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">He had moved on in so many ways and found so much success. But there was a North Star quality about him that made him feel steady and constant. So many of us got married, had babies and stopped performing, but there was Adam, seemingly unchanged (except for his ever-changing hair). He'd pop up at the Alamo Drafthouse, the Union, Art Hop, the Civic, always looking radiant and always greeting you like the sun had just popped out of a cloud. As long as Adam was around, so were the memories of those sweet days.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMUvQ34JPMzhKepNsVqEQs4I96Q3g-vYg8Fhb0VRgPWC65kdimAjVLnBhf4c5gvJqmHlDHf3rYgInw5lgSGCm_nRsMyZaBOhv9bILrB1TB4oIPvf1ztLtVN4y-8ktVfAXytsir4TBGZEp/s1600/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMUvQ34JPMzhKepNsVqEQs4I96Q3g-vYg8Fhb0VRgPWC65kdimAjVLnBhf4c5gvJqmHlDHf3rYgInw5lgSGCm_nRsMyZaBOhv9bILrB1TB4oIPvf1ztLtVN4y-8ktVfAXytsir4TBGZEp/s1600/tree.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Adam's current Facebook cover photo is of this tree, frozen in the stillness of winter. And I marvel at how fitting it is now that he is permanently frozen in time for all of us. He will never grow old, he will never die. His light will outlive his life. So that is the lesson for my sons. If there is one thing I want people to say about my boys when they die it's that. That their light lives on long after they're gone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On Thursday February 5th as I was driving the boys to daycare, I was startled to see the full moon looming large and bright at 7:45am. Within seconds, the moon began a dance with a sea of lavender clouds dipping in and out of view. The clouds swirled while the moon slowly hid its face. It was like a can-can dancer whose billowing lilac skirts teased us until the show was over. The image was magical and wonderful and now I know that Thursday was Adam's last day on earth as we knew him. And maybe, just maybe, the heavens were readying themselves with a final dress rehearsal for his glorious return. Adam who is made of stardust now returns to the stars. And I would expect no less from the heavens than to welcome him in full Moulin Rouge can-can realness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it's up there in those lavender clouds drifting silently among the stars that Adam will be waiting for us. Forever 31 (he would love the chance to ruminate about what kind of clothing a Forever 31 would sell). And when my time comes, I sort of hope I'm greeted just like this...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nancy. LOVE. Finally. OMG. Carousels. Heaven has carousels. Could you die? Wait. You did! Ha! Hugs. Kiss-kiss. Who do you want to meet? I know <i>everyone</i>.</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQf699niroPNJ2LN4xRzwLutzX0KTldVwRTQb1avR82gGP_83_ByyjG01H90mShdlgHKCbQ-nzyz-FAAm_BS3GZyEdxJBuxL9jH4IdRbqW8_5v2zQOZgLT9zQVsGBtPkQ7vtnuJBbT7Po/s1600/heaven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQf699niroPNJ2LN4xRzwLutzX0KTldVwRTQb1avR82gGP_83_ByyjG01H90mShdlgHKCbQ-nzyz-FAAm_BS3GZyEdxJBuxL9jH4IdRbqW8_5v2zQOZgLT9zQVsGBtPkQ7vtnuJBbT7Po/s1600/heaven.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">So many Wendys standing near their windows tonight wishing you'd come back.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span>Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-44227202660939669632015-01-07T17:52:00.001-05:002015-01-07T17:57:03.721-05:00the pine cone, the pebble & the penny<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>4th in a series of birthday poems to Jack Rigel. Presented with love.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A pine cone, a pebble and a penny.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">These treasures were tucked carefully and deeply </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">into the pocket of your coat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I found them while doing laundry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Not able to part with them, I puzzled over them, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">smiling to myself as I folded your clothes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Out of the hundreds of available treasures on your preschool yard, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">these were the prizes you held in safekeeping.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At 4, you are a pine cone, a pebble, and a penny.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You are my little pine cone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A seedling of a boy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At certain angles I can see the mighty tree you may become,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">yet there are moments when I still see my baby.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You are prickly and complex</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">wearing the armor of a boy learning to control his emotions</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in a world filled with challenges.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So much of who you will become lies hidden</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">under your spiky little exterior.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But every so often, we see you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you protect your brother.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you marvel at the magic of the stars and the new fallen snow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you leap across furniture, lost in your own imagination.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There he is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yes, <i>there </i>he is!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There's our boy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You are my pebble.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">An untarnished and unjaded rock of a boy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You carry within you a wisdom far beyond your handful of years,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">yet there is so much you are still discovering.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You glide through life as smoothly and lithely</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">as a pebble being skipped across a glassy pond</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">by the skillful hand of a boy on the verge of everything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So much of who you will become lies hidden </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">among the strata of secrets hiding behind your dark brown eyes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But every so often, we see you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you rattle off superhero names and secret identities.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you grab my face in your hands and tell me you love me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When you wistfully sigh at the end of a wonderful day and proclaim it to be so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There he is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yes <i>there </i>he is!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There's our boy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You are my lucky penny.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And every day I make wishes </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I remember the first time we threw a penny into a fountain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You were desperate to get it back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You will learn, what I have learned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A penny wish, like time, can never be retrieved once it's gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All we can hope is that we've used that wish and used our time wisely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How lucky I am to have carried you, like a lucky penny, for 9 months.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How lucky I am that your soul chose me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How lucky I feel that we belong to each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And like a lucky penny, your worth is far beyond what anyone could possibly see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I see in you the mighty sequoia and the Grand Canyon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and a life that stretches far into a future</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">life a javelin I flung into immortality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It will be years before I toss you into the fountain called life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And what I'll wish for, I don't yet know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But when 4 candles are blown out this week,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I will wish...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">for you to grow healthy and strong from pine cone to tree</i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>that life doesn't fray your edges too often or too soon</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>that the worth you place in people and things goes far beyond their face value</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>for you to always see the world as your treasure box.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IQFMQOhJBkYtCcw757tj6-ySqrmDnn38ChlLVC-Q4JybJ5Ckpjqp0DZ12MXfu5itTyGS5YdOP8ERSNlY7YF3GH9oyJ6Rhf8AxKincDdQto2nrMQLLSkcaThPJQ1sw07IjgAEATQ63sWV/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3IQFMQOhJBkYtCcw757tj6-ySqrmDnn38ChlLVC-Q4JybJ5Ckpjqp0DZ12MXfu5itTyGS5YdOP8ERSNlY7YF3GH9oyJ6Rhf8AxKincDdQto2nrMQLLSkcaThPJQ1sw07IjgAEATQ63sWV/s1600/photo.PNG" height="395" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I treasure the days when you still fit into my pocket.</i></td></tr>
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Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-22303210798791038192014-11-07T08:28:00.002-05:002014-11-07T10:48:16.232-05:00Yay for the One Step Closer <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 150%;">The extraordinary
is not beyond you. It’s just one small step away.</span></em><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 150%;"> – Julia Immonen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 150%;">Last weekend, the boys and I sat down to watch a Halloween DVD. <i>Curious George: A Halloween Boo Fest</i> has been a staple in our house for a year. And at the risk of sounding like I've crossed over into some sort of mom-zone for which there is no recovery and I'll be doomed to wear high waisted, tapered jeans all my days, I never, ever get sick of watching it. It's sweet and fun and my boys love it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">We all know that putting in a DVD doesn't mean our movie instantly starts playing. There is always a delay while we sit through title cards, FBI warnings and anti-piracy pleas. This all serves to annoy more than delight because we can't even skip or fast forward through them. But something very special happened when we all sat down to watch that DVD.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">The first thing to appear is the Universal image. A beautiful animation of our planet takes us on a 10 second journey through outer space. Jack always says "That's our Earth. That's our home" every time he sees it. Will started clapping and laughing. He clapped even more when the FBI warning came up (that must be a first) and clapped during the anti-piracy warnings.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">To most of us, those annoying frames are tiny things keeping us from enjoying our movie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">To Will, they represent one step closer.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">Yay for the one step closer. Yay for the almost there. Yay for the farther along now than I was a second ago.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">The elections were this week. My choice for State Senator is currently down by 60 votes. SIX ZERO. He hasn't conceded yet and we don't yet know how this will all turn out but I maintain a glimmer of hope. This country isn't where I want it to be. We're deadlocked, divided, disenchanted, and disgruntled.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">I voted because I had these women cheering me on. I imagined these beautiful angels surrounding the polling place clapping as each woman walked in. I saw women of all ages and some with babies and young children. Those are some of the truest heroes because it's just too easy to use kids as an excuse to not vote. I imagined all of the thousands of steps, some big, some small that have happened since this photo was taken. Could these women fathom that their daughters and granddaughters are still fighting some of the same battles around equality? But if I think about my lesson from Will last weekend, I wonder if they'd be focusing more on all that <i>has </i>happened. All of the steps <i>closer </i>to equality we are than we were decades ago.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjN6oWIBIEJz4VDxnjmcdQ51nKMfCp-Sb4ZBPUGOUr2U42DgCHQYcxR_A08BX5mCLKUZZIPKW9t6xp_b-wlqXdQnwUNeKPaPy-liPOGmzYSMvDWRfPVeBVLavECFcQizZ6kdY3-iRzLFkU/s1600/Corbis-HU024507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjN6oWIBIEJz4VDxnjmcdQ51nKMfCp-Sb4ZBPUGOUr2U42DgCHQYcxR_A08BX5mCLKUZZIPKW9t6xp_b-wlqXdQnwUNeKPaPy-liPOGmzYSMvDWRfPVeBVLavECFcQizZ6kdY3-iRzLFkU/s1600/Corbis-HU024507.jpg" height="287" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">So in their honor, I say yay to the one step closer. Yay to the people who still take up the good fights. Yay to a greater awareness I see in each new generation. I am no delusional Pollyanna who believes we've reached the apex. A circuit court's ruling that came after the elections this week has me feeling defeated all over again because I want a better world for my <a href="http://lovethislittlefamily.blogspot.com/search?q=i+love+you+the+end" target="_blank">sons</a>.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyB_FEgurrbAb2lcgkKCuieQJZSgX8tKzWXnBQ73zE1REVxE1LRkJjxc8C4MWp8-m_RlOgstEwbVLHKDLGW51nN7Dz-gzO-Jnv95d0DXW9EDDGtqgWgF9si7IZkdBPzqekOrWX2B5hw1v0/s1600/voted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyB_FEgurrbAb2lcgkKCuieQJZSgX8tKzWXnBQ73zE1REVxE1LRkJjxc8C4MWp8-m_RlOgstEwbVLHKDLGW51nN7Dz-gzO-Jnv95d0DXW9EDDGtqgWgF9si7IZkdBPzqekOrWX2B5hw1v0/s1600/voted.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">But we </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">have </i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">to reflect on how far we've come. And we can't lose hope. Cheer for the one step closer, acknowledge the two steps back and try again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;">Before you know it, the warnings and titles and preludes are over and the movie can begin. Don't jump out of the theatre during the long wait. But don't sit there with your popcorn waiting for some magical projectionist to get you where you need to be. Get up, make a phone call, volunteer, get comfortable being uncomfortable. Be the change. Because change is coming my friends. Change is coming. But in the meantime, I will say...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4545450210571px; line-height: 22.9999980926514px;"> Yay for the one step closer.</span></span></div>
Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907696597585307003.post-26945747172229593482014-10-30T11:14:00.001-04:002014-10-31T08:42:58.288-04:00The Most Important Part of My Village<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I know, I can't believe it either. Earlier this year I had the opportunity to present at an early childhood conference on a topic I am quite passionate about- improving communication between working parents and those who care for our children. I partnered with the Director of our childcare center and we delivered a presentation that sought to build empathy for both groups and relay best practices for communication. We ended the presentation by reading a thank you note each of us wrote to the other person. In this season of gratitude, I am sharing this letter on the blog. I hope it reaches every single person who cares for young children. Your parents may not always articulate what you mean to them, but I know I speak on behalf of so many. From the bottom of our hearts, <i>thank you</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dear
Caregiver,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You didn’t
see me the other day as I stood outside the door. As I was leaving that morning, I heard my son
crying. I peered through the glass as I
saw him sitting at a table while you, hands gently on his arms, knelt down to
look right into his eyes. As he told you
about the problem he had encountered you never lost his gaze. You talked to him and listened. To almost anyone else in the world his
problem would have been the smallest, most insignificant issue. Maybe he didn’t get to play with his favorite
truck. Maybe he had trouble
sharing. But you listened as if it was
the biggest problem because you know that for him, they’re all big problems.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I held back
every motherly instinct to rush in and rescue him. I didn’t need to. I have you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have you
to listen to my children every day about the big problems, the little
discoveries and the joyful celebrations.
I have you to hug them when it seems like their tears will never stop
falling. I have you to help us teach
them how to be responsible, loving citizens of the world who realize that
sharing means twice as much fun, twice as many friends and twice as much
happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Each day
when I’m at work I am surrounded by photos of my family in colorful
frames. Their smiling faces remind me
that the hard work I do provides them with opportunities for a wonderful
life. But it’s hard and I feel guilty
for the time when I’m not near them. And
that’s why I’m so grateful I have you.
You have become part of the fabric of their lives. You are my village and I am so honored that
you chose children as your life’s calling.
I don’t know how you do it. How
you smile when I’m sure your head is throbbing, how you listen to the little
things like they’re big things all day long.
You deal with the messiest of human beings and you wake up every day to
do it all over again. You are amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And last
week, you didn’t see me again. I came in
to pick up my son and peeked around a corner to see you sitting outside of a
bathroom stall. Inside was my precocious,
wonderful son trying to use the potty.
And knowing that those things take time, you sat outside reading his
favorite book while he giggled. And I
giggled. Because that is the kind of
loving act that only a parent could possibly have the patience for. But you’re not a parent yet and yet here you
are in the very trenches with us. Thank
you for every book, every dance, every song, and every hug. My children are better people because you’re
in their lives. We are better parents
for the information you give us every day.
And the world is a better place because people like you care so much for
the very smallest of us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you so
very much,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Love, a
Working Parent</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Nancy Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12333982415050411890noreply@blogger.com1