tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2986076254256792582024-03-05T04:44:10.644-06:00Living with CrazyPoor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-48902804644030434952012-01-14T21:34:00.000-06:002012-01-14T21:34:35.773-06:00“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; Remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.” ~ Epicurus<div class="p1"> </div><div class="p1"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>It's mum not mom. Also, better said with a slight British accent...</i></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2pS60DgFCI8CSSAr3YMI-oRFhF1vzJZC8ootJ_iqn-3IRfTTm3_TJ0rVqJCiZpGuLvdmDHIOVYZoCo65_6db2HrhVB66gSchyphenhypheneX5X1qqGCRkd1t2VZfAvgbJX0ftgkcfzkr-6mxc3eov/s1600/mom%253Adaughterb%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2pS60DgFCI8CSSAr3YMI-oRFhF1vzJZC8ootJ_iqn-3IRfTTm3_TJ0rVqJCiZpGuLvdmDHIOVYZoCo65_6db2HrhVB66gSchyphenhypheneX5X1qqGCRkd1t2VZfAvgbJX0ftgkcfzkr-6mxc3eov/s320/mom%253Adaughterb%2526W.jpg" width="193" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">She's all mine!</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span></span></td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="p2"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On Thursday 29 December 2011 at 11:45 a.m. was the adoption of Brisa BellaMae Hoober - Formally known on the internet as MissyB. The adoption was easily prepared for us with the help of attorneys at <a href="http://www.shb.com/locations.aspx?id=18"><span class="s1">Shook, Hardy & Bacon</span></a>. The court proceedings were preformed before the <a href="http://courts.jocogov.org/judge_sheppard.aspx"><span class="s1">Honorable Lawrence Sheppard</span></a> in Olathe Kansas. </span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYPuYGkhfjbIsgeUo6K8-WEpLz7Wu7LYjDvacPp74RhbXb-wcRj_KwvhRx3yBxNhyphenhyphengIHzW1G1svJLelTAo_dKpwpJN7_aKCJlGFsuJKkuI-a2LqiRfhM8h5MT2SnuZyh-SJx910IzCKYLX/s1600/6596826885_ee4e6c1acc_z.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYPuYGkhfjbIsgeUo6K8-WEpLz7Wu7LYjDvacPp74RhbXb-wcRj_KwvhRx3yBxNhyphenhyphengIHzW1G1svJLelTAo_dKpwpJN7_aKCJlGFsuJKkuI-a2LqiRfhM8h5MT2SnuZyh-SJx910IzCKYLX/s320/6596826885_ee4e6c1acc_z.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Our new family with Judge Sheppard</span></span></td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="p2"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After the adoption proceedings, we headed to <a href="http://www.smokinjoesbbqolathe.com/"><span class="s1">Smokin' Joe's BBQ</span></a> in Olathe Kansas with family and friends for a good old BBQ meat feast.</span></div><div class="p2"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpX-qFFPxIkL0ijKGQgjYzZNv3YZtnTJybaWNYNQfjGhkQYSCWWZKeKkDGsR7mtjCq4Ncu5cDMralbvdeI8c4WSE4KVj9lKKf1kUPdAp48BYLs5iAeQCl1ecGEYRR5CaIbRYa-bktf8N3k/s1600/adoptionday%253Alaughtongirls.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpX-qFFPxIkL0ijKGQgjYzZNv3YZtnTJybaWNYNQfjGhkQYSCWWZKeKkDGsR7mtjCq4Ncu5cDMralbvdeI8c4WSE4KVj9lKKf1kUPdAp48BYLs5iAeQCl1ecGEYRR5CaIbRYa-bktf8N3k/s640/adoptionday%253Alaughtongirls.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Brisa BellaMae with the Laughton girls</span></span></td></tr>
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</div><div class="p2" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>It's been a road of ups and downs. It's nice to say we are a family now. 2011 has been a year of major changes.</b></span></div><div class="p2"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3CcpofFxjlrX6f-dhNurj8vVqLPfzkMqjBK6tYvxXcJ8Y0Y3dF3tJ8KOlh6kyDMTueX2Y7-1GdsT7kB7_SnmYVE6LDo4cieyGgN9AsmY06XH4VFUetkF2tnY074w8iE_G-sCwxX6Llbo/s1600/DSCN0511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3CcpofFxjlrX6f-dhNurj8vVqLPfzkMqjBK6tYvxXcJ8Y0Y3dF3tJ8KOlh6kyDMTueX2Y7-1GdsT7kB7_SnmYVE6LDo4cieyGgN9AsmY06XH4VFUetkF2tnY074w8iE_G-sCwxX6Llbo/s200/DSCN0511.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Grama with my mother, May 2009</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcbwJEdTjszqAZwzM1e3B6tihvhsAYbqLG-RTz6-I94HLuiSlUiRjb2MflMBR9CeP5fX_B2bnuVYvJFsPO6_g5RrlJM-ceWX27ylGXHfbwyhQviF8sYkj47JWybjoUwEi0BPheyHb6GQj/s1600/Grama+in+hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcbwJEdTjszqAZwzM1e3B6tihvhsAYbqLG-RTz6-I94HLuiSlUiRjb2MflMBR9CeP5fX_B2bnuVYvJFsPO6_g5RrlJM-ceWX27ylGXHfbwyhQviF8sYkj47JWybjoUwEi0BPheyHb6GQj/s200/Grama+in+hospital.jpg" width="105" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Grama in hospital, November 2011</span></span><span style="font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span></span></td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="p2"></div><div class="p1"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Several nights ago I had a dream about my Grama. </span></div><div class="p1"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She came with my husband, our newly adopted daughter Brisa and our foster baby Peanut to some formal event. Somewhere not here in Kansas City, like we were staying in a bed and breakfast. I have vage flashes of suitcases and a curling iron... Scrambling through luggage, looking for makeup - Frantically trying to find my powder compact and lipliner.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My dream was so different. As if I was dreaming and talking to her like maybe she saw herself once upon a time, or how she wanted me to see her in my dream. I did her hair and makeup for this event we were attending. Helped her around, since she was still a bit fragile on her feet, but she looked amazing. She was so happy to be with us and our family. She held Peanut and commented what a beautiful daughter we ended up with and was very happy to be with us. </span></div><br />
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</span></div><div class="p1"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm sad I moved so far away to start my family and I'm really sorry you all didn't get to meet our daughter in person. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdsP-xLWSUbgI61TDGR2LnslNicGV_ihWRN9AEL05jBkUh2pav03OM_9ET51uATWiNTnFq587aAYAgSN_kRX5Q3M8pLPjodSpW93NoyGmd2VB223GHM_CX_FF9ThFcDRhkgENDzjcEkVH/s640/IMG_0004.JPG" width="640" /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After rolling over in bed late that night, I kept wondering if Grama will visit me again in a dream. Maybe with my Poppa this time? I've lit several candles multiple times on the 29th. Especially on our adoption day for Brisa... The very same day my Poppa died in back in 2006. I guess I've been having a bit of a mini </span></span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">seance which may seem a bit crazy. So I've been lighting o</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;">ne candle for Poppa, one for my Grama and one for my mother. I do miss you all so much. Please visit me in my dreams anytime you like, in any form you choose - </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">It's cool.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;"> Watch over my family and keep us safe. I love talking to you, wherever you all are. XXOO ~ali</span></div><div style="font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"We are what we think. Everything we are arises from our thoughts. With our thinking we create the world. Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.”</i> - Buddha</span></blockquote>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-64412695520045299872011-12-21T18:12:00.002-06:002011-12-22T18:36:27.601-06:00"Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality" - Emily Dickinson<div class="p1"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Words from a friend when I was coming back from Canada that frequently make me cry each time I read them:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"Love you Ali! Know that everything you ever looked for in your own mother and couldn't find you see reflected back at you in the love your own children have for you now. Come home soon and kiss your babies and wrap yourself up in that feeling!" ~DBR (via Facebook)</i></span></blockquote><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxldAAtTuqwO2wUc2OLjehxHlM9bm4lTzOok4F5u9HvWz-CKvF_5D3v8OVOKBuJcfAPWHZkW95siYqjZC20VG6AOhS76kAJ5mobOmWAAVsJqt8BdTFJ87Ie37cOFfxVkuIJfTyUcViu_0/s1600/crossing+the+bridge2011+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxldAAtTuqwO2wUc2OLjehxHlM9bm4lTzOok4F5u9HvWz-CKvF_5D3v8OVOKBuJcfAPWHZkW95siYqjZC20VG6AOhS76kAJ5mobOmWAAVsJqt8BdTFJ87Ie37cOFfxVkuIJfTyUcViu_0/s320/crossing+the+bridge2011+edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3 class="r" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><em style="color: #1122cc; cursor: pointer; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Crossing Border from Sarnia, ON, Canada</span></em></h3></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_nWCaZ__pTXkdESy3QsldX3QoREDCVdfgdt1X13thj_37u3GX2bvW2okbTzCJMCy11aMYRaeLeh_FBCqKhbo2MFSm8sCI50KcTigLZuIMPoTEr5628lN13vPVFl4AHQRf76FvB5gwERH/s1600/mother+ashes.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_nWCaZ__pTXkdESy3QsldX3QoREDCVdfgdt1X13thj_37u3GX2bvW2okbTzCJMCy11aMYRaeLeh_FBCqKhbo2MFSm8sCI50KcTigLZuIMPoTEr5628lN13vPVFl4AHQRf76FvB5gwERH/s320/mother+ashes.jpeg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b>Catherine Rogers First Trip to the USA</b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I read that Facebook post to myself over and over while sitting on the bridge coming back into Canada with my friend Ben with tears streaming down my face. I cried even harder when Eric Clapton came on the radio singing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxPj3GAYYZ0">Tears in Heaven</a>. A song that my mother and I frequently listened to when I lived with her as a preteen. He did a live concert in Toronto that was broadcasted on <a href="http://www.muchmusic.com/">Much Music</a> back in the early 90's. Which for those who don't know, Much Music is Canada's version of MTV.</span></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You can read about my friend's road trip to/from Canada experience here: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://blog.bloatedgoat.org/?p=44%C2%A0">Ben's Blog - Oh Canada a series of 1 - 7 posts</a> which is a pretty good take on what happened. I can't begin to chronicle our journey to and from Canada at this time. I'm not ready to even begin writing about that, and I may never will.</span><br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">For those that we have lost, I dedicate this year to my recently lost mother and Grama. For those whom we miss dearly, know we have never forgotten you Poppa. Please watch over our healthy new daughter wherever you all are. She will help make our memories of you all stronger and more alive with her spirit.</span></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmt3X0KMIq30wg0xGs7sxMyh1d421L21J_mWipRjtr66oeyl0sn93TpxvUXy8LPNY7wpFGo8qZ6_FV3TfMRY1QG_8a5FMepSTZol2zyYgESnbKtDxmrxMjCn84BB6Wlbjy77HixBvUvb8/s1600/Poppa%253AMom%253AGrama1stxmas.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmt3X0KMIq30wg0xGs7sxMyh1d421L21J_mWipRjtr66oeyl0sn93TpxvUXy8LPNY7wpFGo8qZ6_FV3TfMRY1QG_8a5FMepSTZol2zyYgESnbKtDxmrxMjCn84BB6Wlbjy77HixBvUvb8/s640/Poppa%253AMom%253AGrama1stxmas.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Charles FJ Rogers November 1923 - 29 December 2006 <b>*</b> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Catherine C Rogers July <span class="s1">1950 - 25 October, 2011 <b>*</b> </span>L Constance Rogers May 1925 - 27 November 2011 </span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> My first Christmas December 25th 1979</span> </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can't say all I want to say right now, but I'm feeling a bit lost by the amount of people who have died this last year... and over the years. I don't know how much more loss I can take right now. On one hand, I'm extremely happy that we are officially<span class="s1"> adopting our twelve year old foster daughter. On the other hand, with the baby we have had since he was three days old, now just turning eleven months, the undetermined circumstances of where he will live forever is </span>emotionally complicated.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZ6qpNFMIDBm_J3WWb_CfuExjll00zMs15woeN85nwyRa8gVzXulQjxYC4FrV-0uxaIMfuNa0AaIyANsE-lJC3yiUfq5Q-UDc0tSmEhVc-YKKgjLLDBUi8yzG7v9GowOnt8HS7cVHLm5m/s1600/mothers+storage2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZ6qpNFMIDBm_J3WWb_CfuExjll00zMs15woeN85nwyRa8gVzXulQjxYC4FrV-0uxaIMfuNa0AaIyANsE-lJC3yiUfq5Q-UDc0tSmEhVc-YKKgjLLDBUi8yzG7v9GowOnt8HS7cVHLm5m/s320/mothers+storage2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was told by my Aunt a few weeks ago that I didn't help enough when I was in Canada - Cleaning up my mothers mess. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was also deeply hurt by the timeline of when I finally learned about my grandmothers death. She passed at nine in the morning EST and I didn't know until around six o'clock CST that evening. I was in the middle of baking cookies for my family at that very moment. I managed to finish baking the cookies with tears streaming down my face... which became named Cookies of Sorrow - "Who would like to eat a cookie of sorrow my husband would say?" They may have even tasted better with the added tears to the batter. </span><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So if you see me and wonder why I'm not in a good mood, or why this Christmas holiday has put me off, just know it's not you - It's me. I cry randomly, I'm </span>i<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">rritable, I'm just grieving. I'm trying to hold onto what I can and get back to normal. Although I'm not sure what is normal anymore. Some things just can't be fixed and I've been feeling a bit </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">emotionally broken. Working out and eating right seems to help and I've been trying to keep up with that, but it's still hard to get even the most minor of things done sometimes, like keeping up with the housework. Can twelve year olds clean </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">toilets?</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>"I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable. All these and other factors combined, if the circumstances are right, can teach and can lead to rebirth."</i> </span>~ <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Morrow_Lindbergh"><span class="s1"><b>Anne Morrow Lindbergh</b></span></a></div><br />
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</div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-36292567851947983362011-09-14T06:06:00.007-05:002011-09-15T14:30:59.691-05:00Play Nice?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was told yesterday /by my social worker/ that I need to be good and play by the rules or it will hurt me in the end. WTF??? I have no idea where that comment came from. I'm the person who gets mad when people don't play by the rules.</span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I'm not nice or accommodating, someone better tell me now. Yeah yeah... we are "in competition" for the baby we have placed with us, and both of us want him to live with us, and each of us has very valid reasons to want him to live with us. So what? We BOTH care about this little boy and want the best for him. When nobody cares about a child... the child suffers. From one foster mother to another -> We care plenty and that's a good thing. I'm sure we both have friends on either side of the fence, telling us both why "we" should get to keep him. This decision is not up to us, or our social workers. It's up to some pannel of people, <b>who have never met the child in question</b>, who get to make the life altering decision. However, these people are suppose to be smart about these kind of things. These are the rules. Say with me in a mocking tone - <i>Hurray for rules!</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Almost eight months old now. We are hearing words like "Atka", "Mommy", "Daddy", "Hi", "BB" "Annnan" We think "BB" is for MissyB and "Annnana" is for Nancy the cat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our <a href="https://www.kcsl.org/resource_glossary.aspx">best intrest staffing</a> has a date now for MissyB. I don't know more details other than that. They used to send letters, but they don't now. <a href="http://www.srs.ks.gov/Pages/Default.aspx">SRS</a> seems to like to preform more background checks at the last minute I guess. I wonder if they are reading my blog. If so... <strike>since you clearly send abused kids back with their abusive parents, and I'm the one who gets hit, because the kid thinks that's normal, so I'm left with bruises and no apologies</strike> What a hard job you have. Social workers don't get paid enough.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh... more about kids that I didn't birth. The teens want to borrow my truck and want to decorate it for the Shawnee Mission North Parade, but get me to drive it, since they can't drive. Husband thinks I should ask another friend to offer up his army truck to them. It's way bigger. Although, then I'd need to learn how to drive an army truck. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Sigh*</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">... and I would too... because that's just how accommodating I can be. I never knew teenagers could be so much fun. They know I have a soft spot for them - and I've been promised, by one of the girls, she will bring home her first gay best friend for me to pet and praise, by the end of the school year. I can't wait. I'll wear my "<a href="http://www.itgetsbetter.org/">It get's better</a>" Tshirt, if it EVER comes in the mail.</span></div><div><br />
</div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-9849492034735214872011-09-07T23:56:00.003-05:002011-09-08T08:55:08.226-05:00I will be what I want to be... This is who I will become<div style="background-color: transparent;"><div dir="ltr" id="internal-source-marker_0.5105152749456465" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: -31.5pt; margin-right: -36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Commas are too easy to miss. Writing a speech takes patience and time. It also takes stage directions. It's the West Wing for elementary students with big words like Democracy. I wonder if I'll be <strike>ghost writing</strike> editing more speeches in the future. When we started this exercise, I spent a great deal of teaching her about the famous questions: Who, What, When, Where, Why and How. This was a totally foreign concept of self expression -> Who are you? What can you do? When will you do it? Where will you do it? Why will you do it? How will you do it? </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"></div><ol><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Keep your hands out of your face.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don't fidget.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Look at your entire audience, scan them all from right to left, left to right, more than once.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wink at your best friend when you see her from the stage.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don't speak too fast, speak slowly and controlled. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Read every word, in order. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you do this - your momma will be proud.</span></li>
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<div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a good thing this Poor Ophelia can type fast. As the current treasurer of the PTA in my area, my foster daughter is seeking out a position for herself on the student council. Tomorrow she will deliver the following speech. This two minute speech is doing more than one thing, it will reveal to her world and all her peers:</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who she is</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(was)</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">... And will become </span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 17px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wanted to take tonight to do a list of things about why we should become a family, but that plan changed as this had to be finished and polished for tomorrow. Nothing like doing something big at the last minute. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that we finished her speech and when I wake her up tomorrow early - I might throw her in the car with the baby peanut and get her some little girl coffee and a vitamin. She's going to need it.</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I never asked her to do this - run for student council. I've only been asking her what she wanted her name to be when she was adopted. Mostly because I wanted to change her middle name, so it flowed like a song. I wanted to name her like she belonged to us, and give her a wonderful name, that suited her first lovely name. Maybe we won't tell my Grama that I named my daughter after the sister she hated most. Or maybe we will, so she can tell her dead sister (who didn't have children) what a wonderful name I did give my child.</span></div><br />
<div style="font: 18.0px Verdana; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 22.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="background-color: transparent;"><div dir="ltr" id="internal-source-marker_0.5105152749456465" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As most of you know I'm Brisa from Mrs. Ingraham's sixth grade class. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'd like serve Rushton as this years twenty eleven / twenty twelve … student council treasurer. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This school means so much to me … after starting here late in the spring… in Ms. Hanson's forth grade class. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As some of you who know me personally ... I'm a foster child and have been in foster care since I was 5 years old. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've lived in many different places with several different families. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Later this year I will be adopted by my current foster family. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You might know me now as *MissyB* {Blank}. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Later this year... my name will change to *MissyB* Mae Hoober </span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">… H O O - B (as in boy) - ER </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've found my home and I feel like Rushton is like a home to me too. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This school ... students and teachers make it a wonderful place to learn and be accepted. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This will be my last year at Rushton and I'm really going to miss everyone here. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It would be an honor to serve on our student council… helping our school and the students achieve greatness. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a democracy … everyone in this school has a voice. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A student government should work as a team. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our student government determines the way in which this school is run. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A government makes laws and creates policies about everything.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the treasurer … I would be responsible for overseeing how any money the student council …. has .... is spent. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My job would be keeping accurate records of all transactions related to money. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will also help and listen to all ideas the students of Rushton have… and use my influence to make a difference in our school. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH, PAUSE )</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 4.5pt; margin-right: 4.5pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I would like to serve as your treasurer… because I know … with my abilities and organizational skills … I can help this school and all of your voices… as the students of Rushton be heard. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BREATH… Wait for applause)</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br />
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<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: 14px;">"How comfortable are you about revealing yourself to your peers at school, what do you think about the info about your childhood?" </span></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: 14px;">"It's all true, the speech needed it." Let's just <b>not</b> say my mother was a crack whore." </span></span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">AHHHA! She is MY daughter!!! See... 'cause my mother </span><span style="font-size: large;"><strike>was</strike></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><strike> </strike>is crazy, and I lived with crazy. Ohhh.... we were so meant to be together. When we can poke fun of where we came from, this life is a much better ride.</span></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>With this speech, I will become what I set out to become. </i></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>I will be organized. </i></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>I will be looked up too.</i></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>I will fix things and make them right.</i></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>I will be a role model.</i></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>I will be me, but always try to be better.</i></span></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Verdana; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 29px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana;"></div></div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-27479495740892638322011-08-23T10:53:00.002-05:002011-08-23T11:05:31.014-05:00"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell."<div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>~<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edna_St._Vincent_Millay">Edna St Vincent Millay</a></i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>* This post is dedicated to a young man who recently lost someone tragically. You are in my thoughts. </i></span><br />
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</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is no right or wrong way to grieve — but there are healthy ways to cope with the pain. Grief that is expressed and experienced has a potential for healing. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Grieving is <strike>personal</strike> intimate and</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> an individual experience. How you grieve depends on many factors, including your personality and coping style, your life experience, your faith, and the nature of the loss. </span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The grieving process takes time. Healing happens gradually; it can’t be forced or hurried – and there is no “normal” timetable for grieving. <strike>Some people start to feel better in weeks or months. For others, the grieving process is measured in years.</strike> It takes as long as it takes and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If you are sad it's okay and everyone else can <strike>fuck off</strike> give you some space when you need time alone. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whatever your grief experience, it’s important to be patient with yourself and allow the process to naturally unfold.</span><br />
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<div class="p1"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><b>MYTH</b>: The pain will go away faster if you ignore it.</span></b><br />
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<div class="p1"><b><b>Fact:</b> Trying to ignore your pain or keep it from surfacing will only make it worse in the long run. For real healing it is necessary to face your grief and actively deal with it.</b></div><div class="p1"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><b><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><b>MYTH</b>: It’s important to be “be strong” in the face of loss.</span></b><br />
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</span></b></div><div class="p1"><b><b>Fact</b>: Feeling sad, frightened, or lonely is a normal reaction to loss. Crying doesn’t mean you are weak. You don’t need to “protect” your family or friends by putting on a brave front. Showing your true feelings can help them and you.</b><br />
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</b></div><div class="p1"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><b>MYTH: </b>If you don’t cry, it means you aren’t sorry about the loss.</span></b><br />
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</span></b></div><div class="p1"><b><b>Fact:</b> Crying is a normal response to sadness, but it’s not the only one. Those who don’t cry may feel the pain just as deeply as others. They may simply have other ways of showing it.</b></div><div class="p1"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><b><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><b>MYTH:</b> Grief should last about a year.</span></b><br />
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</span></b></div><div class="p1"><b><b>Fact</b>: There is no right or wrong time frame for grieving. How long it takes can differ from person to person.</b></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Are there stages of grief?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In 1969, psychiatrist <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elisabeth_K%C3%BCbler-Ross">Elisabeth Kübler-Ross </a>introduced what became known as the “five stages of grief.”</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The five stages of grief:</b></span></div><div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Denial:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“This can’t be happening to me.”</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anger: “Why is this happening? Who is to blame?”</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bargaining: “Make this not happen, and in return I will ____.”</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Depression: “I’m too sad to do anything.”</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Acceptance: “I’m at peace with what happened.”</span></li>
</ul></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you are experiencing any of these emotions following a loss, it may help to know that your reaction is natural and that you’ll heal in time. However, not everyone who is grieving goes through all of these stages – and that’s okay. Contrary to popular belief, you do not have to go through each stage in order to heal. In fact, some people resolve their grief without going through any of these stages. And if you do go through these stages of grief, you probably won’t experience them in a neat, sequential order, so don’t worry about what you “should” be feeling or which stage you’re supposed to be in.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elisabeth_K%C3%BCbler-Ross">Kübler-Ross</a> herself never intended for these stages to be a rigid framework that applies to everyone who mourns. In her last book before her death in 2004, she said of the five stages of grief, “They were never meant to help tuck messy emotions into neat packages. They are responses to loss that many people have, but there is not a typical response to loss, as there is no typical loss. Our grieving is as individual as our lives.”</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2rSF0SUm6NBLcyZpzi6I6QqyKx_cSYY7qeavnGV7F7M1_E2QLaSqj0eEL-kacrBxFEoJJ0Nd0WdtiiL0dxdgSJGXf6OPeqSbTVK5WQVGgN6aYPX8OMq9UrU6q0wYg9WupIPClLED0x9/s1600/coaster.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2rSF0SUm6NBLcyZpzi6I6QqyKx_cSYY7qeavnGV7F7M1_E2QLaSqj0eEL-kacrBxFEoJJ0Nd0WdtiiL0dxdgSJGXf6OPeqSbTVK5WQVGgN6aYPX8OMq9UrU6q0wYg9WupIPClLED0x9/s320/coaster.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Grief can be a roller coaster</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Instead of a series of stages, we might also think of the grieving process as a roller coaster, full of ups and downs, highs and lows. Like many roller coasters, the ride tends to be rougher in the beginning, the lows may be deeper and longer. The difficult periods should become less intense and shorter as time goes by, but it takes time to work through a loss. Even years after a loss, especially at special events such as a family wedding, we may still experience a strong sense of grief.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">C</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ommon symptoms of grief</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While loss affects people in different ways, many people experience the following symptoms when they’re grieving. Just remember that almost anything that you experience in the early stages of grief is normal – including feeling like you’re going crazy, feeling like you’re in a bad dream, or questioning your religious beliefs.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>• Shock and disbelief </b>– Right after a loss, it can be hard to accept what happened. You may feel numb, have trouble believing that the loss really happened, or even deny the truth. If someone you love has died, you may keep expecting them to show up, even though you know they’re gone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>• Sadness</b> – Profound sadness is probably the most universally experienced symptom of grief. You may have feelings of emptiness, despair, yearning, or deep loneliness. You may also cry a lot or feel emotionally unstable.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>• Guilt </b>– You may regret or feel guilty about things you did or didn’t say or do. You may also feel guilty about certain feelings (e.g. feeling relieved when the person died after a long, difficult illness). After a death, you may even feel guilty for not doing something to prevent the death, even if there was nothing more you could have done.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>• Anger </b>– Even if the loss was nobody’s fault, you may feel angry and resentful. If you lost a loved one, you may be angry at yourself, God, the doctors, or even the person who died for abandoning you. You may feel the need to blame someone for the injustice that was done to you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>• Fear</b> – A significant loss can trigger a host of worries and fears. You may feel anxious, helpless, or insecure. You may even have panic attacks. The death of a loved one can trigger fears about your own mortality, of facing life without that person, or the responsibilities you now face alone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>• Physical symptoms</b> – We often think of grief as a strictly emotional process, but grief often involves physical problems, including fatigue, nausea, lowered immunity, weight loss or weight gain, aches and pains, and insomnia.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="s1"><b>Surviving</b></span></span></div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>1) Get support </b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The single most important factor in healing from loss is having the support of other people. Even if you aren’t comfortable talking about your feelings under normal circumstances, it’s important to express them when you’re grieving. Sharing your loss makes the burden of grief easier to carry. Wherever the support comes from, accept it and do not grieve alone. Connecting to others will help you heal.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Turn to friends and family <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">- </span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now is the time to lean on the people who care about you, even if you take pride in being strong and self-sufficient. Draw loved ones close, rather than avoiding them, and accept the assistance that’s offered. Oftentimes, people want to help but don’t know how, so tell them what you need.</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Draw comfort from your faith - </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you follow a religious tradition, embrace the comfort its mourning rituals can provide. Spiritual activities that are meaningful to you. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sharing your sorrow with others who have experienced similar losses can help. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>2) Take care of yourself</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you’re grieving, it’s more important than ever to take care of yourself. The stress of a major loss can quickly deplete your energy and emotional reserves. Looking after your physical and emotional needs will help you get through this difficult time.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Face your feelings -</b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">You can try to suppress your grief, but you can’t avoid it forever. In order to heal, you have to acknowledge the pain. Trying to avoid feelings of sadness and loss only prolongs the grieving process. Unresolved grief can also lead to complications such as depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and health problems.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Express your feelings in a tangible or creative way -</b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Write about your loss in a journal. If you’ve lost a loved one, write a letter saying the things you never got to say; make a scrapbook or photo album celebrating the person’s life; or get involved in a cause or organization that was important to him or her.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Look after your physical health - </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The mind and body are connected. When you feel good physically, you’ll also feel better emotionally. Combat stress and fatigue by getting enough sleep, eating right, and exercising. Don’t use alcohol or drugs to numb the pain of grief or lift your mood artificially.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don’t let anyone tell you how to feel, and don’t tell yourself how to feel either. Your grief is your own, and no one else can tell you when it’s time to “move on” or “get over it.” Let yourself feel whatever you feel without embarrassment or judgment. It’s okay to be angry, to yell at the heavens, to cry or not to cry. It’s also okay to laugh, to find moments of joy, and to let go when you’re ready.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Plan ahead for grief “triggers.” Anniversaries, holidays, and milestones can reawaken memories and feelings. Be prepared for an emotional wallop, and know that it’s completely normal. If you’re sharing a holiday or lifecycle event with other relatives, talk to them ahead of time about their expectations and agree on strategies to honor the person you loved.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>When grief doesn’t go away </b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s normal to feel sad, numb, or angry following a loss. But as time passes, these emotions should become less intense as you accept the loss and start to move forward. If you aren’t feeling better over time, or your grief is getting worse, it may be a sign that your grief has developed into a more serious problem, such as complicated grief or major depression.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Complicated grief - </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sadness of losing someone you love never goes away completely, but it shouldn’t remain center stage. If the pain of the loss is so constant and severe that it keeps you from resuming your life, you may be suffering from a condition known as complicated grief. Complicated grief is like being stuck in an intense state of mourning. You may have trouble accepting the death long after it has occurred or be so preoccupied with the person who died that it disrupts your daily routine and undermines your other relationships.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5Ycnje59GWwaD7eK07aPPuSrwl4lGayPaWCmbO759Fzif59_C2Sr3gokIZTP0x3NXuoBlKcQVKsihk03RxlwnIkzGZIktup9paAnRtJdgHTuY_yPMztP2TdpjPfZpUpeWttf-ulOk6_2/s1600/Rainbows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5Ycnje59GWwaD7eK07aPPuSrwl4lGayPaWCmbO759Fzif59_C2Sr3gokIZTP0x3NXuoBlKcQVKsihk03RxlwnIkzGZIktup9paAnRtJdgHTuY_yPMztP2TdpjPfZpUpeWttf-ulOk6_2/s320/Rainbows.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Remember, grief can be a roller coaster. It involves a wide variety of emotions and a mix of good and bad days. Even when you’re in the middle of the grieving process, you will have moments of pleasure or happiness. With depression, on the other hand, the feelings of emptiness and despair are constant.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79; font-size: large;">"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. "</span></span></div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-36190235599660485902011-08-06T01:15:00.004-05:002011-08-06T01:39:10.673-05:00"Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so."<title></title> <style type="text/css">
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<div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I've waited all my life to be a real mom. I've wanted to be the comfortable safe person I remember my Poppa being... once-upon a time.</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfL8rQq5IM3s0gQYBJwmQZYZtOUMUoXeKelSUwpV01rXwq4U50Ki2sFa2QSXcdDa3n1mz1ZeHTcB7MnPZRg9pYZ-TF962OT5CNzWxACWGL5mllN67sHD6ky70fd6y7mVLj495KaK09cZK/s1600/Prochoice+bumpersticker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="50" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfL8rQq5IM3s0gQYBJwmQZYZtOUMUoXeKelSUwpV01rXwq4U50Ki2sFa2QSXcdDa3n1mz1ZeHTcB7MnPZRg9pYZ-TF962OT5CNzWxACWGL5mllN67sHD6ky70fd6y7mVLj495KaK09cZK/s200/Prochoice+bumpersticker.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><div class="p3"><br />
<ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I've got some questions for God: </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Is it okay for babies to be born exposed to harmful drugs? </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">To people who never wanted or cared for them, even in the womb? </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Did god say it was okay to molest children? </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">To beat them? </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">To deprive them of love and affection?</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">To neglect them? </span></li>
</ul></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">When I walk through a store with my foster daughter and foster baby boy, everyone stops and assumes these are my kids. They even look a bit like me, as all of us have dark hair. Some people start asking questions about my pregnancy, when the baby was born and so on. When it gets to this point, I can't lie and pretend, because these children aren't mine. I mention I'm a foster mother as I'm cornered with the baby birth questions. Say I can't take credit for my babies great hair - and joke what an easy pregnancy I had. </span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Then come the baby questions:</span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Where is his mother?"</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Why is he in foster care?"</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"What happened?"</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>I can't answer that, life happens, things happen.</i></span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"But… how did you get him? Will you keep him? Do you want to keep him?"</span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Yes, I'd love to keep him, but the situation is complicated. </i></span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"That's not fair - You've had him for so long."</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Yep... not fair. But, I'm a foster parent, this is my job.</i></span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Why is he in foster care, what happened to his mother and father?"</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Again, not a question I can answer.</i></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b></b></span></b></span></div><div class="p1" style="display: inline !important; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Arial Unicode MS'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><b>➘</b></span></b></span></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><b></b></span></b></span></b></span></b></span><br />
<div class="p1" style="display: inline !important; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Arial Unicode MS'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><b> ➘</b></span></b></span></b></span></b></span></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm getting ready to loose it. Hormonal I guess or verging on an emotional breakdown. I keep shouting to myself in my head - <i>Get over it…. this is something you wanted to do. You knew what foster care was. You knew what you were getting yourself into. </i></span></div></div><div class="p2"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">In the last few weeks baby peanut has learned to crawl all over the house. Each day he learns some new skill. He seeks me out whatever room I'm in, finding me without difficulty. When he does find me, he tugs at my dress/skirt/pants, whatever he can reach. He will pull off my sandals when I'm sitting down at a chair or at the sofa. He has started to babble a word that 99% resembles the word "mommy" or "mom". He even now responds to his name. </span></div></div><div class="p2"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But here we are tonight - I was laying on the floor with baby peanut who is now just over six months old. We were playing with his toys, changing his focus, trying to wear him out. He was tired but just wanted to keep going, playing, climbing on me like I was a jungle gym. I picked him up and danced with him around the room to some classical music. He puts his head on my shoulder while I take the lead, twirling him around the room, dipping him and spinning him. He laughs at me and grabs on harder, taking it all in. We do the two step, then we lead into a waltz. Later after playing, we lay on the sofa together. I was talking to him about what parts of his body were most ticklish. I poked him gently in different spots, trying to pin down magic locations, each time he lets out tremendous belly laughs that make me laugh too, which makes him laugh even harder.</span></div></div><div class="p2"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All of a sudden an image pops into my mind - What life would be like without THIS baby as our son. </span></div></div><div class="p2"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tears started streaming down my face. I had a flashback to me as a little girl, in my pajamas, climbing onto my Poppa's lap so he could read me a story.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I heard his voice in my mind. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I could remember the smell of the air in my grandparents house. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I remembered the texture of his chair and stroking the fabric. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Where my Poppa picked up the book he was preparing to read to me. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">How he used the remote to turn off the T.V.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The precision of how he took off his glasses.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I remembered my grandmother across the room in her rocking chair, knitting.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I could hear the sound of their dishwasher in the kitchen working. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I saw in my mind the painting of trilliums on the wall next to Poppa's chair and the framed poppy needlepoint next to the painting.</span></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My heart jumped then ached. I suddenly was thinking with my grandfather gone, I may never get the chance to have a memory like that with baby peanut. A beautiful, pure memory of him talking, walking, bringing me a book to read him... Some </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">unfulfilled future memory of knowing I was his momm</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">y.</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It's painful to think that the dancing will stop - the laughter will stop. He will no longer know who I am.</span></div></div><title></title> <style type="text/css">
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</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">To be honest, it is really very easy after all to love someone else's children like they were your own. The hard part is, letting them go. Tonight most of all, I miss being a little girl and the feeling of being loved and safe in the arms of my Poppa. I know baby peanut feels my love for him and it breaks my heart that it's not permanent.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-37482160846942370422011-06-20T03:09:00.001-05:002011-06-20T11:27:17.933-05:00"I would like to thank you all for helping us to make sense of this world, and when it didn't make sense, for teaching us to lie back and enjoy it. For showing us what was true, real and beautiful about this world."<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">ℳ</span>y house is a mess. My kitchen it torn up a bit. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOX0lM54hjFLT-DTWmzc7PexE2sFCtxqPsE2rVW_Pc2DGcRFi_Q9ikjxmz-_xlu0NXUsC2KJzFM8DPnI8FdF0k9jNKZ-bKPMo3SWa-kJEo26bGlvpyN_oEqNv1RS4YKl5JS5jKOhWwn2or/s1600/KitchenOne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOX0lM54hjFLT-DTWmzc7PexE2sFCtxqPsE2rVW_Pc2DGcRFi_Q9ikjxmz-_xlu0NXUsC2KJzFM8DPnI8FdF0k9jNKZ-bKPMo3SWa-kJEo26bGlvpyN_oEqNv1RS4YKl5JS5jKOhWwn2or/s320/KitchenOne.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We are meeting the brother of our foster baby and his adoptive family this </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">weekend. I've invited everyone to our house, as we have nothing to hide or be ashamed of - If it is under construction, so be it. I'll still cook my ass off this week in preparation, as we have had nobody over since Christmas day brunch. We have the grill outside, so all I have to make is my side dishes, which are the easiest part. The biggest challenge - In this stage - Is the little black ants that everyone has right now - They are what makes cooking in my kitchen less than desirable. Every ant bait I make or buy has little power over these sneaky little suckers. They need to go live in the garden - that would make me much happier.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, here I am, conflicted with emotion. I'm meeting for the first time, the new mother of my foster son. We are awaiting the <a href="http://glossary.adoption.com/interstate-compact-on-the-placement-of-children-(icpc).html">ICPC paperwork</a> to go through. Eventually he will be moved to another state - where he can live/grow up with his biological brother, who is two years old. Our baby peanut is thriving - He is happy, learning, teething, and just the best baby in the world. I couldn't have had a better experience taking a foster baby. And… sadly, I find myself crying, that I wish we could have one of my own, I wish we could keep him at the very least. This point, we are at zero percent chance of having him staying with us, and it seems to rip up our whole family emotionally. Even my husband has expressed sadness, which is really big of him. I know we are doing something good - I feel as if we are doing something not many can do. My heart break will be, we will grieve the loss, like we have done so many times before. Then we will continue onto another challenge. Currently, I've hired a personal trainer to kick my ass back into shape. I'm still sore from my first visit last Friday. Maybe she can take my mind off of things and I'll shift my focus a bit.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2XEyce0Dymb0oEqWLiLC50IokbOQkakCx2hX1sMToemN4ZgdvAKXAOwjK6A36SKQ7dVMzPC5LAcINhTUCfGeR09zX9QRSiSJ5Qz4wthnK-2nnrA9xtdcsbf2zGy_kHwb7BcnhJdQBFyR/s1600/science-fiction.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2XEyce0Dymb0oEqWLiLC50IokbOQkakCx2hX1sMToemN4ZgdvAKXAOwjK6A36SKQ7dVMzPC5LAcINhTUCfGeR09zX9QRSiSJ5Qz4wthnK-2nnrA9xtdcsbf2zGy_kHwb7BcnhJdQBFyR/s320/science-fiction.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When new Momma and I talk online or the phone, it's like talking to myself, from some other timeline - like in some science fiction show. We share many similar problems with our bodies, as they have both betrayed us with the blessing of infertility - Even though our love for having children is strong. We share similar issues with emotional eating and weight problems. Mine started really early in grade school, it's a hard habit to break - not like quitting smoking or drinking. Food is always something you need to consume to survive. I want to not like this women, as she is taking away a baby that I have loved and cared for as long as he was 3 days old, but how can I not like her? ... She is just another version of myself from another dimension</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. She is wonderful and deserves this little boy - and our peanut deserves to know this brother. </span></div><title></title> <style type="text/css">
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</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It may seem a bit strange to pour your heart out to someone you have never met in person. Although, that is how I met my husband eleven years ago. I might have a gift for finding and talking with kindred spirits online. I'm not sure what to think about - I'm going to try and focus this week on getting my house in order for Saturday. Even with the 3 year old twins durring the day, we can tackle this as an adventure. With my husband gone on his business trip, it might be easier to get a few things done. Or at least, he will be spared the pain of interacting with me in my frantic, get-the-house-clean <strike>bitchy</strike> state.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"> ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂</div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">"Human beings never think for themselves, they find it too uncomfortable. For the most part, members of our species simply repeat what they are told--and become upset if they are exposed to any different view. ... We are stubborn, self-destructive conformists. Any other view of our species is just a self-congratulatory delusion."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Crichton">Michael Crichton</a> <i>The Lost World</i></span></blockquote>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-18005253270046275032011-06-07T03:44:00.004-05:002011-06-07T08:23:16.195-05:00I used to hope it would be that way for us. But it is not going to be that easy.<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">"I'm glad mom can't have a baby"</span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight, that comment left me with a bit of whiplash. Made me very </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strike>angry</strike></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> despondent to here our long time foster daughter utter such an insensitive remark.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had some responses to see if she understood what a comment like that, how a comment like that, could deeply hurt someone inside. Words stick I told her, and once they are said, it is hard to take them back. All week I've been saying treat others as you would want to be treated. This was not one of these moments. I'm very sensitive about the subject of my infertility, and when someone this naive about the subject says something rather cruel in passing, it really makes my blood boil. </span><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1) How would you feel inside, if I told you, I wished you were never born? Would that be a hurtful thing to say to you?</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2) When your foster father comes home, tell him that you are happy that his wife is defective and cannot have babies - see what he says. If you think it is okay to tell me that, then it should be okay to tell him.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3) Do you really think, with my background, with my family struggles, that even if I could have my own children, I wouldn't do foster care and take other young people into our lives? Clearly I'm not in this for the loving words and gestures shown to my family. I'm more in it for the rehabilitation of broken little souls. Remarks like this are hurtful ➜ upsetting ➜ extremely ➜ unpleasant. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Learn some manners and put a filter on your mouth!!</span></span></i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">✁✁✁✁✁✁</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I'm reminded of a time when I said to my mother, about a guy she had been dating for many years whom I liked, that I thought she only wanted to marry him for his money. She left the room and didn't speak to me for an entire weekend. I was forbidden to go to the homecoming fair with my friends. I was left to cry in my room for the next 50 hours, with nobody to talk to. My mother went to bed and didn't get up for several days after my remark. What I said hurt, but she had no fight in her to defend my comment. Clearly I struck a nerve with her also. </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">✁✁✁✁✁✁</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I'm wrong to bombard my foster child with questions directed towards empathy and compassion for others, how will she ever learn the concept? If I can turn an off putting remark into something that will enlighten</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> her feelings, maybe she might open her eyes on occasion and think about how she makes others feel with her words. I never want to end up in a situation they way my mother treated me - she couldn't even tell me what I said was wrong, or why it upset her.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Putting someone's needs or feelings before your own seems hard to grasp in this house with the older children who stay with us. The 3 year old twins I babysit, thoughtfully do it each day for one another though. I'm hopeful that the young ones can inspire the older children to be better people. Each day is a challenge and I thought it might be easier, but it is not going to be that easy.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="sqq" style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/C._S._Lewis">C. S. Lewis</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-25552997705809253312011-05-28T01:44:00.003-05:002011-05-28T02:01:24.700-05:00"Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes, they forgive them"<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'd like a sign to wear when I go out in public that says: <b>Foster Mother, Don't Judge.</b> </span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm mostly embarrassed<span class="s1"> </span>that someone might mistake my child's misbehavior for my DNA.</span></div></div><u> </u><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looking at pictures the other day, staring at the past. I reconfigured some framed photos recently.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wanted a mother or husband to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hold me while I cried myself to sleep the other night. Maybe it is just</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">stress. I've been </span>wishing for some comfort, a connection. Things with my foster children are really taking a toll on my physical and mental well being</span>.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have a 4 month old baby since he was 3 days old. I picked him up from the hospital on January 21st, 2011. Baby Peanut looks up at me with love in his eyes. I don't see that in my foster daughters - her hurt runs too deep to even care about anyone but herself, and even caring for herself is a challenge.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenqLTAGlNC35Bc3tQOiM77DQ7vCmI1sQyfOv5-2EQtWZ1nKO2qQvfq2H8mPqw6vSap5ZPxaWH3iW2IczqlJSmSy9pp7YMSfp9R8Ttjn9pp9JHt1MYx-tSHPSevCWCwHpo4Z5jcDfSy_mR/s1600/Black%2526WhitePeanutNap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenqLTAGlNC35Bc3tQOiM77DQ7vCmI1sQyfOv5-2EQtWZ1nKO2qQvfq2H8mPqw6vSap5ZPxaWH3iW2IczqlJSmSy9pp7YMSfp9R8Ttjn9pp9JHt1MYx-tSHPSevCWCwHpo4Z5jcDfSy_mR/s640/Black%2526WhitePeanutNap.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naptime with Peanut - Two months old</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Baby Peanut experienced a rather abrupt boarding into his car seat one afternoon this week. It was raining, I slipped, he slid in, bumped his head lightly on car seat arm-beam but didn't cry. Turned around 3 quarters of his body to look for me, to make sure I was okay? That totally deserved kisses, no matter how much It hurt when I skinned my knee on the truck. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have a 1% chance of keeping this lovely boy forever. But, it's likely that he will move on. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I keep telling myself that Baby Peanut isn't mine - and won't be since day one. It is so hard because that little voice inside my head, that has been there all along, says to me I'm not worthy of having a baby. I don't know what God's plan is, but it sucks. Having someone this small in our lives, who truly loves me and my family, and having to give him away is really hard and disappointing. I keep telling myself I'm a bridge for a young life to find peace. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't know how much we will be involved after he moves, since every time we see him it will break all of our hearts that he couldn't stay with us. I know deep down, being with his brother is likely the best fit. He will be missed greatly and we will all mourn </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">his loss. I can see taking another baby in time. Maybe this is what I was meant to do. Going through menopause at 32 isn't fair, I'd love to have my own children, but that must not be what was meant for me.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach your full potential... these are the keys that will unlock the door to personal excellence.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="color: black; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't like:</span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Always having to raise my voice</span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not having anyone listen to instructions</span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not having a daughter in my life who respects me or my authority</span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not having a deep bond with this person who lives in my home</span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not being able to trust</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hRPLeaxPotZbxg2KvZLuSShAxxYGh43U0KVgIan7oj2551VrUzXF8Yi4mU-Q1LnRBlYOqT4bBdYEa3SqtaqpdhQl5JsQelsGvG1_CAb-p01SBLmx95KMrQ0hdWSwGFAGEf8v_vDV7QyY/s1600/BrisafoodSteal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hRPLeaxPotZbxg2KvZLuSShAxxYGh43U0KVgIan7oj2551VrUzXF8Yi4mU-Q1LnRBlYOqT4bBdYEa3SqtaqpdhQl5JsQelsGvG1_CAb-p01SBLmx95KMrQ0hdWSwGFAGEf8v_vDV7QyY/s200/BrisafoodSteal.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qUmMmosKAyWHHPRKEgwY8FtPhBhi16Su_cUnVdhZijcYXyQyjxc0jAE3xW3Bzpu7e4JLX9paHXpNE6BH570GgOEq3s42JOXpbGiJf5zrLptKpWpFiEtYFRcU1aqQ-S6i9ZpLoJjl5hLp/s1600/Brisajunkfood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qUmMmosKAyWHHPRKEgwY8FtPhBhi16Su_cUnVdhZijcYXyQyjxc0jAE3xW3Bzpu7e4JLX9paHXpNE6BH570GgOEq3s42JOXpbGiJf5zrLptKpWpFiEtYFRcU1aqQ-S6i9ZpLoJjl5hLp/s200/Brisajunkfood.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; color: black; display: inline !important; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">S<span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">tealing, lying, hoarding food. All the things I did as a child, but only because my mother didn't care to get out of bed to take care of me. <br />
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I meet the needs of my children and that doesn't make a difference. How do I love someone who breaks my heart frequently? I'd like to be more proud of my children. I'd like to be more proud of myself.<br />
<br />
I was threatened by my daughter the other morning, when I told her not to wear flipflops to school Wednesday. It's against school dress code. She told me that "I" would need to drive her up shoes if she got caught. The punishment didn't sound fair to me, so I called the school and explained the situation. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande';">I'm delighted to get the principal, on the last day of school, to rip my daughter a new one (to tears) over her flipflop wearing. This is why I joined the PTA. It takes an army to raise a child. I take my delights in a different way. Although, someone did earn $5 for every grade she brought up to an A. Which is being credited towards some money she owes me, that was stollen out of my purse, to buy the above snacks at a value of $75 dollars.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: small;">“Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime.”</span></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-58308981850625955942011-05-27T19:48:00.003-05:002011-05-28T02:28:29.045-05:00Twenty Five Manners Every Kid Should Know By Age 9<title></title> <style type="text/css">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL9wq3SlhXuamkE5yk0RMX0WIcryRc7WHQYQU6naxHd9zjD2A2LnLeyTktfcgE5z3UE2z7mYMW7dr7qSfjtrR1_W2lHG9XKGfGLHVK5i2RTV8TZGqTv8Tyh1ngg006syR97ju81v1uBKMF/s1600/Rude+Kid.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL9wq3SlhXuamkE5yk0RMX0WIcryRc7WHQYQU6naxHd9zjD2A2LnLeyTktfcgE5z3UE2z7mYMW7dr7qSfjtrR1_W2lHG9XKGfGLHVK5i2RTV8TZGqTv8Tyh1ngg006syR97ju81v1uBKMF/s1600/Rude+Kid.gif" /></span></a></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes... I stole this mostly, then edited in some of my own rules. Please add any if you like.</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For the original article go here: <a href="http://www.parents.com/kids/development/social/25-manners-kids-should-know/">Parents.com</a></span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Helping your child master these simple rules of etiquette will get him noticed -- for all the right reasons.</span></div><div class="p3"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By David Lowry, Ph.D.</span></i></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1) When asking for something, say "Please." </span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2) When receiving something, say "Thank you."</span></div><div class="p4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3) Do not interrupt grown-ups who are speaking with each other unless there is an emergency. They will notice you and respond when they are finished talking.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4) If you do need to get somebody's attention right away, the phrase "excuse me" is the most polite way for you to enter the conversation.</span></div><div class="p6"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5) When you have any doubt about doing something, ask permission first. It can save you from many hours of grief later.</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6) The world is not interested in what you dislike. Keep negative opinions to yourself, or between you and your friends, and out of earshot of adults.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7) Do not comment on other people's physical characteristics unless, of course, it's to compliment them, which is always welcome.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">8) When people ask you how you are, tell them and then ask them how they are.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">9) When you have spent time at your friend's house, remember to thank his or her parents for having you over and for the good time you had.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">10) Knock on closed doors -- and wait to see if there's a response -- before entering.</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">11) When you make a phone call, introduce yourself first and then ask if you can speak with the person you are calling.</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">12) Be appreciative and say "thank you" for any gift you receive - even if you don't like it. In the age of e-mail, a handwritten thank-you note can have a powerful effect.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">13) Never use foul language in front of adults. Grown-ups already know all those words, and they find them boring and unpleasant.</span></div><div class="p6"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">14) Don't call people mean names. </span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">15) Do not make fun of anyone for any reason. Teasing shows others you are weak, and ganging up on someone else is cruel.</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">16) Even if a play or an assembly is boring, sit through it quietly and pretend that you are interested. The performers and presenters are doing their best.</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">17) If you bump into somebody, immediately say "Excuse me."</span></div><div class="p7"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">18) Cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze, and don't pick your nose in public. Actually turning and coughing to the floor spreads less germs.</span></div><div class="p7"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">19) As you walk through a door, look to see if you can hold it open for someone else.</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">20) If you come across a parent, a teacher, or a neighbor working on something, ask if you can help. If they say "yes," do so -- you may learn something new.</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">21) When an adult asks you for a favor, do it without grumbling and with a smile. Even if it is a smelly gross job.</span></div><div class="p7"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">22) When someone helps you, say "thank you." That person will likely want to help you again. This is especially true with teachers!</span></div><div class="p3"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">23) Use eating utensils properly. If you are unsure how to do so, ask your parents to teach you or watch what adults do.</span></div><div class="p6"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">24) Keep a napkin on your lap; use it to wipe your mouth when necessary. Use a coaster on wood furniture. </span></div><div class="p6"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="p6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">25) Don't reach for things at the table; ask to have them passed.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm sure there are more rules... but this is just for starters.</span></div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-23875470134629647252011-01-16T03:57:00.007-06:002011-01-16T07:09:34.119-06:00Love who you want to love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"></span></span></div><h3 style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Many LGBT youth can't picture what their lives might be like as openly gay adults. They can't imagine a future for themselves. So let's show them what our lives are like, let's show them what the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">future may hold in store for them." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGv865Sra5E" style="color: #a78ba1; font-weight: bold;">The "It Gets Better" Project from a CBSNews report</a><b style="color: #a78ba1; font-weight: normal;"> </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-weight: normal;">(Video)</span></span></h3><h3 style="color: #a78ba1; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></h3><h3 style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a78ba1; font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.itgetsbetter.org/pages/about-it-gets-better-project/" style="font-size: medium;">What is the It Gets Better Project?</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-size: xx-small; font-weight: normal;">(Collected f<span class="Apple-style-span">rom:www.itgetsbetter.org)</span></span></span></h3><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Growing up isn’t easy. Many young people face daily tormenting and bullying, leading them to feel like they have nowhere to turn. This is especially true for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT">LGBT</a> kids and teens, who often hide their sexuality for fear of bullying. Without other openly gay adults and mentors in their lives, they can't imagine what their future may hold. In many instances, gay and lesbian adolescents are taunted — even tortured — simply for being themselves.</span></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.queerty.com/teenager-justin-aaberg-killed-himself-over-gay-bullying-his-mom-wont-let-anyone-forget-20100914/">Justin Aaberg</a>, <a href="http://www.queerty.com/billy-lucas-15-hangs-himself-after-classmates-called-him-a-fag-one-too-many-times-20100914/">Billy Lucas</a>, <a href="http://slog.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2010/09/23/gay-teenager-kills-himself-in-wisconsin">Cody Barker</a>, <a href="http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/metropolitan/7220896.html">Asher Brown</a>, <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/ybenjamin/detail?entry_id=73326">Seth Walsh</a>, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/10/01/raymond-chase-suicide_n_746989.html">Raymond Chase</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suicide_of_Tyler_Clementi">Tyler Clementi</a>. They were tragic examples of youth who could not believe that it does actually get better.</span></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While many of these teens couldn’t see a positive future for themselves, we can. The It Gets Better Project was created to show young LGBT people the levels of happiness, potential, and positivity their lives will reach – if they can just get through their teen years. The It Gets Better Project wants to remind teenagers in the LGBT community that they are not alone — and it WILL get better.</span></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;">☼ ☀ ☼ ☀ ☼</span></span></div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In September 2010, syndicated columnist and author Dan Savage created a YouTube video with his partner Terry to inspire hope for young people facing harassment. In response to a number of students taking their own lives after being bullied in school, they wanted to create a personal way for supporters everywhere to tell LGBT youth that, yes, it does indeed get better.</span></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two months later, the It Gets Better Project (TM) has turned into a worldwide movement, inspiring over 5000 user-created videos and over 15 million views. To date, the project has received submissions from celebrities, organizations, activists, politicians and media personalities, including President Barack Obama, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Rep. Nancy Pelosi, Adam Lambert, Anne Hathaway, Colin Farrell, Matthew Morrison of "Glee", Joe Jonas, Joel Madden, Ke$ha, Sarah Silverman, Tim Gunn, Ellen DeGeneres, Suze Orman, the staffs of The Gap, Google and Facebook, the Broadway community, and many more. For us, every video changes a life. It doesn’t matter who makes it.</span></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The website <a href="http://www.itgetsbetterproject.com/">www.itgetsbetterproject.com</a> is a place where young people who are lesbian, gay, bi, or trans can see how love and happiness can be a reality in their future. It’s a place where our straight allies can visit and support their friends and family members. It’s a place where people can share their stories, take the It Gets Better Project pledge, watch videos of love and support, and seek help through the <a href="http://www.thetrevorproject.org/">Trevor Project</a> and <a href="http://www.glsen.org/cgi-bin/iowa/all/home/index.html">GLSEN</a>.</span></blockquote></div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Who is Dan Savage?</b></span></blockquote><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dan_Savage">Dan Savage</a> is author of the internationally syndicated relationship and sex column <a href="http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=6265752">Savage Love</a> and the weekly podcast <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/savage-love-podcast/id201376301">Savage Lovecast</a>. He is editorial director of the Seattle weekly <a href="http://www.thestranger.com/">The Stranger</a>, where he was formerly Editor-in-Chief. He is a regular to contributor to PRI's "This American Life" and has been featured as a Real Time Reporter on HBO's "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Real_Time_with_Bill_Maher">Real Time with Bill Maher</a>."</span></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dan heard about the suicides of Justin Aaberg and Billy Lucas and had a reaction so many LGBT adults had. “I wish I could’ve talked to that kid for five minutes before he killed himself,” Dan recently said. “I’d tell him that however bad it was in high school or middle school...it gets better.” The It Gets Better Project was born.</span></blockquote></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Listen to Dan and his partner Terry talk about their stories and how the project came to be:</span></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/7IcVyvg2Qlo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">For more videos go to:</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.itgetsbetter.org/video/">www.itgetsbetter.org/video</a> or search the words "It Gets Better" on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/">Youtube</a></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Here, for all to enjoy an </span></span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTQNwMxqM3E" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">IT GETS BETTER</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> music video by: </span><a href="http://www.rebeccadrysdale.com/rebeccadrysdale.com/home.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rebecca Drysdale</a>, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Posted 1/3/11, with 90,672+ views </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">by 1/16/11 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 14px;">(NSFW do to explicit lyrics) </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/cTQNwMxqM3E?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>(LYRICS) IT GETS BETTER ♪♫♬♭</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Amanda is in gym class where the kids go to get fit,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But her eye’s not on the ball at all -- it’s on Ms. Foster’s tits.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She’s got a dirty little secret (“shhh”) that everybody knows.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She came out, but she wishes she had left the closet closed.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">And here is little Davey hiding in the piano room,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Playing Wicked, Rent, Chicago, Cats and Brigadoon.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">He’s hiding from the locker room and jocks who roam the halls,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Where he’s safe from wedgies, shiners and destruction of his balls…</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But when they call you weirdos, fags, and rejects, flamers, gays and hags, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Baby dykes and homotikes, Lesbos, homos, and queer bags,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It might seem like it’s hopeless and will never be ok,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But listen to the ones who care -- believe them when they say:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">IT GETS BETTER</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">One day you’ll look back and you won’t give a fuck</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When your swimming through your pussy vault like Scrooge Fucking McDuck.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">And when you’re snatching your first Grammy -- super glammy lookin’ slick --</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It won’t be much time till they get in line for a chance to suck your dick.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">IT GETS BETTER</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It wasn’t long till they told Johnny that he wasn’t normal</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When he wore a strapless gown and high heels to his junior formal.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But the cool guys they felt passionately that his chosen fashion</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Was a rationalization for a rash of Johnny bashin’.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Everyone made fun of Shannon cause she kissed a girl.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">So she hid her head and closed her mouth and shut out all the world.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She is brilliant, smart and funny, kind and talented -- but hey --</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It doesn’t matter what she is cause all she is to them is gay.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But when they call you carpet munchers, fudge packers, and queens,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Lesbians in training, Marys, Nelly, Nancy teens,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It might seem like you’re different, weird, unusual or strange,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But hang in there cause things have always and will always change.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">IT GETS BETTER</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Jon’s a stylist and he’s gotten pretty far.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Now he doesn’t get his ass kicked but his ass kissed by the stars.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">And when Shannon got to college she met people just like her,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">And she realized who the d-bags and the fuckheads really were.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">IT GETS BETTER</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Jane Lynch, Boy George, Versace,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Adam Lambert, Liberace,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Elton, Tim Gunn, Michael Stype,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Ellen, Rosie, Wanda Sykes.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Jodie Foster, Linda Perry</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Gandalf the Wizard? -- actually a fairy.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Simon Amstell, K.D. Lang.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Even Brando like some wang.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Rachel Maddow (huge muff diver),</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Richard Hatch who won Survivor,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Nathan Lane, Truman Capote,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Even Obiwan Kenobi.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Billy Joe from Greenday’s bi,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Ricky Martin --- big surprise!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Doogie Howser -- what a showman.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Dave Hyde Pierce and all the Romans.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Tommy Tune and Alvin Ailey,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Meredith Baxter, Leisha Hailey.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Lohan, Paquin both are bi.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Boy George and George Takei. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Cher has a transgendered child.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">George Michael and Oscar Wild,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Everyone involved in Glee,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">One-tenth of everyone you know -- and me!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">All of them were just like you.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It got better for them, and it will for you too.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">IT GETS BETTER</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">If you’re gay or bi or something in between,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">There’s no one who is meaner than a bunch of asshole teens.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Those assholes are the first people that you will soon forget</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When you’re living life and learning ho</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">w much better it can get….</span><br />
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</span></div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-34032574861929480842011-01-01T05:46:00.006-06:002011-01-01T16:08:27.418-06:00Goodbye 2010 - A year of change<title></title> <style type="text/css">
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<div class="p1"><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As the holidays approached, I found myself quicker to tears on occasion. The last 11 months have been a challenge and a gift at the same time. We have a foster child, and with that comes tantrums, disobedience, anger and tears. We all know how to behave, but showing an emotional reaction isn't always the right solution. Especially when you are being tested on a daily basis. We've had an upswing in behaviour changes over these last few months with the holidays. It's emotional trauma time, and as clear as day, I can remember loads of it from way back when. If anyone thinks I go overboard with Christmas, well... maybe I do. I've certainly calmed down over the years. I</span>t is something I can almost control <s>if I drink enough</s> in a good way. I'm aiming for special, and with the friends we've made here over the years, I think we have done really well.</div><title></title> <style type="text/css">
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</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our child is a "professional foster child" which means: She has been in foster care long enough to know how to work the system and how the system works. When we talk about a permanent home, or she tells us she wants us to adopt her, I don't let emotion slip in… I calmly say it is forever - there is no going back. You can't leave because you decide you don't like us anymore. However, my reaction to her announcement is seen as hurtful. Rose petals and unicorns should dance at this notion, and we should all break out into song like a musical. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">♩♪♫♬♭ </span>Errr... um... no. That's Disney - that's not real family.</span></div></div><div class="p2"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Christmas time isn't my most favorite time of the year. I lost my <span class="s1"><s>grandfather</s></span> Poppa several years ago, just days after Christmas. My husband's father passed last year. Our daughter has been separated from a sibling for the first time ever, and has a deep</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> hole in her heart. I found myself one evening, driving home from a garden club Christmas party, suddenly crying. A clear feeling emerged: I made pumpkin pie that night - It was his favorite. The very last thing I remember making for my Poppa before he died. </span></div></div><title></title> <style type="text/css">
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</span></div></div><div class="p1" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">✄ ✄ ✄ ----------------------------------------------- </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(flashback)</span></span></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">We came up for Canadian Thanksgiving with husband about 5ish years ago? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">I convinced the family I would make a traditional Thanksgiving meal at cousins house. We had the whole family around one table; About nine adults and four children. When it came down to the pie, Poppa did his usual back handed comment that it wasn't spiced the way he liked. Which was not really my fault, since I didn't bring my spices from home, so I ended up using some of the old ones my </span><span class="s1" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;"><s>grandmother</s></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;"> Grama had on hand. Oh… and I made him eat it with real whipped cream from a cow, not that petroleum based Cool Whip crap like he was accustomed to eating</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">. </span></div></div><title></title> <style type="text/css">
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</span></div></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-size: small;">The day we left for home, I came early to say goodbye at their apartment. It was 8:00 in the morning. My <s>grandmother</s> Grama was in the shower with her </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">Nurse's aide. Poppa was sitting at the table, with entire pie plate in front of him, eating my "not spiced as he would have liked" pie for breakfast. This is one of my last memories of him. Now, each time I make a pumpkin pie (from scratch people, NO CANS) I always spice it for him, with extra ginger, fresh grated nutmeg and cinnamon. If he ate my pie today, he'd never complain. Now I make a point of travelling with my own favorite spices. Who knows when I might need some.</span></div></div><div class="p2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="p2" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">☁</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">☀</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">✈ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;">--------------</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">☁</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">☀</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">✈ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;">-----------</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">☁</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">☀</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;">✈</span></div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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As we were driving home with tears streaming down my face, I felt compelled to tell my daughter some truth about life. When someone dies, they are gone - we are left with memories of them, sometimes heirlooms or small treasures of their life. We can do good deeds in memory of them, spread stories about them or re-tell famous family anecdotes, the way they told them. Their spirit is not forgotten. When you are separated from someone you love who is still alive, like a sister or brother... time often heals by bringing people back together.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It is <u>not easy or fair</u> that you must accept that a person: </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Who is part of you + Who you love = Is out of reach</span></div><div><div><br />
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<blockquote><ul><li>Write them letters, poems, drawings. Make a box for them of your dreams</li>
<li>Remember them and know that you will be reunited again </li>
<li>Live as you wish they would live = happy and healthy </li>
<li>Continue to be a big sister or brother as a role model, even when distance divides</li>
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</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I can't get on the phone anymore and talk to my Poppa. The closest I can get to him now is in my dreams… but we do manage to have some pretty good conversations. </span></div><div class="p1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</style> </div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-25631016827664969242010-12-10T09:42:00.000-06:002010-12-10T09:42:58.192-06:00"Most people don't know that I am an accomplished dramatic actor... But I've performed in several Shakespeare productions including Hamlet, except in this version, Hamlet lives in an apartment with two women, and has to pretend he's gay so that the landlord won't evict him." - John Ritter<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><h1 style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">My mother wrote me last month with her latest ordeal. It seems she is fighting an eviction notice and may need to leave her apartment. I've done as much as I can to write letters on her behalf to help her, as I know, with her cancer, the move could do more damage than good.</span></strong></span></h1></span></span></div><div style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #351c75;"><b><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">November 9, 2010<br style="color: #351c75;" /><span style="color: #351c75;">Office of the Mayor 26 Francis St., Lindsay</span></span></strong></b></div><div style="color: #351c75;"><b><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></strong></b></div><div style="color: #351c75;"><b><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br style="color: #351c75;" /><span style="color: #351c75;">Dear Ric McGee,</span></span></strong></b></div><div style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #351c75;"><b><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #351c75;"> My mother - Catherine, living at 906 Cresswell Rd. in Little Britain Ontario, was sent a hand written notice that she is to vacate her apartment of six years, on November 30th of this year. A complaint was made to the city of Kawartha Lakes, telling her landlord's Robert and Diane McFadden, that their property does not comply with the Township of Mariposa Zoning By-Law 94-07. The property in question has been a rental unit for the past 20 years to many college and university students. My mother was told, that renting the unit was income spent paying the property mortgage, and she could never be late with payment - this was 6 years ago. I do not believe she has ever had a problem making payment.</span></span></strong></b></div><div style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #351c75;"><b><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"> My mother is on social assistance for mental disability, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer this year, and I doubt she is in any condition to move - or will be a problem for the McFadden's much longer. I understand my mother is an odd character, however, I worry for her health and safety. She recently this year, had a disturbance with the landlords, for not delivering her mail in a timely manner, or for not letting her have a post office box. She does not own a car and only installed a landline phone for the first time this year. The primary method of correspondence with my mother, is done through the postal system, and she has not been getting my letters/packages/notice of packages - in a timely manner.</span></strong></b></div><div style="color: #351c75;"><b><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
If the landlord would like my mother to move, and they -> will not/are not -> applying for re-zoning, what are they doing with the apartment? If they are having a relative move into the place, they should be giving proper notice. As it is, they never filled proper eviction papers from what I've been told.</span></strong></b></div><div style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #351c75;"><b><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Again, this is a complicated story and my mother is very ill with cancer. I live in the Kansas City area, and can be contacted for further details.<br />
</span></strong></b></div><span style="color: #351c75;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Cheers!<br />
~ali<br />
-- </span></span></strong></span><b><strong style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></strong></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #888888;"></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #888888;"></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #888888;"></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #888888;"></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #888888;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now after speaking with the mayor of Lindsay, I've come to find out that this all started because she fought for her rights, started a crusade to get a mailbox. The zoning commission investigated where she was living, found out it was an illegal use of property and thus... she screwed herself. This is a typical situation my mother would get herself into. So when she complains to me, "how could this happen" my sympathy for her circumstance is lessened. She was warned that pressing her mailbox issue could trigger this event. </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The only good that could come out of this eviction: she will need to move into a better location, with better services. I hope my mother can suck it up and comply, conform with more regulation and the rules of society - this isn't a strength on her part. She has her own ideas, wants and needs that are not mainstream in the least. My mother is the bag lady you would pass on the street, if not for the luck she has had. My wish for her is to live a more normal life, one without anxiety and the fear of actually living. I want her to enjoy her time left on this planet.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><blockquote><b style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."</span></span> - Friedrich Nietzsche</b></blockquote>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-54031055734039127302010-12-07T01:31:00.001-06:002010-12-07T08:02:53.569-06:00Experience will be the teacher - we just need to be paying attention.Being Canadian - culture is very important to me. With a Hispanic foster child, we are trying to teach values and respect heritage. With Christmas coming, many traditions of the people in our lives may be overlooked by our own. With a foster child, we need to be tolerant of diversity and not show prejudice towards our neighbours, our children or birth families. This can be a difficult task when truly thought about. That would mean being nice to my family and my husband's family without hesitance and genuine forethought.<br />
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Recently we were at a KU basketball game in Lawrence. My first game ever, and even with my most knowledgeable local historian/good friend, the debate and education of basketball's origin continues with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Naismith">James Naismith</a> here in the state of Kansas. I'm Canadian you see - these facts are very important to me and my heritage.<br />
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At the game, our 11 year old foster daughter grabbed my arm, really hard with great determination. I immediately realized she was trying to force my hand on my heart for the Pledge of Allegiance, and I snapped my arm back. Telling her I'm not American and it would be like taking communion from a church not of my faith. But I don't go around burning American flags either - this is just citizenship protocol.<br />
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<div><div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><blockquote><span class="body">A civilization is a heritage of beliefs, customs, and knowledge slowly accumulated in the course of centuries, elements difficult at times to justify by logic, but justifying themselves as paths when they lead somewhere, since they open up for man his inner distance. -</span> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antoine_de_Saint-Exup%C3%A9ry">Antoine de Saint-Exupéry</a></blockquote> How do my friends keep balance? What family traditions do you use to preserve heritage?</div></div>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-46683875993507328852010-10-27T09:08:00.000-05:002010-10-27T09:08:02.341-05:00My religion is tolerance<h1 id="watch-headline-title"><span class="" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="Clawfinger - Two Sides">Two Sides <span style="font-size: small;"><i>performed by</i> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" style="font-weight: normal;" title="Clawfinger - Two Sides">Clawfinger </span></span></h1><br />
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<br />
<span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114">Lyrics:<br />
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There's nothing a god can give to me that I can't give to myself<br />
I put my beliefs in the things I believe and a god can take care of himself<br />
There's not enough love in the wo...rld for me to think about wasting my time<br />
<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show">It's not that I don't believe at all but I can't need a heavenly sign<br />
I can achieve the things I need without getting down on my knees<br />
I can respect your religion but I don't want to pay your fees<br />
I don't want to hear you talk about things you think that I need<br />
So don't help me back on my feet again until you can hear me plead<br />
Just look in the holy book of crooks and tell me what you can find<br />
All the rules and regulations made to manipulate your mind<br />
Don't pretend that you're blind, just open your mind and study historical times<br />
<br />
The bigger the loss<br />
The bigger the cost<br />
The bigger the cross<br />
And its crimes<br />
<br />
I don't believe in god that I need to worship<br />
I don't believe that I need to get down on my knees<br />
I don't believe that voice from above can help me<br />
I only believe in that I can see and the things I can achieve<br />
<br />
Whatever belief you belong to there's still always a reason to doubt<br />
And there's always another opinion as to what life is all about<br />
There's always a bigger dimension and a different point of view<br />
So I don't want to try to change you that decision is up to you<br />
Whatever your final choice is and however you chose to live<br />
You better be happy for what you can get and happy with what you can give<br />
There's only one thing to remember there is only one thing you can do<br />
And that is to do unto others as you'd have others do unto you<br />
<br />
Two sides two sides to every story<br />
Two stories more makes four new ones to chose<br />
Four sides four sides to every story<br />
Four stories more makes eight new ones to chose<br />
Eight sides eight sides to every story<br />
Eight stories more now which one should you chose<br />
Now which one can you use</span></div><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></div><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span class="text_exposed_show"> *******</span></div><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></div><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"> <span>This was found on an </span>Atheist friends facebook. <span>I agree with the song, although I'm more of the hippie/pagan persuasion - A food chain loving girl. What I believe has been passed down from my grandmother. She is a wise woman and has taught me understanding.</span></div><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span> </span></div></span><br />
<blockquote><span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span>God for me is in the trees, dirt and all the creatures of earth, big and small. </span></div></span></blockquote><blockquote><span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span>What we know and have yet to learn or explore,</span></div></span><br />
<span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span></span></div></span></blockquote><blockquote><span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span>God is a word to describe something that cannot be explained,</span></div></span></blockquote><blockquote><span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span>God can be all encompassing, </span></div></span><br />
<span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span></span></div></span></blockquote><blockquote><span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span>"He" is only a gender word that helps us identify the deity.</span></div></span><br />
<span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span></span></div></span></blockquote><span><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span> </span></div><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span>I only need to open my eyes to see what the word God means</span><span class="text_exposed_show">. When I'm outside, with children or gardening, I feel my peace and a sense of belonging in the world.</span></div><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_4cc828b05f8f78430792114"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br />
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</span></div></span>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-90799573691754581642010-02-12T04:14:00.014-06:002010-02-27T05:15:41.204-06:00"No one wants to admit that compassion and cruelty can live together in the same heart"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKlarCq1b3TzUdCQ3-Tzi4nmakBNq-Vk6pQYWc4qW3u7IjZdy0S7NiNGecyoNcqi4VFjyIZu3WFuhfDceSeHzacI8WN5wHN5dgKGpRFv4NrCqiwQd3WZl39NyGSXmKHVeqIMSXSx8b01h5/s1600-h/ali+and+mom+xmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKlarCq1b3TzUdCQ3-Tzi4nmakBNq-Vk6pQYWc4qW3u7IjZdy0S7NiNGecyoNcqi4VFjyIZu3WFuhfDceSeHzacI8WN5wHN5dgKGpRFv4NrCqiwQd3WZl39NyGSXmKHVeqIMSXSx8b01h5/s320/ali+and+mom+xmas.jpg" /></a></div>My mother has taken Lithium (off and on) for most of my life. Back in the 1970's she was diagnosed Manic Depressive Disorder, before people really knew enough about the condition, along with its spectrum. She had several psychiatric hospitalizations that I remember when I was a child. I was relocated to live with relatives at different times because of my mothers mental instability.<br />
<br />
My uncle has said she was weird as a child. I've come to find out, in her early 20's, that she may have attempted suicide over a boy to whom she was engaged. My mother never married and her relationship with my father will make for many more blog entries. <br />
<br />
Mom and I have talked a few times since Christmas. I sent her <a href="http://www.perfumecountry.com/ProductDetails.asp?ProductCode=LEJARDIN-WOMEN&click=23172">LeJardin</a>, the only perfume I remember her wearing in the 1980's. Ninety-eight percent of my mothers communication with me is about how sick she is or has been. It's been hot - I've been sick. It's been cold - I've not been feeling well, sorry I haven't called or wrote. She rarely asks about me or my husband - what might be new in our lives? Every time we talk she is sick in some way - this has been going on most of my life. My mother barely got out of bed when I was a child. And, like my mother, I too hide in bed for my own salvation when I'm emotionally challenged. I'm easily addicted to super soft warm flannel, fleece blankets, lofty duvets and pillows of all shapes. <br />
<br />
A few years ago she had an emergency hospitalization for a hysterectomy. Then, after some doctor gave her estrogen (not much more than a year later) she had a piece of her breast removed after finding a cancerous lump. I'm under the impression she has had chemotherapy and some radiation treatment with each of these illnesses. On the one occasion, the only reason I knew of her illness, was from the hospitals call to me, as next of kin information on her paperwork.<br />
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Her attention seeking sickness never went very far. There have been vague instances where she called to tell me she thinks she has Multiple Sclerosis - but doesn't. But mostly, it's hard to tell what is really happening, imagined or partially true. I've had a hard time believing her, especially when she has confused reality with fiction in the past.<br />
With her bouts of cancer, she never voiced concern about treatment - it almost seemed like she was happy. She has found truth with cancer.<br />
<br />
Last Sunday afternoon was a call from my mother. I'll be married ten years this May and she only now gets a phone.<br />
She has fluid in her lungs - and is having them drained this Friday along with some biopsies preformed. The doctor is concerned it might be metastasized breast cancer that has spread to her lymph nodes.<br />
<blockquote style="color: #351c75;"> Oh, by the way... My landlord just gave my your Christmas card. It had a date on it. Did something happen to Steven's father?</blockquote><blockquote style="color: #20124d;">Um... Yes mom. He just DIED of CANCER on October First, 2009. </blockquote> <span style="font-size: small;"><i>My chest tightens and I feel myself thinking "and you might be next it seems" </i></span><br />
<br />
So, when it comes down to it, I'm not really a very good daughter to my mother. I could be nicer... More generous. I kinda gave up some time ago. We don't often have conversations back and forth. Usually its one of us talking - usually my mom. I've tried to help her - When my grandfather died, I tried to get her to use some of the money she had in trust to her towards a ummm... <strike>fuckinggoddamn</strike> phone. Not another fur coat or something even more absurd. I wanted her to write down her wants and needs, make a list. Think things out rationally, but that was too much to ask.<br />
<br />
I'm feeling like - this is it? Really? I know we don't have that loving, conventional relationship that daughters are suppose to have with mothers. Part of me feels like she was taken from me a very long time ago. So, why am I crying? I've cried over my mother for years. Where did this physical pain under my ribs emerge from? This is too soon - I'm not even a mother myself. Can I even be one? Has her example contaminated me? I've found myself thinking, I don't deserve children. Having her DNA inside of me is what makes me infertile - if I tried harder, maybe I'd get pregnant, but passing my genes on would likely be cruel. <br />
<br />
Looking back, I do appreciate she was able to identify her limitations. She legally stepped back from her paternal ownership of me - to let me grow with other people in charge. That cannot be an easy thing for any mother to do.<br />
<br />
Emotional and physical abandonment from my mother and father was most likely difficult. I feel processing it, and having to explain my situation to my peers as a child was likely worse. Why do you live with your grandparents? Where is your mother and father? Even now, as an adult, I'm plagued with severe jealousy when I witness healthy, loving, mother/daugher father/daughter relationships.<br />
<ul><li>I've grown up to be selfish with my time. </li>
<li>I try very hard, and avoid feeling emotion when I can. </li>
<li>Sometimes I hide away from the people I love in my life - like my husband. </li>
</ul>For many years I've thought, if my mother died when I was young, I could remember her without disappointment - Paint fanciful, mental memories of a great mother who did everything with grace and precision. A woman perfectly balanced - who made an exceptional wife. I'm not saying I wanted my mother to die ever. But, somewhere, in my heart, I've grieved already. And, it feels as if she has died before. The tears I'm spilling right now are of fear - that I've become so cold and bitter inside that when I tell her I love her over the phone - I don't really mean it anymore.Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-26543628002562443462010-01-31T15:19:00.001-06:002010-02-01T09:36:41.890-06:00Girlfriend said Monday "Did you see my neighbor with anti-abortion signs on lawn? I want to ask, how many unwanted children did they adopt?"Then we discussed the case of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Tiller">Dr. George Tiller</a> who was killed May 2009 - the murderer currently awaiting trial in Wichita Kansas. <br />
<br />
My twitter status last week was imported into facebook. I made a stir with the above quotation. Three of my friends and I discussed the issue of abortion - After more than twenty comments later I'm pasting my feelings here. This is not a topic people tend to agree upon. My blog, so... my personal opinion.<br />
<br />
I can't support the pro-life movement especially when it leads to the murder of doctors, (shot in their own church???) who will be a murder target next? <br />
Women who choose to have abortions or the men who impregnate them? If I were able to conceive, I would want every available option (late term abortion if necessary) open if something were to go terribly wrong with a pregnancy.<br />
<br />
Then again, it's a total crap shoot - with our combined family history, I'm likely to have a child with mental health problems or pass along my own endocrine disorder. So... why wouldn't I adopt right?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4IHP0Z_A-UwvlQ5kgT8O453Bskv4wX-GBzKNG_Vef59gtBZsSH4vQvd7-O7Zy59Umbl169KaxGWvDbJPIQvxPYfAGLGCQusYCAkuao4Avao1ew8fCi-WXign045Y8NLsDCoyOmGjZy8l/s1600-h/eggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4IHP0Z_A-UwvlQ5kgT8O453Bskv4wX-GBzKNG_Vef59gtBZsSH4vQvd7-O7Zy59Umbl169KaxGWvDbJPIQvxPYfAGLGCQusYCAkuao4Avao1ew8fCi-WXign045Y8NLsDCoyOmGjZy8l/s200/eggs.jpg" width="200" /></a>As humans, we are supposed to be more intelligent than animals. I'm not seeing that being the case when it comes to sex and breeding practices - Abortion shouldn't be the problem here. Until we start spaying and neutering our own species with more regularity, we still need a back up plan since condoms, birthcontrol pills or abstinence don't seem to work - Sex leads to pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, profit and poverty. So, lets just give up and tax sex at this point.<br />
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Is the christian conservative movement effecting Canada like in the United States regarding personal rights and freedoms? This is not a dig to religion, just a question. I was under the impression I'm from a country more tolerant of personal choice - Many rules imposed by government are progressive toward environmental standards: regarding smoking, recycling, emission standards? Gay marriage, common law unions and so on? Having choice and being our own medical advocate regarding any health issue is key - Especially when it comes to serious diseases like [remove word abortion: insert cancer] cancer. Some people choose not to get treated because death is less expensive. We put a price tag on everything unfortunately. Death ->life ->choice. If we are able to make choices regarding how we die, we should have the same choice when it comes to creating life. <br />
<br />
With my hormone disorder, most doctors who have treated me want to chemically sterilize me with birth control pills. This is not fixing my hormone disorder or my infertility - It mearly masks the problem. At 30 years old I'm now taking HRT made at a compounding pharmacy. $150 a month to force my body into producing the hormones any 30 year old girl should have readily available. So I look around at all the women who have children, that I so desperately want for myself, who foolishly waste their gift of fertility. I do not condone frequent abortion as a method of birth control, neither do I condone to the use of heroin, cocaine or any substance that harms fetal development. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX5pqaPVXrrVUeiBxSAI1JigoksvakgQh9RVDpGY2hMN9myAa_3IT7nHGF3MmobtoJY-YNBzdlwm8q2XwMdngGZASE5ZNsp8H2Yc5UAYEcWSlmWGrSTWj0cqVj8-H-eYEpkNuLDA5o2_K/s1600-h/germinate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX5pqaPVXrrVUeiBxSAI1JigoksvakgQh9RVDpGY2hMN9myAa_3IT7nHGF3MmobtoJY-YNBzdlwm8q2XwMdngGZASE5ZNsp8H2Yc5UAYEcWSlmWGrSTWj0cqVj8-H-eYEpkNuLDA5o2_K/s200/germinate.jpg" width="134" /></a><br />
Proper germination and ecological conditions are needed to sustain life. Some people being born into this world are not getting these specific needs fulfilled. Drastic reproduction education needs to be practiced with the help of the government and religious groups. Creating a human life seems too easy than the energy it takes to care for one.Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-38304123227364326322009-11-09T06:39:00.001-06:002009-11-09T12:37:58.043-06:00What's in a name?Why Poor Ophelia? I've been asked this question more than once in the last few years.<br />
A difficult question, that directly questions my identity. <br />
My biggest struggle would most likely be defining myself by what I do for others, rather than what I do for myself. Doing things for myself often seems lackluster. I get in moods where I just don't care about me. Looking for motivation in others needs seems easier than listening to my inner voice. <br />
<br />
I like to read <a href="http://www.aliceboyes.com/">Dr. Alice Boyes</a> online. She's a Social and Clinical Psychologist among other things. A few months back I found myself taking a <a href="http://www.personal.psu.edu/faculty/j/5/j5j/IPIP/">personality test</a> to help identify my some of my strengths and weaknesses for fun. Of all the things I found out, my levels of sympathy and morality are low.<br />
<blockquote>Low scorers believe that a certain amount of deception in social relationships is necessary. People generally find it more difficult to relate to the unstraightforward low-scorers on this scale. It should be made clear that low scorers are not unprincipled or immoral; they are simply more guarded and less willing to openly reveal the whole truth.<br />
</blockquote>This information was difficult to digest at first. I've always considered myself rather sympathetic and honest - maybe too honest for my own good. <br />
<br />
How this all ties into my screen name is just going to be hard to follow. After studying Hamlet in school I stumbled across a book, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrRtJY28ps8">Reviving Ophelia</a>. My self-help book addiction started young. After a few rocky relationships in high-school and college (yes -I was a slut, I blame society and all the skinny models), I wrote <strike>a lame poem</strike> an inspiring poem, that detailed my feelings regarding some guy who's name I don't even remember now.<br />
This particular boy had a mild case of Tourette's syndrome, which I found interesting. I always knew the exact moment he fell asleep, when his body stopped twitching. Accepting his illness was easy. We had a similar struggle with food issues and body image problems. It was not surprising, just mildly hurtful to be dumped for being 3 months younger than the legal drinking age - so we couldn't go the the bar together, get drunk and make out. Tall Blond, handsome, with piercing blue eyes. Too pretty to trust. <br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Death To All</b></i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Innocent joy</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Destroyed</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>By a single touch</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Rotten flesh</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Tastes Bitter</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Unlike your love</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>That doesn’t flow easily</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>“Hot dogs! Get your red hot ones right here!”</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Bellows a vendor on a street corner</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>He sells meat the same way I sell myself:</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Short</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Crushed dreams</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Begin to glow</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Giving new meaning</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>To life</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Yet I choose to wear a blindfold </i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>And drown with grace like the poor Ophelia</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Who was killed by a man -<br />
</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>But also by his tragic flaw.</i></span><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">-Alison Adelaide Rogers 1998Ó</span><br />
</div><br />
The men I dated, until meeting my Prince Kansas, never felt long term - seldom conveyed feelings of security or trust. It wasn't about friendship either. Purely sex driven with most, and never truly satisfying. How I found my prince on the internet, I'll never understand.<br />
"Poor Ophelia" was chosen as reminder to balance myself within my relationship with others, myself and society. Compounded with my love for Hamlet (my favorite on-screen Ophelia portrayed by Helena Bonham Carter) I somehow latched onto the play in school with a dorky passion that couldn't be shaken. To this day, I still find myself occasionally referring to my parents as my Aunt Mother and Uncle Father, as they were my legal guardians from age 13 on.<br />
<br />
When in college, I had to come up with a screen name to register on the match.com website. Over my one week free trial period, this is where I met my husband of 10 years this coming, <strike>cash gifts welcome</strike> May 2010. Remembering my poem, the name itself should have easily eliminate some men in mullets, and/or haters of Hamlet, which needed not apply for internet pen pal status.<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Looking for your address at work the other day I found this. The first email you sent me, dated 3/27/98. I don't save outgoing, so I only the vaguest recollection of what you are responding to. Gosh that's a while ago. Below that is your match.com profile. The first things I knew about you... </span><br />
</blockquote><div style="color: blue;"><br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Poor Ophelia, will you throw yourself into the mill pond now?"<br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: magenta;">"Sorry, the url address didn't work. No, I shall not drown now that you are in my computer... hehehe. Nice to hear from you. Tell me about yourself. I don't really belong to that matchmaking thing anymore. "</span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: magenta;">~ poor_ophelia</span><br />
</div><br />
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Distance: 912 miles<br />
Artistic, passionate, mature female looking for you!<br />
18 year old female, located in Peterborough, Seeking 20-30 year old male for short-term relationship or long-term relationship. <br />
To express my inner self, I guess I must divulge the following... I love to write, draw and cook. I like to talk and look for people who can entertain me with interesting conversation. I am stuck in a time warp with Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison. I am caring and expressive. 5 foot 3 inches, green eyes. I have a bizarre sense of humor. Half Monty Python, Half Douglas Adams. </span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ethnicity: Caucasian<br />
Religion: Agnostic<br />
Body Type: Average<br />
Height: 5ft. 3in.<br />
Smoking: Don't smoke<br />
Drinking: Drink socially/occasionally<br />
Children: None<br />
Plans for Children: Want children</span><br />
</div><br />
In a fight, long ago before college, my Aunt said I was going to marry the first man who asked me. She made it sound like a careless act on my part. These words stuck with me a long time. I was very suspicious of my husband when we became engaged, wondering if I was loosing some bet my Aunt had made.<br />
On one of my latest trips visiting family, my Aunt said to me in a Zellers department store, she is very proud of me - of where I am, who I'm with and of what we have together. I remember covering my face with sunglasses conceal the tears streaming down my face. I was happy to hear the words from her, but sad to know, that inside, I'm not satisfied with myself... and terrified I may never be.Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-50454281146216316912009-10-26T23:48:00.011-05:002009-10-27T03:19:48.371-05:00"If we can make dogs happy, children happy, and even cats happy, certainly we can make adults happy, especially an adult we know very very well."It was challenging last week, to be part of the conversation. I feel a little dirty now talking about it, but what came out was - <blockquote style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">"Your husband is mean... to you."</blockquote> Am I not to him sometimes?<br /><blockquote><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">"How can you stand for this?" "How can you let it happen?"</span><br /></blockquote>Sometimes I try to ignore it. Sometimes I become passive aggressive and sometimes I really do get angry. Why is this a problem? Nothing is going to change. My best hope is our circumstances do - and a little piece of myself, a deep wound will heal. That's all I can hope for.<br />Then came:<br /><blockquote><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">"You need to find another job"</span><br /></blockquote>WTF? Where? Doing what? With more restrictions, less pay, giving up the very laptop I'm typing on? I heard myself say, there isn't a pill that can fix what's wrong. If there is one, I don't think I'm the one who always needs to be taking it. Not working together won't fix it either. We've just hit a rough spot, it will pass. His father just died. Things will change.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EbLMNOIITs8DtDgbK0SDw3GnuHuXD8s90wNLRnSMhgCKsutoXz2tp5IqOncm6XIYcAFBZyrvgQ-UR6z9TciNvchfAQbK4MlksHnA3KrNFFxDNTQKQrTlHnjKzrBK0pLWDlpJWIaeIHTR/s1600-h/October172009kissingSteven.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EbLMNOIITs8DtDgbK0SDw3GnuHuXD8s90wNLRnSMhgCKsutoXz2tp5IqOncm6XIYcAFBZyrvgQ-UR6z9TciNvchfAQbK4MlksHnA3KrNFFxDNTQKQrTlHnjKzrBK0pLWDlpJWIaeIHTR/s320/October172009kissingSteven.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397188534927213458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The things we once found endearing about one another may become stale and irritating as time moves along. But, we continue to love one another.<br /></span><br />This is what being married is like. It's not for everyone. It's very normal to fall in and out of love - which makes the bond stronger.<br /><br />Some days I imagine slapping my husband when he says something really derogatory, as if in a black and white movie. We fight, he grabs my hand and kisses me with fire and passion.<br /><br />Some days I feel so blue from a fight, I want to tunnel deep into the flannel of our bed with heaps of pillows - drowning my sorrows with a drug-induced slumber.<br /><br />Where did my confidence go? When did I become just as mean-spirited? I try really hard to be a good wife, a caring person. Sometimes, I find it hard to care. Sometimes, the negative body language really gets to me, our egos get in the way when talking to one another.<br /><br />Don't tell me I'm a victim - I'm not. It takes two people to be married. Tonight I've reread some marital wisdom from a couples book, recommend to us by our wonderful therapist.<br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Will-Never-Leave-You-Couples/dp/0553375318">I Will Never Leave You: How Couples Can Achieve The Power Of Lasting Love</a><br />Here is my summary of the last chapter <span style="font-weight: bold;">The six promises of a real relationship</span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-style: italic;">I promise not to question your needs:</span> We are all a little screwed up. Be relaxed about the human condition, take each other the way you are. Acknowledge that you each have separate needs, accept, commit to helping each other meet them.</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-style: italic;">I promise to seek your peace: </span>It doesn't mean shutting down the emotions or placing a limit on enjoyment. Peace is not an affect but rather a conscious connection with your core. It is simply a quiet decision about who you are, which you do not forget.</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-style: italic;">I promise to put your happiness first:</span> To carry out this promise is merely to practice the way love feels. Love has no fear. Start simply by guessing what you think would make your marriage happier, and put it first. Take care of your body and your emotional needs, yet still put your relationship first. Do kind, loving, nourishing things for each other throughout the day.</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-style: italic;">For it is in giving that I receive</span>: Do something just to be doing it, to bring light simply because there is darkness, to bring joy simply because there is sadness. It is impossible to relate and not have a relationship, but it is possible to have a marriage and yet wait forever for the relationship you want to come to you.</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-style: italic;">And it is in helping you awake that I awake:</span> People don't actually take on negative vibrations, they react to them with negative vibrations of their own - which continue for as long as they choose to continue them. Marriage is dependent on your trying to see your partner's deep innocence - until that vision becomes permanent.<br /></li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-style: italic;">I love you; I bless you; I want to walk to God with you:</span> A real relationship is perhaps the quickest and simplest path to the top of the mountain. There, in stillness and humility, Love shows us a great splendor that covers everything and embraces all. To take our partners hand is not a weakness, but salvation.<br /></li></ul>Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-4766193183516025322009-10-09T10:52:00.007-05:002009-10-27T03:34:58.594-05:00We cannot fix pain, sorrow, dying or death<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoE1hd7st0qs-cEjhb6mSvnz0Db08w5PrqqulQDoSlyWKM_3YEFr6rSfcZSIamYJbRBXxs8eiSG1YmHyy9ep1OCQsgKn7EGDfx6HMEFVUoM6xbVCxSYrOQXP3s-CZ7pFgNQiWu7tPJE0ev/s1600-h/DSCF5123-crop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoE1hd7st0qs-cEjhb6mSvnz0Db08w5PrqqulQDoSlyWKM_3YEFr6rSfcZSIamYJbRBXxs8eiSG1YmHyy9ep1OCQsgKn7EGDfx6HMEFVUoM6xbVCxSYrOQXP3s-CZ7pFgNQiWu7tPJE0ev/s320/DSCF5123-crop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390859155846184770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJI6a7xgBg59cjt_b0vtF0bSLikjnmYZHhzMTmu1UWv0m45Zf1A8eX0SasEfd4tq-9Z9YmEojf8jN4nbv4G95VqodvQhn3bmVh6nwz65SVBlLw6xJ-aYCTXv6xqY834U937mfp89WuHXV5/s1600-h/Tallgrass_Scott_0004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJI6a7xgBg59cjt_b0vtF0bSLikjnmYZHhzMTmu1UWv0m45Zf1A8eX0SasEfd4tq-9Z9YmEojf8jN4nbv4G95VqodvQhn3bmVh6nwz65SVBlLw6xJ-aYCTXv6xqY834U937mfp89WuHXV5/s320/Tallgrass_Scott_0004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390637780185103922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Day by day we are building for eternity ... Every gentle word, every generous thought, every unselfish deed will become a pillar of eternal beauty in the life to come."<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rebecca_Ruter_Springer">Rebecca R. Springer</a></span></blockquote><br /><br />My thoughts are cool, clear and crisp... as is the day outside: It feels and smells as October should - of damp leaves, chrysanthemums and wood burning stoves. A friend asked me recently why I don't let myself feel? I replied, "I haven't had the time." Today, is a day, I'm taking a time to feel.<br /><br />Steven's father passed away Thursday, October 1st, 2009 around 2 p.m. in the afternoon. I feel a weight has been lifted from my heart. I've watched my husband walk around with a specific degree of hurt over the passed year. While he expresses his feelings differently than others, I could see how his fathers illness had impact on his being. I've known my father-in-law for 10 years, which was not long enough.<br /><br />I do not know what it is like to lose a birth parent to death and I wish I could find more sympathy within myself. Death always has a way of putting your own mortality into perspective. I've always believed I'm food for worms. Our soul, having a life of its own, becoming part of the electrical collective... that is our universe. My heart aches to see physical decline of life, but it's natural - that I understand.<br /><br />After giving my own grandmother a bath and dressing her for my grandfather's memorial service, I've seen how hard loosing a spouse will be. What I would look like in the bare flesh at old age. Each line, wrinkle, scar, bruise - the sagging of flesh from my bones, dry skin that easily tears. Aging scares me more than death. Never having a grandchild scares me even more.<br /><br />I get extremely defensive of my husbands needs and feelings. He's a planner, if you tell him what is going on, make plans with him, he feels better. While plans change frequently, he is better equipped for a situation. Various times I find myself seeing him with a reasonable opinion and never being part of the conversation. In our own lives together, it is tremendously isolating to be talked at and never heard. Grief is selfish, dirty and cannot be shared equally. Over this time I've witnessed how we are too busy, consumed with our own feelings, forcing tolerance and ignoring others along the way. We stop listening to one another and tune each other out.<br /><div style="text-align: right; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />“I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken - and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.” -Margaret Mitchell</span></span><br /><blockquote></blockquote></div>Own your martyrdom, don't try to pass the torch, you may be disappointed with the result. The effort to fix someone else is often met with inflexibility. Be a positive model and hope that facilitates change. This is hard for me, I want to fix things, people, animals... much of it beyond my control, especially loss due to death.<br /><br /><blockquote>"Have you told your father you love him and are going to miss him?"<br /><br />"I've talked to him."</blockquote><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLeKe949PIpPY94ZGz22x-mHHB9dMdnxlm-Tyg00Ai1U5RpcSN0AJIoOHiQk08yWeu9moetL213qqeZNx7584-EK0JonUIy_zWrIdTAbbundCltsnzcSpZ0Vv7pGlHiu1X1ixvxDLvl6m/s1600-h/wedding.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLeKe949PIpPY94ZGz22x-mHHB9dMdnxlm-Tyg00Ai1U5RpcSN0AJIoOHiQk08yWeu9moetL213qqeZNx7584-EK0JonUIy_zWrIdTAbbundCltsnzcSpZ0Vv7pGlHiu1X1ixvxDLvl6m/s320/wedding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390857701498441874" border="0" /></a>I brought the DVD's of home movies his father made, to help celebrate his life. I'm jealous not to own such a collection. I cherish the china that was passed down to me - but have wished for more memories of laughter, camping trips and family vacations. My childhood memories are becoming faint. Photographs, some burned along the edges, barely surviving a fire.<br /><br />My husbands love of history is directly inherited from his parents. I would never have collected from my Poppa, very specific recollections of his time in the Canadian Navy. It took my Grama's breath away to hear new stories after 52 years of marriage. My husband talked extensively with Poppa before he passed. For a brief time, we shared a grandfather.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeldGLrHoRgpaCZR3ZtkuuODCZHV_IsMgjn9THLrZxokhgyifcStbTjQqblUciE9gHS85-jpUggh9Ub5He_88Uesu-y49Y7Ero4x3PZPiMZOuRHNOpmbdi_kasi360EDNwi8zd7uLsoHEt/s1600-h/50th-Anniversary.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeldGLrHoRgpaCZR3ZtkuuODCZHV_IsMgjn9THLrZxokhgyifcStbTjQqblUciE9gHS85-jpUggh9Ub5He_88Uesu-y49Y7Ero4x3PZPiMZOuRHNOpmbdi_kasi360EDNwi8zd7uLsoHEt/s320/50th-Anniversary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390860359703100610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I've connected with wonderful, warm, honest, caring people over the past few years.Some I've met through work and play. Others - strangers from the internet, where we share common interest. Thank you for your friendship and kindness - You are what keeps me warm at night... Lasting longer than any wood burning stove on these crisp October nights.Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-60929266503206726482009-06-11T00:14:00.003-05:002009-06-11T01:00:44.360-05:00I should write entries more... Here goes:Went to Canada for two weeks to see family and friends, but I'll write More on that later. <br /><br />Now back, I find myself exhausted, trying to pull myself out of bed and get some shit done around the house once again.<br /><br /><br />Today, I finally managed to get to my two drug stores and pick up scripts I called in Saturday. One is a compounded Thyroid medication: T3 only, for what some call <a href="http://www.wilsonssyndrome.com/"> Wilson Syndrom</a> which kinda sounds hokey. But all the research about how estrogen works in the body - how body temperature effects hormonal mechanisms, resonates with some real data -> So I'm giving it a shot. It's been over a month and I've noticed better tolerance of outdoor temperature. Also found that my outdoor light sensitivity, without sunglasses, is better - which is an odd change.<br /><br />Second, I picked up my Prometrium which I'm to take monthly days 17-26 of my cycle. Well, my bad and I'm starting on day 27. Took it early this evening and it has hit me like a brick. I'm feeling really droopy and dizzy. It has never made me feel this tired before - hope that means it's really working. <br /><br />Since Canada, I've been dreading the fact I need to make another doctor appointment with some one in the GYN community. I'm trying to save my insurance for more critical things, but I swear that when in Toronto, getting ready for clubbing with friends, the corset I tried on, ruptured something on my left side. What? Another tumor on the left ovary this time? A piece of Endometriosis? Or... now, do I need a hernia operation on my intestine? God - this really sucks. Last time I looked into this I ended up spending our whole insurance deductible ($5000) on some stupid colonoscopy that turned up with nothing. I just need a scan for starters. <br /><br /><br />Who has an ultrasound machine?Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-42988869312440797182009-03-10T00:08:00.019-05:002009-03-12T08:44:53.484-05:00Less Than Graceful<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknntqbT-JEehntsRZWA6a65O2wcMU9VU3Nm2orETHYF01FxZr37_B37NJ7iYvQLFXf3eeLpbf9dBgjFURYgh036KJU9a6RfVx_1mk5IdNa_5F2gj-CoDd7bHygi8VPNHaAtTmrTrExYNp/s1600-h/antiochpark.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknntqbT-JEehntsRZWA6a65O2wcMU9VU3Nm2orETHYF01FxZr37_B37NJ7iYvQLFXf3eeLpbf9dBgjFURYgh036KJU9a6RfVx_1mk5IdNa_5F2gj-CoDd7bHygi8VPNHaAtTmrTrExYNp/s320/antiochpark.png" border="0" alt="Random person dog walking at Antioch Park" title="Random person dog walking at Antioch Park" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312048039225287938" /></a><br />On Saturday I got the call to babysit. I was honored and quickly started thinking about all the things we could do together. Once Nial showed up at the house we had some breakfast and then off he played, while I packed the car for our outing to the park - <a href="http://www.jcprd.com/parks_facilities/map_antioch_park.cfm"> Antioch Park </a> to be exact.<br /><br />If you know me at all, I have a certain way of doing things. When it comes to feeding animals and people, I'm kind of a food snob. Yes, some people think feeding wild animals is wrong, but they already live at the park anyway. So, when I go to the park, I bring corn, which I get from the local feed store for the <a href="http://www.duckrescuenetwork.org/duck_care.html">ducks</a> and geese. Bread for these animals, has little nutritional value. <br /><br />While Nial was playing, I packed up the car with the stroller, the corn, and the dog's leash. I felt guilty leaving Atka behind and I knew she wanted a walk. As soon as I reconfigured my purse for the walk, picked up the car keys, I heard a bark at the door. If we were going for a car ride - Atka, was not going to be left behind. <br /><br />At the park we geared up. Nial in stroller - check. iPod on very low - check. Dog tethered to retractable leash - check. Retractable leash tethered to my waist - check. Corn at bottom of stroller - check. Start walking! In 5 minutes we see our first item of wildlife, a wonderful Western Ribbon Snake. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzps9Ee_uZ7MRBVaPC2RUNS0i-UKprSCukUUCj35xEWIsW4VvGDJ9fwOwQjHGbHrjw0Z-k7UW8g0jXym77ArybVEGaTwSwVMzmdvhUrKjfUrcMD83dojDyvVvs07DTuE127c91MUXDf7m/s1600-h/CM+Capture+6.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzps9Ee_uZ7MRBVaPC2RUNS0i-UKprSCukUUCj35xEWIsW4VvGDJ9fwOwQjHGbHrjw0Z-k7UW8g0jXym77ArybVEGaTwSwVMzmdvhUrKjfUrcMD83dojDyvVvs07DTuE127c91MUXDf7m/s200/CM+Capture+6.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311424826317653746" border="0" /></a><br /><br />He coiled up, raised his head and hissed at us with all his might. What a cute little guy. Atka kept walking ahead, not even aware this little snake was angry with us, disturbing his sunbathing. I took his photo with my cell and he slithered on his way, off the paved trail into the brush.<br /><br />It doesn't take long to walk the park. However, pushing the stroller limits where I can go. Not much off the concrete path today. We walked the North Lake and headed to the South Lake across the boardwalk to the free-form concrete bridge...that has no railings. At the end of the bridge I tied up Atka. I parked Nial in the stroller, by a bench. Some boys carrying fishing poles asked if they could pet Atka. Unfortunately, she couldn't be bothered.... affection? There are ducks in the water! The bees in her head made her too busy to keep still.<br /><br />Onto the concrete bridge I walked, even though I was nervous of boys with fishing rods. I turned, looked back at the baby and the dog, turned back, tripped on my shoelace and fell in the water - up to my shoulders! Off the concrete bridge! My feet immediately stuck to the murky bottom of the lake. As I was completely disoriented, people came running to my rescue. A man came to help pull me out - because, no ladder or steps. Jeans, and a heavy sweatshirt are particularly absorbent. <br /><br />I was mortified. The baby said nothing. The dog said nothing. But I knew they were laughing inside... as were the ducks. I gathered the dog and baby, a park ranger was walking straight for us - I froze in fear, thinking he might interrogate me! May ask ludicrous questions: <blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">Miss, have you been drinking? </span> <span style="font-weight:bold;">Why did you fall into the water? Is this your baby?</span></blockquote> <br />My confidence had washed away in the pond. What was left, was me - a soggy, smelly mess. Our exchange was far less complex. As the ranger approached, I said: <blockquote>Ya, I got a little wet.</blockquote> The ranger, in full pace, without concern, replied: <blockquote>Ya, that happens.</blockquote>Obviously, he was after someone with the wrong fishing permit - for example. Who knows? Yes, he could have asked if I was okay but, his lack of concern was rather refreshing. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/shoobe01/2411450048/"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3254/2411450048_df79ca0a92.jpg" border="0" alt="Me walking Atka by the creek at 103rd street - Atka saw lots of geese" title="Me walking Atka by the creek at 103rd street - Atka saw lots of geese" /></a><br /><br /><br />The three of us proceeded back to the car passing as few people as possible. We hurried home to get my clothes in the washer, Nial down for a nap and me into the shower. On the bright side - everyone seemed to have a good time at the park. The rest of our weekend was much more tame.Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-64737692791709157102009-02-07T17:24:00.005-06:002009-02-07T18:48:05.120-06:00Lovely DayDays like today are hard to top. Sometimes we play hard and pass out.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIF7ydY3DDecHfDucvZg6v3cBbGPXRLJiHUKb3jKpOmX991zyYDgmRmcWBV-nKgO8w5Fvv8VLAmp2R4G1Hf1NftCywp6bL3CyhbCFwMVXeorvW-9e12kuWFhhQzEKKtbCTS8fqFRKkkMv/s1600-h/tired+out.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIF7ydY3DDecHfDucvZg6v3cBbGPXRLJiHUKb3jKpOmX991zyYDgmRmcWBV-nKgO8w5Fvv8VLAmp2R4G1Hf1NftCywp6bL3CyhbCFwMVXeorvW-9e12kuWFhhQzEKKtbCTS8fqFRKkkMv/s400/tired+out.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300217778435098194" /></a> <br />Sometimes we dig big holes in the yard and eat too much ice cream. Today was a dog walk with the local tween from down the street. <br /><br />We mailed a letter at the post office. We bought special root beer at the local grocery store. We came home and played doctor on the dog as Atka needed a bandage over a small wound.<br /><br />I love spending time with the tween girls. Even more so when I'm confided in about troubles at home. I've lived through inconsistent parenting - where the child/parent roles reverse. It's a struggle, some practical lessons are learned along the way - even though they are toughest lessons to learn. We have an open door policy if anyone needs a safe place to say. Today I heard <span style="font-style:italic;">so-and-sos mom is a nice drunk, so-and-sos mom is a mean drunk.</span><br /> <br />All I can hope for when we have kids permanently in the home is that I'm the nice drunk mom.Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-16521736491570092282009-02-01T23:40:00.007-06:002009-10-29T04:12:36.459-05:00Where is my crazy?Having infertility has been a very painful struggle. The pain is similar to the grief over losing a loved one, but it is unique because it is a recurring grief - I've always wanted children -I've always wanted to be a mother. I've felt that I'm being punished for my own deficient DNA. Maybe my genes are broken and I can't reproduce because nothing good would result – or that god doesn't intend for me to be a mother. <br />
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So, I constantly grieve the loss of the baby I may never know. I grieve the loss of that baby who would have had my nose and Steven's eyes. Each month I see a change in my body and hope that maybe that baby will be conceived after all. No matter how hard I try to prepare myself for bad news, I still hope from one month to the next. Bad news comes again, and the grief washes over me anew -month after month, year after year. It's a wound that opens right up just as it starts to heal. This is where I live. This is the void I struggle with. I have feelings of failure - I must not be a real woman? I'm broken. No matter how much this is untrue it devours my spirit. I've been battling reproductive system problems most of my life. This has made me resentful, depressed and angry. I'm still working on acceptance.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgGmwvpn95yNV9WynrgW1jdE4NMJPfpdIk4im5SRx0oBvuT1VjKtBdluWUoYWr4hKCd3ZFgi_MMbT-zVhYpelFcrcuwAgNRmjTzF33W19OuDMcu_jX8jOkqwLMkA5Mgahjk5dimhQrtoM/s1600-h/griefstages.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298074420613015170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgGmwvpn95yNV9WynrgW1jdE4NMJPfpdIk4im5SRx0oBvuT1VjKtBdluWUoYWr4hKCd3ZFgi_MMbT-zVhYpelFcrcuwAgNRmjTzF33W19OuDMcu_jX8jOkqwLMkA5Mgahjk5dimhQrtoM/s200/griefstages.png" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 131px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a> <br />
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Another empty space in my heart is the awkward relationship with my husbands family. We don't hug or feel comfort in each others arms. We don't trust one another emotionally. Rarely now do I feel comfortable to speak my mind around his family or ask for advise. Mostly, I'm passive to react to situations that involve confrontation. Some of the dumb shit that is said to me just stops me in my tracts which I stew about later. I don't know what to say half the time. Misinterpretation is everywhere. It's a blockage - in our relationships that no plumber can fix. I know where I stand in this family, it's no surprise. As I watch my father-in-law with cancer, my heart flutters each time I see him. My brain has flashes to a future of what Steven may look like in his last days. I'll never be ready to see my partner face death. <br />
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In reflection, "Accept the things you cannot change and change the things you can." <br />
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Developing thicker skin would save loads of time. But mostly, I can't focus on negative perceptions. Much of my baggage is my mommy and daddy shit. Neither of mine tried hard enough to be the best - and they both failed to keep me. Having lost both my biological parents to circumstance has definitely had an effect on my ability to form attachments with specific people. As easily as I can be generous, my ability to become self-serving is sometimes not far behind. This is not a top quality of my persona - which needs some work. <br />
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What I need to do is embrace my confidence. I do have love in my heart and a willingness to love any child that becomes ours. It's taken years but, Steven has become much more animated now, especially around other people - he even sang songs with the girls we had for respite care. I love him completely when he takes part like this. Our relationship is more giving and fulfilling when more is going on around us. I say this because we work, play and live together -without much time apart. I'm not saying life with children will be easier, it just feels richer somehow.<br />
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I must thank the people at <a href="http://www.resolve.org/site/PageServer">resolve.org</a> The National Infertility Association. Without them, I never would have wrote this entry. I never thought It was okay to feel the way I do, or that it was okay to express my feelings this way. Now that it's done, I've been liberated in some regard. The pain doesn't go away, but at least I can look back, knowing I've been honest about where I've been and hope to make some progress in the future.Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298607625425679258.post-29647718125574302162009-01-28T07:05:00.006-06:002009-03-11T21:44:22.671-05:00New strength: first ever blog entry.This is very new for me but here goes. I'm going to share as much as I can manage otherwise it just eats away, at whatever inner peace I have inside. I live in my head most of the time and fail to share my thoughts or feelings constructively. So here we go - blog! <br /><br />Why living with crazy? Well, I live with crazy everyday. Grew up around it and am a bit myself. My hardest journey has been ending up in a place where I feel safe. <br /><br />The process of adoption and foster/care has helped me grow emotionally. I've gained confidence along the way and have used some of this time to grieve the loss of my fertility - which is a big part. <br /><br />To start, I've decided to write a bit about family life from past to present. How it impacts our current relationships with family and our continuing journey. <br /><br />Cheers!<br /><br />--Poor Opheliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607056344892352533noreply@blogger.com0