The autumnal equinox has come and gone, and suddenly the leaves are colorful and falling with each slight breeze. There is a certain energy in the air that is specific to this time of year. Outside of my window chipmunks and squirrels are hastily gathering acorns from our oak trees and burrowing them away in my flower beds in preparation for winter's chill. Watching them race around the yard makes me feel like tackling projects, or at least having another cup of coffee...
The fall does make me antsy, truthfully. Suddenly the remaining white walls in my house seem to itch for color, the yard seems to beseech me for new planty adornments, and I feel the need to discover some unknown (to me) new place...to travel and be somewhere different. It's something like having the spring cleaning bug, only in the fall. I think the feeling of unrest stems from our former tendency to move each autumn. We began our Tour of New England by buying a house just before Thanksgiving, which we sold one exact year later. You know the score: lather, rinse, repeat. And since I've been helping prepare my grandmother's house for sale (it went on the market yesterday, for those interested) I have many of the feelings associated with the fall move.
So, how does one scratch the proverbial itch? The B and I are tackling some new projects, planning some interesting outings, and we've begun a major life change. Here's the list:
1. The fact that we're not in the market for a new house does not mean we cannot peruse the market of new houses. If you live in the greater Saratoga Springs area you should check out the Showcase of Homes this weekend or next. Twenty dollars will get you through the doors, rooms, and grounds of nine amazing houses, all of which have been professionally decorated and landscaped. I'll let you in on a little secret: this is where we get many of our best decorating ideas. My bathroom is painted Brown Paper Bag after John Witt's 2004 Showcase home's living room. It's good fun, and you never know who you'll run into. You might even run into us! If you have a wee one I recommend a backpack or sling of some sort, as strollers aren't allowed.
2. The backyard needs a facelift, and we're going to need to rent some machinery to complete it. We think we'll need a bobcat to rectify the grading issues the backyard currently suffers from. We're only working within the new fenced in area. Once the grading is under control we can start to define different areas back there, and plant some clover and grass. Why clover, you ask? We have just about the crappiest soil that new construction can buy you in New York...it's a mixture of sand, sand, and sand, plus a few killer cicada wasps to boot. Grass just won't survive because the soil is so devoid of nutrients, so clover is our organic answer. Clover will grow in just about anything, and while most plants deplete the ground of nitrogen, clover is one of the only groundcovers that pulls free nitrogen out of the air and replaces it in the soil. Clover is more drought resistant than grass, so it requires less watering, which in turn keeps us from using more than our fair share of the world's water. And, it has pretty flowers that keep Max the Bunny happy! Go clover! We also use a mulching lower to disperse little clover bits and pieces, thus building up the organic content of our topsoil. It's going to take a couple of years to be really pretty, but once the soil is a little better we can plant grass seed, which will grow within the clover and create a more solid turf. So now you know. Sorry about the tangent.
3. I started a new business venture, selling kitchen goods at home shows. (I'm actually not legally allowed to promote my business here, per the company in question, so you'll have to either use your imagination or call me for details) It all started with the prospect of getting two really nice knives for free, and it's turning out to be something fun that will allow me to have adult conversation now and then. Need kitchen gadgets? Holiday gifts? Wedding shower gift ideas? I'm your gal.
4. The adoptive families group we started with friends last year, Capital Region Heart and Seoul, is becoming active again after a summer off. We're looking forward to seeing old friends, meeting their new babes, and perhaps adding some new members. If you or someone you know has a child who was born in Korea who might like to hang out with us, send me an e-mail.
5. There has been a flutter of paperwork activity at our kitchen table this week, in the form of adoption applications. Yes, you did read that correctly. We're in the very beginning stages, and this time it's all going to be very different from our experience with Harrison. As I mentioned before, Korea is changing their international adoption policies, so in a way we're heading into a sea of unknowns, but we trust our agency and we feel we're in good hands. Check back for a post about our anticipaited wait times, our requests, and the breakdown of the process.
In a nutshell, that's our fall schedule. Really, do check out the Showcase...did I mention it benefits Habitat for Humanity? Good fun for a good cause can't be beat. I'm off to chase down that aforementioned cup of joe. Happy fall!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Saturday, September 16, 2006
The Last Days of Summer
After a sleep deprived week of Brendan working nights we're enjoying a four day weekend together. The sun finally came out this afternoon, breaking a week's worth of wet weather, and in a flash of spontaneity we headed to the beach for an hour. We're lucky to have a good, sandy beach just 1.5 miles from our house, on a lovely little lake within a state park. Well, it's lovely this time of year, but in the summer it is inundated with tourists and campers and busloads of summer camp kids, which make it no less lovely yet somewhat less enjoyable. But right now, in these last weeks of summer, it is a tranquil retreat from the confines of our house.
The afternoon was perfect...the leaves are just starting to show their autumn color, and when backlit by the late afternoon sunshine they seemed glow. The water was smooth, rippled only by the canoes, ducks, and kayaks that gracefully cut its surface, and then again by Harrison's feet as he ran at the water's edge, surprised that after a month away from his beloved water we had stripped him down and let him loose. He was delighted with the feel of the sand and mud on his baby skin, and shrieked with joy when we ran with him at the edge of the water ( a stern voice having announced over the loudspeaker to another group that swimming is no longer allowed because the lifegaurds are done for the season) holding tight to his hand lest he decide to turn into the deep and splash away from us altogether.
We didn't stay long. It was getting to be dinner time, and Harry looked sleepy despite the fun. Sometimes I think our shortest jaunts are the most fun, as we don't have time to get frustrated with chasing him around, or with the lack of beach blanket and towels, or with the dreaded black flies that seem to constantly swirl in the air around our heads when we're outside. But for an hour this afternoon we escaped the normal and stole back a little crumb of summer, and it was divine.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Two more babies! And Coco!
Pictures of Coco are here!!! Isn't he just the cutest darned thing? I love the ear fuzzies, and the tough guy stance. He is just adorable, and loves to snuggle underneath your chin. Brooke is smitten, and I think she made a good choice of character with him.
It has been a September for babies of all kinds!
Our friends, the Wests, have welcomed their baby girl to the world this week, and we can't wait to meet her! She was 8lbs, 9oz, and 21 (?) inches long. I hear she's very pretty...the proud papa was walking the family dog around the neighborhood this afternoon, and I have to say he was positively glowing. He didn't even look all that tired, which amazes me because when Harry came home I was too exhasuted to think straight. So heartfelt congratulations to the West family on their newest addition!
We also have a new puppy friend to meet ASAP, this one a baby beagle girl named Lindy, belonging to my friend Liz's parents. I am looking forward to being reminded of how small Charlotte was when we brought her home.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Bittersweet September
Seven years ago today the air was warm, the sun shone brightly on the leaves that were just starting to reveal their fall color, and the air smelled like it does every September in upstate NY: a spicy mixture of late summer flowers, falling leaves, and apples.
Seven years ago today I looked through the open church doors, past the pews filled with our family and friends to the altar where my beloved Brendan waited for me to join him, to spend the rest of my life with him. When I walked down the aisle I wasn't nervous, or jittery, or wondering if I was doing the right thing. Instead I knew, beyond a doubt and for the very first time in my life, that I was doing exactly the right thing. I was bouyant, and I think I floated down the aisle more than walked.
Seven years later life has not disappointed me. I am still bouyant, and even a little giddy at times with the knowledge that Brendan and I belong to one another. If you know him personally you're one of the lucky ones...if not, take my word that he is kind hearted, compassionate, a great friend, and an AMAZING dad. He has a wicked sense of humor, especially compared to his usual reservedness. He is extremely creative, and after seven years of careful grooming I would even say that he has an accomplished sense of adventure. Through our shared life's joys and sorrows he is the one and only person I have wanted to be with, walking side by side. I could not, would not, love another. So Happy 7th Anniversary, my Brendan. I love you.
******
Five years ago Brendan and I lived in Rye, NH, in a little apartment just a mile from the ocean. Our apartment was in a house painted turquoise blue with pink shutters. We had flower beds in front of our windows, and a little stream ran through the backyard.
Five years ago today Brendan and I took the day off to go to the zoo, as I had never been to a zoo before and we thought it would be something fun to do for our second anniversary. The morning was sunny and bright, without a cloud in the sky, and the New Hampshire air smelled more like saltwater than the apples and leaves we were used to in NY. We didn't turn on the tv in the morning, rather we drank our tea and chatted with each other, planning our day in innocent bliss. We finally climbed into the Jeep and started driving up I-95 toward York, Maine, and the much anticipated zoo. As we drove I flipped thruogh the radio stations looking for a good song, but I was irritated that all I could find was news. At some point Brendan yelled "STOP! What did they say? I think we're being bombed!". I think he swerved the Jeep a little, and we listened in horrified silence as the newscaster recounted the morning's events. When we arrived at the zoo Brendan said "Mike works across the street from the Twin Towers. My brother, Mike." And that was the first time I ever saw my husband cry.
We drove away from the zoo without looking back. We rushed home to call Brendan's parents, and when we finally got through we found that they didn't know anything, either. Like the rest of America we turned the tv on and watched the horror, hoping and praying to see Mike's face among the faces on the screen, alive. Hoping and praying that he had made it out, that he would be ok. Like most people I will never forget that day...I remember minute details that should not matter at all, but somehow are emblazoned on my memory: the sun streaming through the window onto the ugly blue utility carpet in defiance of the utter sadness we felt, our landlord clomping by our windows on the wooden sidewalk and shaking his head as he looked at the ground, the deafening quiet on the usually busy street. I'll never forget watching the tears roll down my strong, resilient husband's face as his pain silently seeped from his eyes. There was nothing I could do for him, all I could do was hold him. Never have I felt so helpless and scared, so small.
At some point that day we got the call that Mike had been in contact, that he was ok, and that he was on his way home. We still sat glued to the tv, wanting to look away but unable to. That day will forever be a part of who we are, even though we were hundreds of miles away from ground zero...we became acutely aware that we were among the lucky ones who did not lose a loved one.
*****
Five years later it is quiet in my house. I refuse to watch the president; instead I am having an hour of silence in respect for the dead, and for those who survived but whose lives were destroyed nonetheless. My son is sleeping soundly in his bed, and the dogs' feet are moving in their sleep as they dream of running and playing. Life has gone on, but I remember. Oh, how I wish I could forget.
Seven years ago today I looked through the open church doors, past the pews filled with our family and friends to the altar where my beloved Brendan waited for me to join him, to spend the rest of my life with him. When I walked down the aisle I wasn't nervous, or jittery, or wondering if I was doing the right thing. Instead I knew, beyond a doubt and for the very first time in my life, that I was doing exactly the right thing. I was bouyant, and I think I floated down the aisle more than walked.
Seven years later life has not disappointed me. I am still bouyant, and even a little giddy at times with the knowledge that Brendan and I belong to one another. If you know him personally you're one of the lucky ones...if not, take my word that he is kind hearted, compassionate, a great friend, and an AMAZING dad. He has a wicked sense of humor, especially compared to his usual reservedness. He is extremely creative, and after seven years of careful grooming I would even say that he has an accomplished sense of adventure. Through our shared life's joys and sorrows he is the one and only person I have wanted to be with, walking side by side. I could not, would not, love another. So Happy 7th Anniversary, my Brendan. I love you.
******
Five years ago Brendan and I lived in Rye, NH, in a little apartment just a mile from the ocean. Our apartment was in a house painted turquoise blue with pink shutters. We had flower beds in front of our windows, and a little stream ran through the backyard.
Five years ago today Brendan and I took the day off to go to the zoo, as I had never been to a zoo before and we thought it would be something fun to do for our second anniversary. The morning was sunny and bright, without a cloud in the sky, and the New Hampshire air smelled more like saltwater than the apples and leaves we were used to in NY. We didn't turn on the tv in the morning, rather we drank our tea and chatted with each other, planning our day in innocent bliss. We finally climbed into the Jeep and started driving up I-95 toward York, Maine, and the much anticipated zoo. As we drove I flipped thruogh the radio stations looking for a good song, but I was irritated that all I could find was news. At some point Brendan yelled "STOP! What did they say? I think we're being bombed!". I think he swerved the Jeep a little, and we listened in horrified silence as the newscaster recounted the morning's events. When we arrived at the zoo Brendan said "Mike works across the street from the Twin Towers. My brother, Mike." And that was the first time I ever saw my husband cry.
We drove away from the zoo without looking back. We rushed home to call Brendan's parents, and when we finally got through we found that they didn't know anything, either. Like the rest of America we turned the tv on and watched the horror, hoping and praying to see Mike's face among the faces on the screen, alive. Hoping and praying that he had made it out, that he would be ok. Like most people I will never forget that day...I remember minute details that should not matter at all, but somehow are emblazoned on my memory: the sun streaming through the window onto the ugly blue utility carpet in defiance of the utter sadness we felt, our landlord clomping by our windows on the wooden sidewalk and shaking his head as he looked at the ground, the deafening quiet on the usually busy street. I'll never forget watching the tears roll down my strong, resilient husband's face as his pain silently seeped from his eyes. There was nothing I could do for him, all I could do was hold him. Never have I felt so helpless and scared, so small.
At some point that day we got the call that Mike had been in contact, that he was ok, and that he was on his way home. We still sat glued to the tv, wanting to look away but unable to. That day will forever be a part of who we are, even though we were hundreds of miles away from ground zero...we became acutely aware that we were among the lucky ones who did not lose a loved one.
*****
Five years later it is quiet in my house. I refuse to watch the president; instead I am having an hour of silence in respect for the dead, and for those who survived but whose lives were destroyed nonetheless. My son is sleeping soundly in his bed, and the dogs' feet are moving in their sleep as they dream of running and playing. Life has gone on, but I remember. Oh, how I wish I could forget.
Monday, September 4, 2006
There's a new baby in town
Ooooooh! (insert happy clapping and big smile) My sister, Brooke, has a new (fur) baby! His name is Cocoa, and he's a four month old long haired chihuahua, and I think she said he's cinnamon colored. I can't wait to meet him!!!! I do so love babies of all kinds!!!
I've spent the last 1/2 hour researching sweater patterns to knit for the little guy as a welcome home present, but the patterns I found all involve fun fur. So I ask you, can a male chihuahua pull off fun fur, or will he just look really unfashionable? What if it's brown or grey fun fur? Does that make it any more/less cheesy?
And Tony, how big is a 4 month old chihuahua puppy, generally speaking?
I've spent the last 1/2 hour researching sweater patterns to knit for the little guy as a welcome home present, but the patterns I found all involve fun fur. So I ask you, can a male chihuahua pull off fun fur, or will he just look really unfashionable? What if it's brown or grey fun fur? Does that make it any more/less cheesy?
And Tony, how big is a 4 month old chihuahua puppy, generally speaking?
Sunday, September 3, 2006
The mirror image
Do you ever catch an unexpected glimpse of yourself in a mirror or window, and find yourself looking away quickly, and then looking back just as quickly because you are actually startled?
I don't mean those moments we all spend in the morning or before leaving the house when we put our best angles forward for ourselves, pose our faces the way we'd like them to look in photographs, and have our tummies sucked-in for good measure and good self-esteem. Rather, I mean those rare glimpses when we truly see ourselves, perhaps as others see us...hair a mess, belly very obviously not sucked-in, and with random looks on our faces.
This has been happening a lot to me lately, as we've moved Harry's changing table into the bathroom as potty training prep (the idea being that all things related to diapers are also related to going on the potty), and I have to walk past the mirror several times per day to get to the changing table. And I keep seeing myself, or rather this...this ADULT. This adult with a CHILD!
Sometimes I anticipate it, and Harry and I make funny faces at each other, giggle, and proceed with the business at hand. But other times I catch a certain angle and I am struck by how different I look from the 'girl' I see in the mirror each morning.
Sometimes the face I catch in the mirror looks pale, with slightly baggy eyes, eyebrows that droop in a frownish way, and a mouth that is pursed in concentration...and when I see this reflection of (could it be?) me I can't help but think that Harry's mom is a bit of a downer. She should smile more and look more animated, and her face should be a reflection of the love she feels for him.
Sometimes the face I catch looks distracted, like the mind behind it is a million miles away, and I think Harry's mom should live more in the moment...she should be enjoying every minute of time she has with him because already it seems like it is going by too fast.
Sometimes the face I catch looks harried and I think Harry's mom needs a time out.
Sometimes the face I catch is laughing with twinkling eyes, and you can just make out the beginning of crow's feet at the corners of those eyes. There are grooved laugh lines by the rounded cheeks, and a deep dimple in the right cheek. Her hair is a crazy mess, her clothes are splotched with food from the meals of the day and dotted with dog hair, and the toddler in her arms is a giggling, squirming bundle of boy who shouts "Omma!!" into the mirror. When I catch this face I think Harry's mom is doing just fine. This is the face I like to catch because it is the face I imagined I would have someday, the one I focused on when I was hoping to be a mom. This is the face I strive to live up to...the mom who can live through food throwing, temper tantrums, spilled milk, broken furniture, dogs out of control, endless loads of laundry, and day after day of no naps, and still look happy. This mom seems fearless and in control, even without pulling herself together.
I'm working on seeing that reflection more, and those vacant, exhausted, frustrated, and droopy ones less. The thing about catching an unexpected glimpse of yourself in the mirror is it gives you a chance to see the unprepared, unmasked side of yourself. The question is, do you like what you see?
I don't mean those moments we all spend in the morning or before leaving the house when we put our best angles forward for ourselves, pose our faces the way we'd like them to look in photographs, and have our tummies sucked-in for good measure and good self-esteem. Rather, I mean those rare glimpses when we truly see ourselves, perhaps as others see us...hair a mess, belly very obviously not sucked-in, and with random looks on our faces.
This has been happening a lot to me lately, as we've moved Harry's changing table into the bathroom as potty training prep (the idea being that all things related to diapers are also related to going on the potty), and I have to walk past the mirror several times per day to get to the changing table. And I keep seeing myself, or rather this...this ADULT. This adult with a CHILD!
Sometimes I anticipate it, and Harry and I make funny faces at each other, giggle, and proceed with the business at hand. But other times I catch a certain angle and I am struck by how different I look from the 'girl' I see in the mirror each morning.
Sometimes the face I catch in the mirror looks pale, with slightly baggy eyes, eyebrows that droop in a frownish way, and a mouth that is pursed in concentration...and when I see this reflection of (could it be?) me I can't help but think that Harry's mom is a bit of a downer. She should smile more and look more animated, and her face should be a reflection of the love she feels for him.
Sometimes the face I catch looks distracted, like the mind behind it is a million miles away, and I think Harry's mom should live more in the moment...she should be enjoying every minute of time she has with him because already it seems like it is going by too fast.
Sometimes the face I catch looks harried and I think Harry's mom needs a time out.
Sometimes the face I catch is laughing with twinkling eyes, and you can just make out the beginning of crow's feet at the corners of those eyes. There are grooved laugh lines by the rounded cheeks, and a deep dimple in the right cheek. Her hair is a crazy mess, her clothes are splotched with food from the meals of the day and dotted with dog hair, and the toddler in her arms is a giggling, squirming bundle of boy who shouts "Omma!!" into the mirror. When I catch this face I think Harry's mom is doing just fine. This is the face I like to catch because it is the face I imagined I would have someday, the one I focused on when I was hoping to be a mom. This is the face I strive to live up to...the mom who can live through food throwing, temper tantrums, spilled milk, broken furniture, dogs out of control, endless loads of laundry, and day after day of no naps, and still look happy. This mom seems fearless and in control, even without pulling herself together.
I'm working on seeing that reflection more, and those vacant, exhausted, frustrated, and droopy ones less. The thing about catching an unexpected glimpse of yourself in the mirror is it gives you a chance to see the unprepared, unmasked side of yourself. The question is, do you like what you see?
Friday, September 1, 2006
Summer Pictures
At the Washington County Fair, petting the sheep. Harry loved the feel of their wool, and they tolerated his petting very well.
Starting to eat the edge of the copyright page...we should have foreseen what we'd find in his diaper the next day!
Swimming in his new suit with the rubber tube, compliments of Aunt Katie...if you have a toddler who likes the water, you should have one of these. Harry loved his because it gave him some freedom of movement in the water, and we loved it because after an hour of swimming he would actually take one of those long, ever elusive naps!
At the toljabee party, where Harry ate his weight (practically) in penne with vodka sauce...here he is getting ready to go down the slide, all on his own.
And finally, what is summer without an ice cream cone? Here's harry with his first chocolate cone, compliments of my cousin, Christy. We walked along the Feeder Canal that morning with our babies, and rewarded oursleves for the effort with some really yummy ice cream.
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