On December 14, 2012, a crazed gunman shot his way into Sandy Hook elementary school in Newtown, CT and killed 26 people, most of which were children. Since that time, I've thought about writing about the incident, but honestly couldn't bring myself to go there. One of my daycare families are very good friends with one of the families that lost their child, so I've had an insider's view to some of the goings on and it's been horrific, at best.
Last week marked the six month anniversary of the tragedy and I happened to see three of the moms on a show called The View, including the friend of my daycare family. While being interviewed, this mom was asked what was the hardest part of each day and her response was, "Every minute of every day." Later that day I allowed myself to go there, and this is what came out.
I dedicate this to all of the families who lost someone on that tragic day that none of us will ever forget.
I See Your Face
I see your face every minute of every day
I see your face on the grave stone that we lay
I see it in the coffee in the bottom of my cup
I see it on the mornings I can't manage to get up
I see it in every room that you're not in
I see it at the bus stop right beside your friend's
I see it at the grocery store as I buy your favorite food
I see it in my pool of tears as I pray this isn't true
I want to watch your chest rise and fall as you sleep
I want to caution you when the water gets too deep
I want to cheer your name as you kick that winning goal
I want to give advice as your teenage years unfold
I want to see your smile and hold your little hand
I want you safe inside my womb, where your life first began
I want to hear the echo of your laughter one more time
I want you to feel my pride when I say, "This child is mine!"
I want the world to hear your voice in every passing breeze
I want the world to share my grief as I fall to my knees
I want the world to know your heart as well as we did
I don't ever want them to forget that you were just a kid
I'll fight for you my child, your death won't be in vain
I'll fight forever for your rights, forever in your name
I'll fight hard for those of us who'll never be the same
I'll fight to the end my love, for peace and for change
I see your face every minute of every day
I see your face on the grave stone that we lay
Monday, June 17, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
STOP!
Once again I find that it's been too long since I've given myself permission to stop long enough to take a deep breath and write. I'm in one of those places where I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed by life and the lack of time in a day. Even as I write this, I feel as though I need to rush to get back to the drier that just buzzed or to empty the dishwasher that just finished it's last cycle. Lately, life feels as though it just rolls from one " I need to" to the next.
I've watched my husband become increasingly busy with life's responsibilities as well. Most days he's out the door by 6:00 a.m. and returns between 4:00 and 5:30 p.m.. Then it's time to complete the day's paperwork, then time to check in on emails to see what the next day will hold. Next comes dealing with anything that may have come up with his dad. Calls from the nursing home, the bank, the state worker, the real estate agent, the ex wife or his dad himself asking once again why he can't go back home and the nursing home will remain his home indefinitely. And there's the mounds of paperwork that come daily with trying to keep his dad's affairs in order. Oh yeah! Dinner gets thrown in there somewhere and before you know it, it's time for bed, then in the blink of an eye, time to get up and repeat!
I know we're not the only household that's dealing with the stresses of life. I am not lying when I say, aside from the retired people I know, there is not one person in my life who doesn't run from the time they get up until the time they collapse back into their bed at night. And even then, you're lucky if sleep comes, with all the thoughts that bombard you when you hit the pillow because your brain has been too busy to entertain them during the day. The general feel I get from people lately is that they're over worked, under paid, and at the mercy of their employer because they don't want to be part of the unemployed statistic in this country. I was speaking with a woman the other day who was quite upset because she'd just been informed that her office was being put on mandatory weekends. Mandatory! This is not a, take a day off during the week and work a day on the weekend mandatory, this is an in addition to, mandatory. When the hell did our employers obtain so much power over our lives? Feeling over worked and under valued does not a happy camper make!
How on earth do you replenish when this is your life? How do you maintain a sense of self? A sense of balance? Is it even possible? I know it's an on going battle for me, and most likely, you. We're so programmed to put joy and fun at the end of our to-do lists that sometimes, because they're at the end of the list, it seems like they themselves, are one more "to-do". This my friends, is no bueno!
I'm in one of those phases where I have to constantly remind myself of the importance of making time for joy and fun. Even when it feels like a chore, you HAVE to do it. Gather with friends or family for a couple of hours to be reminded that you're not alone in your exhaustion. Spend some alone time with your significant other to remind yourself of why you chose this person to be your significant other! Go for a walk, read a magazine, listen to some music, get your nails done, work in the garden, cook yourself a nice, healthy meal, write a blog! Whatever it takes to remind yourself that no matter how your employer makes you feel, you have real value.
We, as a society, are forgetting how to stop and smell the roses. Who has time for that? Make the time, because the beauty those roses bring to this world only matters if someone STOPS long enough to appreciate them. Breathe in...breathe out.
xo,
Carrie
I've watched my husband become increasingly busy with life's responsibilities as well. Most days he's out the door by 6:00 a.m. and returns between 4:00 and 5:30 p.m.. Then it's time to complete the day's paperwork, then time to check in on emails to see what the next day will hold. Next comes dealing with anything that may have come up with his dad. Calls from the nursing home, the bank, the state worker, the real estate agent, the ex wife or his dad himself asking once again why he can't go back home and the nursing home will remain his home indefinitely. And there's the mounds of paperwork that come daily with trying to keep his dad's affairs in order. Oh yeah! Dinner gets thrown in there somewhere and before you know it, it's time for bed, then in the blink of an eye, time to get up and repeat!
I know we're not the only household that's dealing with the stresses of life. I am not lying when I say, aside from the retired people I know, there is not one person in my life who doesn't run from the time they get up until the time they collapse back into their bed at night. And even then, you're lucky if sleep comes, with all the thoughts that bombard you when you hit the pillow because your brain has been too busy to entertain them during the day. The general feel I get from people lately is that they're over worked, under paid, and at the mercy of their employer because they don't want to be part of the unemployed statistic in this country. I was speaking with a woman the other day who was quite upset because she'd just been informed that her office was being put on mandatory weekends. Mandatory! This is not a, take a day off during the week and work a day on the weekend mandatory, this is an in addition to, mandatory. When the hell did our employers obtain so much power over our lives? Feeling over worked and under valued does not a happy camper make!
How on earth do you replenish when this is your life? How do you maintain a sense of self? A sense of balance? Is it even possible? I know it's an on going battle for me, and most likely, you. We're so programmed to put joy and fun at the end of our to-do lists that sometimes, because they're at the end of the list, it seems like they themselves, are one more "to-do". This my friends, is no bueno!
I'm in one of those phases where I have to constantly remind myself of the importance of making time for joy and fun. Even when it feels like a chore, you HAVE to do it. Gather with friends or family for a couple of hours to be reminded that you're not alone in your exhaustion. Spend some alone time with your significant other to remind yourself of why you chose this person to be your significant other! Go for a walk, read a magazine, listen to some music, get your nails done, work in the garden, cook yourself a nice, healthy meal, write a blog! Whatever it takes to remind yourself that no matter how your employer makes you feel, you have real value.
We, as a society, are forgetting how to stop and smell the roses. Who has time for that? Make the time, because the beauty those roses bring to this world only matters if someone STOPS long enough to appreciate them. Breathe in...breathe out.
xo,
Carrie
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Music
I went to a workshop last night that was for caregivers of children entitled "Music, Movement and Meaning". The workshop stressed the importance of music in a child's life, beginning in infancy, as well as how music aids in a child's development. To give you a better idea, here are just a few examples -
1.) When a child uses all of their senses to experience music, that child is more likely to remember what they learned while moving (so of course it makes perfect sense that we make our young children sit behind a desk most of the day to learn, right? Subject for another day!).
2.) When a child listens and understands the words to songs, that child will be more likely to sing words before they can even say them.
3.) When a child hears repeated notes and rythyms in music, that child is more likely to identify patterns and understand sequence, an early skill for reading, math and memory. The child is also learning to think of what comes next.
4.) When a child sings together with others, that child will be more likely to interact with others and express themself. They learn to make eye contact, take and follow the lead in interactions, follow direction and have fun!
Pretty impressive stuff, no? We also had a children's music teacher at the workshop, teaching us songs to share with our kids. She asked this question - "When it comes to music, what do you think is most harmful to a child?" One woman yelled out, "RAP!" which gave us all a good laugh. Actually, the answer to that is, not being exposed to it.
I grew up in a very musical household. Piano, flute, trumpet, trombone, guitar, accordian, these were the sounds that rang out in our home during my childhood. I loved those sounds! No sound wrapped me in love more though, than the sound of my parents voices when they would look into each other's eyes and sing to each other. I could watch and listen for hours. What a shining example of love those two were for us!
So many of my best childhood memories involve music. I took piano lessons for about ten years while growing up and spent just about every free minute I had as a teen sitting at the piano, playing and writing songs. I still recall the words to the very first song I wrote at age fifteen for my then boyfriend, now husband -
"Time has a way of healing the pain for the lost one. My road was clear, until you appeared like a shadow. And now I feel like I'm losing all my senses, and it's hurting. I can't reason, with reasons, any more." Oy vey! What a wonderful outlet I had for all of my teenage angst! What a wonderful stress reliever music is at any age.
I watch a show faithfully called American Idol. This year there is a contestant on who has a very intense stuttering problem. At times when he speaks, he's difficult to understand because of it. Amazingly enough, when he sings, the stutter is completely undetectable.
I don't think I could accurately convey the importance that music has had, and continues to have in my life. I have a radio on my kitchen table which goes on even before the coffee maker when I come downstairs in the morning. The first thing I do when I get in the car is make sure the music is on. I even have a radio in my bathroom so when I shower and put myself together, I can listen. Most nights I'm asleep by 9:00, but bring me out where I can listen to live music and I'll last as long as the music does. What about music's ability to bring us back in time to a certain place or situation? That song comes on and you are instantly back there, feeling the same feelings that have long since been gone. Pretty powerful stuff indeed.
I remember when Mom was in the hospital that last week before her death. She was pretty out of it for much of that time, but then she'd suddenly spring to life and come out with one comment or another. We all laughed when she came out with this one, "I wonder if I'm going to hear Michael Jackson singing in heaven?" Michael Jackson had passed away just a few months prior. My response was, "One can only hope Mom". Even in her last moments, music was important to her.
So whether you are nurturing children, or your own soul, fill your days with music, because music changes lives.
xo,
Carrie
1.) When a child uses all of their senses to experience music, that child is more likely to remember what they learned while moving (so of course it makes perfect sense that we make our young children sit behind a desk most of the day to learn, right? Subject for another day!).
2.) When a child listens and understands the words to songs, that child will be more likely to sing words before they can even say them.
3.) When a child hears repeated notes and rythyms in music, that child is more likely to identify patterns and understand sequence, an early skill for reading, math and memory. The child is also learning to think of what comes next.
4.) When a child sings together with others, that child will be more likely to interact with others and express themself. They learn to make eye contact, take and follow the lead in interactions, follow direction and have fun!
Pretty impressive stuff, no? We also had a children's music teacher at the workshop, teaching us songs to share with our kids. She asked this question - "When it comes to music, what do you think is most harmful to a child?" One woman yelled out, "RAP!" which gave us all a good laugh. Actually, the answer to that is, not being exposed to it.
I grew up in a very musical household. Piano, flute, trumpet, trombone, guitar, accordian, these were the sounds that rang out in our home during my childhood. I loved those sounds! No sound wrapped me in love more though, than the sound of my parents voices when they would look into each other's eyes and sing to each other. I could watch and listen for hours. What a shining example of love those two were for us!
So many of my best childhood memories involve music. I took piano lessons for about ten years while growing up and spent just about every free minute I had as a teen sitting at the piano, playing and writing songs. I still recall the words to the very first song I wrote at age fifteen for my then boyfriend, now husband -
"Time has a way of healing the pain for the lost one. My road was clear, until you appeared like a shadow. And now I feel like I'm losing all my senses, and it's hurting. I can't reason, with reasons, any more." Oy vey! What a wonderful outlet I had for all of my teenage angst! What a wonderful stress reliever music is at any age.
I watch a show faithfully called American Idol. This year there is a contestant on who has a very intense stuttering problem. At times when he speaks, he's difficult to understand because of it. Amazingly enough, when he sings, the stutter is completely undetectable.
I don't think I could accurately convey the importance that music has had, and continues to have in my life. I have a radio on my kitchen table which goes on even before the coffee maker when I come downstairs in the morning. The first thing I do when I get in the car is make sure the music is on. I even have a radio in my bathroom so when I shower and put myself together, I can listen. Most nights I'm asleep by 9:00, but bring me out where I can listen to live music and I'll last as long as the music does. What about music's ability to bring us back in time to a certain place or situation? That song comes on and you are instantly back there, feeling the same feelings that have long since been gone. Pretty powerful stuff indeed.
I remember when Mom was in the hospital that last week before her death. She was pretty out of it for much of that time, but then she'd suddenly spring to life and come out with one comment or another. We all laughed when she came out with this one, "I wonder if I'm going to hear Michael Jackson singing in heaven?" Michael Jackson had passed away just a few months prior. My response was, "One can only hope Mom". Even in her last moments, music was important to her.
So whether you are nurturing children, or your own soul, fill your days with music, because music changes lives.
xo,
Carrie
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Bullying
I watched an amazingly beautiful video yesterday. It was entitled, "Porkchop", and it was written by a man who was traumatized as a child by bullying. It was a spoken poem with graphics that told the story alongside his spoken words. It was deep, and sad, and moving, and inspirational, and all of the things that good art should be. I was crying at the end of the video, not only for the pain of the countless people who've suffered at the hands of bullies, but also for the knowledge that I have been on both sides of that coin.
When I was very young, I suffered from asthma. From what I've been told, it was life threatening at times. There are pictures of my mom and I from when she had to leave the family to take me to Florida so I could breathe. I outgrew the asthma, but not the trauma that it caused. Nothing scares me more than when my breathing doesn't flow smoothly as it should. Luckily, I don't recall much of the years when my lungs were fighting that battle, but I do remember as a kid having to wear something that resembled a surgical mask when I walked to school during the winter months. You can imagine the fun the other kids had at my expense when they'd see me coming with that on my face! I HATED wearing that thing, but breathing wasn't an option. Not a very poignant story of bullying, I know, but I'm fifty two years old, with many of my childhood memories since faded, but this one remains.
I've struggled with my weight my whole life long. I've never been what I'd consider obese, but I've been a good twenty to thirty pounds overweight many times. Being a heavier child, I always felt inferior to the thinner girls in my class/life. I recall in the fifth grade, my teacher referring to me as an elephant. He said the comment referred to the loud noise my shoes were making that day, but that's not how I internalized it. He made the comment, all the kids laughed, and that just confirmed for me that people saw me as the fat elephant I believed myself to be. That feeling has followed me into adulthood. It's pretty sad, the radical methods I have tried over the years to not feel that way. The Atkins diet, Nutrasystem, Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, the grapefruit diet, herbal supplements, diet pills, that were later determined to damage your heart, recreational drugs and plain old starvation. Thank God I despised the feeling of vomiting enough that I never fell victim to those methods, but I understand how one could. I finally came to accept that the only way to maintain a healthy weight is through proper nutrition, portion control and exercise, and I now do a fairly good job of maintaining my weight. Trust me though, there are still many days when just about every piece of clothing I own is thrown in a heap on my bed, because when I tried them on and looked in the mirror, all I saw was that elephant.
As I said, I've been on both sides of this coin. As I grew into a teenager, these insecurities drove me to decide I wanted to be the "cool" kid. Of course I didn't realize then, that one person's "cool", is another person's "asshole"! Took me some time to figure that out! As I was watching the video yesterday, I was reminded of a couple of incidents where I was the one doing the bullying. I barely remember the circumstance, but I have a vision of me kicking a girl who was lying on the ground, begging me not to. Two kicks, her tears, then a loud bang on the school window. There stood the principal, who had witnessed this heartless act. Thank God! Saved from myself and all of my insecurities coming out in the form of violence. The second incident I recall, was with a close friend at the time. We'd gotten into an argument while we were at the library, surrounded by other friends. She embarassed me with her sharp tongue, I had no comeback, and the other girls laughed at me. I decided it would be appropriate to later that day, shove her head in her locker while other people watched. That would teach her to embarass me. How very "cool" of me. I should have felt vindicated, but I felt nothing but shame. I remember deciding in that moment, that I didn't want to be that person. I had so much shame surrounding that incident, that I completely blocked it out. That was until I ran into her when I was in my thirties.
I was working one weekend on the North Cove Express, a lovely dinner train that ran out of Essex, CT. I was usually in charge of administrative duties for the train, but on occasion, when they were short staffed, I'd help to wait tables. So on this particular Saturday night, I was greeting people as they boarded the train, and on walks my old girlfriend with her husband. I was so delighted to see her that without thinking, I just threw my arms around her and let her know how great it was to see her again. I was not met with the same enthusiasm, but she was pleasant, introduced me to her husband and I showed them to their seats. After dinner was done, I went over and initiated a conversation with them. Her husband was a train enthusiast, so we discussed the details of the dinner train and some of the fun things we'd done together as friends. Then she said to her husband, "Yeah, that was before Carrie decided to shove my head in a locker", and she half laughed. Her poor husband didn't know what to say to that. Well there it was. Twenty years later, as the North Cove Express drove the tracks back to the station, the intense shame that caused me to block out the incident, was right there, written all over my face, and I couldn't apologize enough. I excused myself, feeling absolutely mortified. When the train came to a halt and the evening was over, she made a point to come and find me, apologized for bringing it up, acknowledged that it was a long time ago and she held no grudges. I said I was sorry one more time, we hugged, this time a little tighter, and they left. This interaction left me wondering, how many others did I hurt that I have no recollection of?
Watching this video yesterday struck me deep. How do we forgive the people from our past who've left an open wound? How do we redeem ourselves from being the one who's left the wound? Should we be accountable as adults for the actions of our childhood selves? How long do we carry the pain, or the guilt, before it's long enough? I suppose the answer is, as long as we must, before we figure out how to set it free. For me, the road to forgiveness and redemption, is to continue to walk a path of love and compassion and hope that it's enough. In the end, I can only pray that my legacy of love is stronger than anything else I've left behind. In the meantime, to those I've harmed in any way, through my words, or through my deeds, I am deeply, deeply sorry.
xo,
Carrie
When I was very young, I suffered from asthma. From what I've been told, it was life threatening at times. There are pictures of my mom and I from when she had to leave the family to take me to Florida so I could breathe. I outgrew the asthma, but not the trauma that it caused. Nothing scares me more than when my breathing doesn't flow smoothly as it should. Luckily, I don't recall much of the years when my lungs were fighting that battle, but I do remember as a kid having to wear something that resembled a surgical mask when I walked to school during the winter months. You can imagine the fun the other kids had at my expense when they'd see me coming with that on my face! I HATED wearing that thing, but breathing wasn't an option. Not a very poignant story of bullying, I know, but I'm fifty two years old, with many of my childhood memories since faded, but this one remains.
I've struggled with my weight my whole life long. I've never been what I'd consider obese, but I've been a good twenty to thirty pounds overweight many times. Being a heavier child, I always felt inferior to the thinner girls in my class/life. I recall in the fifth grade, my teacher referring to me as an elephant. He said the comment referred to the loud noise my shoes were making that day, but that's not how I internalized it. He made the comment, all the kids laughed, and that just confirmed for me that people saw me as the fat elephant I believed myself to be. That feeling has followed me into adulthood. It's pretty sad, the radical methods I have tried over the years to not feel that way. The Atkins diet, Nutrasystem, Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, the grapefruit diet, herbal supplements, diet pills, that were later determined to damage your heart, recreational drugs and plain old starvation. Thank God I despised the feeling of vomiting enough that I never fell victim to those methods, but I understand how one could. I finally came to accept that the only way to maintain a healthy weight is through proper nutrition, portion control and exercise, and I now do a fairly good job of maintaining my weight. Trust me though, there are still many days when just about every piece of clothing I own is thrown in a heap on my bed, because when I tried them on and looked in the mirror, all I saw was that elephant.
As I said, I've been on both sides of this coin. As I grew into a teenager, these insecurities drove me to decide I wanted to be the "cool" kid. Of course I didn't realize then, that one person's "cool", is another person's "asshole"! Took me some time to figure that out! As I was watching the video yesterday, I was reminded of a couple of incidents where I was the one doing the bullying. I barely remember the circumstance, but I have a vision of me kicking a girl who was lying on the ground, begging me not to. Two kicks, her tears, then a loud bang on the school window. There stood the principal, who had witnessed this heartless act. Thank God! Saved from myself and all of my insecurities coming out in the form of violence. The second incident I recall, was with a close friend at the time. We'd gotten into an argument while we were at the library, surrounded by other friends. She embarassed me with her sharp tongue, I had no comeback, and the other girls laughed at me. I decided it would be appropriate to later that day, shove her head in her locker while other people watched. That would teach her to embarass me. How very "cool" of me. I should have felt vindicated, but I felt nothing but shame. I remember deciding in that moment, that I didn't want to be that person. I had so much shame surrounding that incident, that I completely blocked it out. That was until I ran into her when I was in my thirties.
I was working one weekend on the North Cove Express, a lovely dinner train that ran out of Essex, CT. I was usually in charge of administrative duties for the train, but on occasion, when they were short staffed, I'd help to wait tables. So on this particular Saturday night, I was greeting people as they boarded the train, and on walks my old girlfriend with her husband. I was so delighted to see her that without thinking, I just threw my arms around her and let her know how great it was to see her again. I was not met with the same enthusiasm, but she was pleasant, introduced me to her husband and I showed them to their seats. After dinner was done, I went over and initiated a conversation with them. Her husband was a train enthusiast, so we discussed the details of the dinner train and some of the fun things we'd done together as friends. Then she said to her husband, "Yeah, that was before Carrie decided to shove my head in a locker", and she half laughed. Her poor husband didn't know what to say to that. Well there it was. Twenty years later, as the North Cove Express drove the tracks back to the station, the intense shame that caused me to block out the incident, was right there, written all over my face, and I couldn't apologize enough. I excused myself, feeling absolutely mortified. When the train came to a halt and the evening was over, she made a point to come and find me, apologized for bringing it up, acknowledged that it was a long time ago and she held no grudges. I said I was sorry one more time, we hugged, this time a little tighter, and they left. This interaction left me wondering, how many others did I hurt that I have no recollection of?
Watching this video yesterday struck me deep. How do we forgive the people from our past who've left an open wound? How do we redeem ourselves from being the one who's left the wound? Should we be accountable as adults for the actions of our childhood selves? How long do we carry the pain, or the guilt, before it's long enough? I suppose the answer is, as long as we must, before we figure out how to set it free. For me, the road to forgiveness and redemption, is to continue to walk a path of love and compassion and hope that it's enough. In the end, I can only pray that my legacy of love is stronger than anything else I've left behind. In the meantime, to those I've harmed in any way, through my words, or through my deeds, I am deeply, deeply sorry.
xo,
Carrie
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Sunrise
Before we have children of our own, most of us have very definite views on parenting. We know beyond a shadow of a doubt what our kids will and will not be allowed to do and how they'll behave. We have a pretty clear picture of the type of parents we'll be and the outcome that our parenting style will have on our children. Then you have children and slowly you realize, parenting is a crapshoot! We go along doing what we believe is best, doing what we can with what we know at the time, never really knowing if our actions will produce the results we hope for. Let me share the definition of crapshoot for those of you who aren't clear on the meaning of the word. Crapshoot - a risky and uncertain venture. Something that has an unpredictable outcome. A venture undertaken without regard to possible loss or injury. YUP! That pretty much sums it up.
Before I go any further, let me state emphatically, that there is nothing I value more in life than my role as mother to my three sons. My roles as wife, and now grandmother, run a very close second, but for me, there is no closer bond than that of a parent and child. There is no greater love. It's also because of that connection that parenting is the hardest job you can ever take on. My highest of highs and lowest of lows have all come as a result of my role as Mom. Parenting is quite a ride, and you only fully understand that, once you become one.
I've shared stories with you about my middle son, and some of the life altering challenges we faced with him over the years due to his drug use, but long before the drug use began, he was diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). Those of you who are familiar with, or have a loved one with this condition, understand fully the set of challenges that comes along with it, for the child, and for the other family members. It's because of those challenges that my oldest son always seemed to be the one we turned to when we needed something, because if I'm being honest, it was just easier than getting his brother to do it. We could always count on him to be responsible, reliable and trustworthy, so unfortunately (or maybe, fortunately) for him, he was made to do the majority of the work and was always held to a higher standard than his brother. What a huge responsibility that placed on his shoulders and what a huge disservice that was to his brother. How completely and utterly unfair of us. Yes, indeed, hindsight is 20/20 vision.
So while we continued to deal with the chaos of our middle son's reality, our oldest dealt with us, and all that we put on him over the years. That is, until he reached his teens. Once he decided he'd had enough, he'd truly had enough, and he set off on his own path to some pretty self destructive behaviors. Between the two older boys, going through their teens, there were some crazy hard years in this family. The anger, the stress, the depression, the fear, the uncertainty and the lack of control, none of it was anything I had ever imagined parenting would be. Thank God we don't skip right from newborn to teenager! We have many years in between to bond, to learn and to ultimately begin the slow process of letting go.
I'm happy to say that both of my older boys have grown into wonderful, caring, responsible men with hearts so loving that it makes me cry sometimes when I think of them and how much I love them. They both have beautiful girls of their own and my middle son is expecting a little boy in a month or so. They have begun their own journeys into parenthood and I couldn't be prouder of them. One of the blessings of grandparenthood is to be able to take the gift of that 20/20 vision I spoke of earlier and bestow it upon your grandchildren. I hope I can help my boys navigate their own challenges with their kids when they arise, with all of the wisdom that they've helped me to gain. That wisdom is too great a gift not to share.
In the meantime, when they were ages twelve and fourteen, along came our youngest. Yes, he was our OOPS! baby, and we've never regretted him for a second. He's now fifteen and knock on wood, despite what a challenging baby and toddler he was, his teens thus far have been mostly uneventful (notice I said, mostly!). I think part of the reason for this, is because he's growing up in a very different environment than his brothers did. It's only him, so there's not a lot of conflict that happens in the house from day to day. Really noone for him to argue with, other than the dog! Also, my husband and I are older, definitely wiser and much calmer than we were in our twenties and thirties.
Our youngest has had many benefits that our older boys didn't, and because of this, seems to be a pretty happy, sensible, well grounded kid. He doesn't give us much cause for worry (yet!), but having been down this road before, I always wonder what's coming around the corner. I always question if I'm missing something. I worry that the outside influences that come knocking around this age will find him and that smart, sensible kid we all know and love, will disappear in the blink of an eye.
As a parent, you always wonder if you're doing the right things. Are you teaching the right lessons? Are you instilling the strengths and the positive outlook that will ultimately carry your child through? Are you giving them the tools they need to be healthy, well adjusted adults? You wonder.
And then, early one morning, as you're in the bathroom getting ready for the day to begin, you hear your fifteen year old son scream loudly, "MOM! Come here quick!". So you drop the hair dryer and run, heart and mind racing, to go find him and see what's wrong. You find him and anxiously ask what the urgency is. Then he takes you by the arm, gently leads you to the window, points to the sky which is absolutely on fire with brilliant shades of orange, pink and purple and says, "Look at the sunrise! Isn't it puuurty?".
And in that moment, the wondering stops. You feel a little tear find it's way to your eye, your heart fills with gratitude and an overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, you're doing something right.
What a ride...
xo,
Carrie
Before I go any further, let me state emphatically, that there is nothing I value more in life than my role as mother to my three sons. My roles as wife, and now grandmother, run a very close second, but for me, there is no closer bond than that of a parent and child. There is no greater love. It's also because of that connection that parenting is the hardest job you can ever take on. My highest of highs and lowest of lows have all come as a result of my role as Mom. Parenting is quite a ride, and you only fully understand that, once you become one.
I've shared stories with you about my middle son, and some of the life altering challenges we faced with him over the years due to his drug use, but long before the drug use began, he was diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). Those of you who are familiar with, or have a loved one with this condition, understand fully the set of challenges that comes along with it, for the child, and for the other family members. It's because of those challenges that my oldest son always seemed to be the one we turned to when we needed something, because if I'm being honest, it was just easier than getting his brother to do it. We could always count on him to be responsible, reliable and trustworthy, so unfortunately (or maybe, fortunately) for him, he was made to do the majority of the work and was always held to a higher standard than his brother. What a huge responsibility that placed on his shoulders and what a huge disservice that was to his brother. How completely and utterly unfair of us. Yes, indeed, hindsight is 20/20 vision.
So while we continued to deal with the chaos of our middle son's reality, our oldest dealt with us, and all that we put on him over the years. That is, until he reached his teens. Once he decided he'd had enough, he'd truly had enough, and he set off on his own path to some pretty self destructive behaviors. Between the two older boys, going through their teens, there were some crazy hard years in this family. The anger, the stress, the depression, the fear, the uncertainty and the lack of control, none of it was anything I had ever imagined parenting would be. Thank God we don't skip right from newborn to teenager! We have many years in between to bond, to learn and to ultimately begin the slow process of letting go.
I'm happy to say that both of my older boys have grown into wonderful, caring, responsible men with hearts so loving that it makes me cry sometimes when I think of them and how much I love them. They both have beautiful girls of their own and my middle son is expecting a little boy in a month or so. They have begun their own journeys into parenthood and I couldn't be prouder of them. One of the blessings of grandparenthood is to be able to take the gift of that 20/20 vision I spoke of earlier and bestow it upon your grandchildren. I hope I can help my boys navigate their own challenges with their kids when they arise, with all of the wisdom that they've helped me to gain. That wisdom is too great a gift not to share.
In the meantime, when they were ages twelve and fourteen, along came our youngest. Yes, he was our OOPS! baby, and we've never regretted him for a second. He's now fifteen and knock on wood, despite what a challenging baby and toddler he was, his teens thus far have been mostly uneventful (notice I said, mostly!). I think part of the reason for this, is because he's growing up in a very different environment than his brothers did. It's only him, so there's not a lot of conflict that happens in the house from day to day. Really noone for him to argue with, other than the dog! Also, my husband and I are older, definitely wiser and much calmer than we were in our twenties and thirties.
Our youngest has had many benefits that our older boys didn't, and because of this, seems to be a pretty happy, sensible, well grounded kid. He doesn't give us much cause for worry (yet!), but having been down this road before, I always wonder what's coming around the corner. I always question if I'm missing something. I worry that the outside influences that come knocking around this age will find him and that smart, sensible kid we all know and love, will disappear in the blink of an eye.
As a parent, you always wonder if you're doing the right things. Are you teaching the right lessons? Are you instilling the strengths and the positive outlook that will ultimately carry your child through? Are you giving them the tools they need to be healthy, well adjusted adults? You wonder.
And then, early one morning, as you're in the bathroom getting ready for the day to begin, you hear your fifteen year old son scream loudly, "MOM! Come here quick!". So you drop the hair dryer and run, heart and mind racing, to go find him and see what's wrong. You find him and anxiously ask what the urgency is. Then he takes you by the arm, gently leads you to the window, points to the sky which is absolutely on fire with brilliant shades of orange, pink and purple and says, "Look at the sunrise! Isn't it puuurty?".
And in that moment, the wondering stops. You feel a little tear find it's way to your eye, your heart fills with gratitude and an overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, you're doing something right.
What a ride...
xo,
Carrie
Thursday, February 7, 2013
February
I love living in New England, I really do! I love the change of seasons and the beauty that each season brings to the earth and the sense of renewal that beauty brings to my soul. I'm not much of a winter person though. I'm not into winter sports and I'm definitely NOT into being cold! It seems the older I get, the colder I feel during the winter months. I remember walking into my parent's home when I was younger during the winter and after being there only a short time, getting the sense that I was suffocating because the heat was so high. I used to wonder how they could live like that but the older I get, the more I understand. My mom was a teeny little thing and didn't have much insulation on her body. My body certainly has plenty of insulation, but my hands, my feet and my nose are perpetually cold from about October through April. Unlike my dad, I also have a husband who keeps a very watchful eye on the thermostat in our house and doesn't hesitate to remind me about the cost of oil any time I make a move to adjust it. I love him, but we have our share of disagreements over this! He tends to run hot, I tend to run cold, and as he likes to suggest, putting on another sweater won't help my cold hands and cold nose!
I don't mind the first part of winter. I marvel at the first few snowfalls of the season just like everyone else. I love the winter holidays and all the family time they bring. I love the self evaluation and the quest for change that each new year brings with it. And this year, I especially loved that the world didn't come to an end in December and that all the hype about the end of the Mayan calendar was just that! I usually have retreat to look forward to at the end of January and that's always a wonderful time. Then comes February...
Dry air
Dry skin
Dry, fly away hair
Brittle nails
Sinus headaches
Sick children
Sick Adults
Bored children
Aggravated adults dealing with bored children
Gray skies
Dull, baron, brown landscapes
Darkness
Dirty cars
Cars not starting
More snow
Backaches from shoveling
Sleeping in layers of clothing
Hats and ear muffs
Mittens and gloves
Bulky coats and boots
Eating too much chocolate, or cheese, or whatever
COLD
COLD
COLD!
I know that March will come, which always brings with it the excitement that April is right around the corner, but when I start to feel like this, I'm reminded of something that our eldest son used to say quite often when he was a teenager. So to you February, I simply say...BITE ME!
xo,
Carrie
I don't mind the first part of winter. I marvel at the first few snowfalls of the season just like everyone else. I love the winter holidays and all the family time they bring. I love the self evaluation and the quest for change that each new year brings with it. And this year, I especially loved that the world didn't come to an end in December and that all the hype about the end of the Mayan calendar was just that! I usually have retreat to look forward to at the end of January and that's always a wonderful time. Then comes February...
Dry air
Dry skin
Dry, fly away hair
Brittle nails
Sinus headaches
Sick children
Sick Adults
Bored children
Aggravated adults dealing with bored children
Gray skies
Dull, baron, brown landscapes
Darkness
Dirty cars
Cars not starting
More snow
Backaches from shoveling
Sleeping in layers of clothing
Hats and ear muffs
Mittens and gloves
Bulky coats and boots
Eating too much chocolate, or cheese, or whatever
COLD
COLD
COLD!
I know that March will come, which always brings with it the excitement that April is right around the corner, but when I start to feel like this, I'm reminded of something that our eldest son used to say quite often when he was a teenager. So to you February, I simply say...BITE ME!
xo,
Carrie
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Women
It's about 5:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. I've been away on retreat since Friday afternoon with a group of fourteen other women and as always, I'm blown away by the loving, trusting, compassionate energy that gets passed around during these weekends. I've learned not to come with an agenda, and to simply be open to whatever may come. Let me just say, I am always humbled, and oh so grateful for what does.
I've been doing this retreat for so many years that I honestly can't remember when it began. I know my connection with the wonderful woman who "runs" it began twenty plus years ago. I say "runs" it because I've learned over the years that while you can attempt an agenda here, the weekend always takes on a life of it's own. I think the running is really more of a gentle nudging on her part, and it always gets us to where we need to go.
One of the things that I find fascinating, and beautiful about being part of a circle of women is that in that circle, you will more likely than not, be given the opportunity to see yourself at various stages of your life. While the individual stories will vary, the struggles, the joys, the pain, the triumphs, the emotions, and the ultimate growth that comes, is very much the same. For me, it's the most powerful gift that comes from our connection to other women. The reminder of where you've been, the validation of how far you've come, and the hope held in the future's possibilities.
One thing that's pretty clear to me is that we women suffer. Much of that suffering is done in silence, but there's no denying the pain and suffering that comes from having a woman's tender heart. It's not my intent to say that men don't deal with their share of suffering, I know this to be so. It's been my experience however, that men and women are wired differently and tend to process life in very different ways, from very different perspectives.
It seems to be a general theme for women that somehow, somewhere in our lives, we feel we are not doing a good enough job. If we feel we excel in one area, we usually feel we're failing in another. No matter what our accomplishments, there's an underlying sense that our efforts are not enough. That we should be achieving more! There seems to always be an area in our lives where we feel we are simply not good enough. Well thank you very much Gloria Steinem! I'm not negating the importance of all the positive change that came from the Women's Liberation Movement, but in my opinion, those changes did not come without some huge costs to women as well. One of those costs being exactly what I speak of here. Women now have the opportunity to do it all...WOOHOO! Well I have a newsflash for you, NOONE can do it all. And when you're made to feel like you should be, there will always be an area in which you feel less than, or inadequate.
So let's get back to basics here for a moment. Let's put our worth back into perspective, shall we? We women are the nurturers of the world. In this small group of fifteen women we have a marriage and family therapist, a few nurses, a medical professional, a customer care professional, a parent educator, a couple of women in early childhood education, an assistant to a lawyer whose focus is end of life planning and minorities rights, a teacher, a child care provider, a couple of massage therapists and a self-made business owner whose hard work sustains her household. HELLO!!! We are wives nurturing husbands, mothers nurturing children, children nurturing parents, Aunties nurturing nieces and nephews, grandmothers nurturing grandchildren, friends nurturing friends and women nurturing a variety of pets. We are the nurturers of the damn world I tell you! So you tell me how, in any capacity, is that not good enough?
I think the fact that we women are always striving to be a better version of ourselves is beyond admirable and very telling of the true spirit of a woman. The striving can be a wonderful thing, as long as while we're doing so, we're able to maintain a sense of peace about who we already are, and all that we already give. We DO enough. We GIVE enough. We ARE enough.
It can take days, weeks and in some cases, months to feel the full effects of a weekend like this. It takes time to understand what you've taken with you and honestly, I don't know that we ever fully understand what we've contributed to it. This much I know...when you're in need, when you're depleted, when you feel like a failure or inadequate or less than in some way, look into the heart of another woman, because it's there where you will always find your own, beautiful reflection.
xo,
Carrie
I've been doing this retreat for so many years that I honestly can't remember when it began. I know my connection with the wonderful woman who "runs" it began twenty plus years ago. I say "runs" it because I've learned over the years that while you can attempt an agenda here, the weekend always takes on a life of it's own. I think the running is really more of a gentle nudging on her part, and it always gets us to where we need to go.
One of the things that I find fascinating, and beautiful about being part of a circle of women is that in that circle, you will more likely than not, be given the opportunity to see yourself at various stages of your life. While the individual stories will vary, the struggles, the joys, the pain, the triumphs, the emotions, and the ultimate growth that comes, is very much the same. For me, it's the most powerful gift that comes from our connection to other women. The reminder of where you've been, the validation of how far you've come, and the hope held in the future's possibilities.
One thing that's pretty clear to me is that we women suffer. Much of that suffering is done in silence, but there's no denying the pain and suffering that comes from having a woman's tender heart. It's not my intent to say that men don't deal with their share of suffering, I know this to be so. It's been my experience however, that men and women are wired differently and tend to process life in very different ways, from very different perspectives.
It seems to be a general theme for women that somehow, somewhere in our lives, we feel we are not doing a good enough job. If we feel we excel in one area, we usually feel we're failing in another. No matter what our accomplishments, there's an underlying sense that our efforts are not enough. That we should be achieving more! There seems to always be an area in our lives where we feel we are simply not good enough. Well thank you very much Gloria Steinem! I'm not negating the importance of all the positive change that came from the Women's Liberation Movement, but in my opinion, those changes did not come without some huge costs to women as well. One of those costs being exactly what I speak of here. Women now have the opportunity to do it all...WOOHOO! Well I have a newsflash for you, NOONE can do it all. And when you're made to feel like you should be, there will always be an area in which you feel less than, or inadequate.
So let's get back to basics here for a moment. Let's put our worth back into perspective, shall we? We women are the nurturers of the world. In this small group of fifteen women we have a marriage and family therapist, a few nurses, a medical professional, a customer care professional, a parent educator, a couple of women in early childhood education, an assistant to a lawyer whose focus is end of life planning and minorities rights, a teacher, a child care provider, a couple of massage therapists and a self-made business owner whose hard work sustains her household. HELLO!!! We are wives nurturing husbands, mothers nurturing children, children nurturing parents, Aunties nurturing nieces and nephews, grandmothers nurturing grandchildren, friends nurturing friends and women nurturing a variety of pets. We are the nurturers of the damn world I tell you! So you tell me how, in any capacity, is that not good enough?
I think the fact that we women are always striving to be a better version of ourselves is beyond admirable and very telling of the true spirit of a woman. The striving can be a wonderful thing, as long as while we're doing so, we're able to maintain a sense of peace about who we already are, and all that we already give. We DO enough. We GIVE enough. We ARE enough.
It can take days, weeks and in some cases, months to feel the full effects of a weekend like this. It takes time to understand what you've taken with you and honestly, I don't know that we ever fully understand what we've contributed to it. This much I know...when you're in need, when you're depleted, when you feel like a failure or inadequate or less than in some way, look into the heart of another woman, because it's there where you will always find your own, beautiful reflection.
xo,
Carrie
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
A Home
My father in law has been in a nursing home since last July. His health had deteriorated to a point that it was no longer an option for him to stay in his home. I'm happy to say that he has improved since he's been there, but the reality is, he will not improve to the point where he can go home again. The reason he's doing as well as he is, is clearly because of the round the clock care he receives there.
For any of you who have had to deal with this type of a situation, you understand the incredible financial burden having a loved one in a nursing home can create if it's not prepared for. I was floored to find out the monthly expense to a resident in a facility like this! Without going into too much detail, it's coming to a point where his home will most likely have to be sold in order to ensure he can stay in the nursing home. His home is at the shore and has been in the family for generations, making this a pretty unbearable task at hand.
My husband and I took a ride to the house today to begin determining what needs to be done before listing the house. As we drove the familiar streets we've driven countless times over the years, I began to feel the emotional drain this situation has put on us. I was fifteen the first time my husband took me to this house and the memories here are just too many to count.
Memories of partying with friends when we were in our teens, fireworks on the beach on the fourth of July. Playing frisbee on the sand bars and subsequently slicing my foot open on a big clamshell. Receiving several stitches in that wound and almost passing out as they scraped the sand out of it because the novicaine didn't seem to be taking!
Memories of bringing our boys there when they were young and sitting for hours as they played. There were few places we could bring our active boys where they would be content for long periods of time, and this was one of those special places. It's a small beach, with rocks jetting out on either side which were the boundaries they did not pass. We didn't worry about them wandering off or getting lost there. Oh, the hours and hours they spent crabbing on those rocks, and making friends with other kids who would come with their families to do the same. The many walks that brought us far out into the ocean on the sand bars that would magically appear at low tide. Of course, the walks always began with the boys moaning to be picked up over the beginning part which consisted of slimy sand and snails (this was before water socks). You haven't lived until you've felt the soft squish of slimy sand, filled with snails smooshing through your toes!
Then there was my father in law's wedding in the back yard. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I remember how much fun my boys had manning the keg of beer for the wedding guests. They had a tip jar and would get a quarter or two every time they filled a beer. I recall them making out very well that day. Yeah, I know, mother of the year award!
The lobster dinners on Saturday nights, the smell of the bacon my father in law would cook on Sunday mornings to lure us out of bed. The sunshine, the fun, the togetherness. As I thought about having to say goodbye to this home, and the heavy heart it's causing us all, especially my husband, I began to think about a home and the memories it holds.
A house begins with someone's creative vision and a building crew's hard work. Then comes floors and walls, windows and ceilings and lots of other intricate details. A house doesn't become a home though, until it has people living inside of it. A house, for many, is a place where new beginnings come alive, and that's when it starts to change into something much more than a house.
Maybe it starts with the floor embracing the feet of two newlyweds, dancing the night away together. Maybe some of the first sounds the walls hear are those of excitement and love as their new life together gets underway.
Then perhaps that same floor begins to serve as a saving grace, as it creeks a quiet meditation to the mom who is up all night, rocking her sleepless baby in her arms, as they snuggle together in Grandma's antique rocking chair.
In time, the walls begin to fill with noise. That sleepless baby's cry, being soothed by Mom's lullaby, has now morphed into the sounds of a toddler, running barefoot on those floors, yelling, "You can't catch me Daddy!" and the wild laughter of both of them as he does! Maybe there's even the sound of a jealous dog's bark, wanting desperately to join in on the fun.
As the family grows and time goes on, the walls of a home accumulate so much. Maybe the sound of a piano playing, or a drum set drumming. Or sibling laughter, sibling knock down, drag outs, and the forceful tone of a parent's reprimand as they attempt to play referee. The endless sound of washing machines and dryers, cleaning uniforms, and ballet outfits, and work clothes, and towels, and you name it. Balls being thrown inside and denting those walls, despite the many warnings that this is not allowed! Or maybe the sound of the glass breaking as it hits a window, smashing it to pieces. The sound of that same window being replaced and some years later serving it's purpose well as a means for the teenager to sneak out of the house as Mom and Dad sleep soundly, believing that all's well. And then, the excrutiating sound of the clock on the wall, ticking, ticking, ticking, as Mom and Dad wait, after discovering that teenager is not in his bed.
The mounds of dirt and piles of dust, the stripping of wallpaper and new coats of paint as those floors and walls begin to show their age. The dancing and resting, the arguments and heart to heart discussions. The joys, the heartaches and yes, too many memories to count. A home is our sanctuary through them all.
So what is the appropriate way to say goodbye to a home? I suppose with grace, and a grateful heart, and an understanding that as loved as a home can be, the people who gave it life to begin with have more value.
Thanks for all the memories. May you provide countless more for whoever finds their way through your doors next.
xo,
Carrie
For any of you who have had to deal with this type of a situation, you understand the incredible financial burden having a loved one in a nursing home can create if it's not prepared for. I was floored to find out the monthly expense to a resident in a facility like this! Without going into too much detail, it's coming to a point where his home will most likely have to be sold in order to ensure he can stay in the nursing home. His home is at the shore and has been in the family for generations, making this a pretty unbearable task at hand.
My husband and I took a ride to the house today to begin determining what needs to be done before listing the house. As we drove the familiar streets we've driven countless times over the years, I began to feel the emotional drain this situation has put on us. I was fifteen the first time my husband took me to this house and the memories here are just too many to count.
Memories of partying with friends when we were in our teens, fireworks on the beach on the fourth of July. Playing frisbee on the sand bars and subsequently slicing my foot open on a big clamshell. Receiving several stitches in that wound and almost passing out as they scraped the sand out of it because the novicaine didn't seem to be taking!
Memories of bringing our boys there when they were young and sitting for hours as they played. There were few places we could bring our active boys where they would be content for long periods of time, and this was one of those special places. It's a small beach, with rocks jetting out on either side which were the boundaries they did not pass. We didn't worry about them wandering off or getting lost there. Oh, the hours and hours they spent crabbing on those rocks, and making friends with other kids who would come with their families to do the same. The many walks that brought us far out into the ocean on the sand bars that would magically appear at low tide. Of course, the walks always began with the boys moaning to be picked up over the beginning part which consisted of slimy sand and snails (this was before water socks). You haven't lived until you've felt the soft squish of slimy sand, filled with snails smooshing through your toes!
Then there was my father in law's wedding in the back yard. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I remember how much fun my boys had manning the keg of beer for the wedding guests. They had a tip jar and would get a quarter or two every time they filled a beer. I recall them making out very well that day. Yeah, I know, mother of the year award!
The lobster dinners on Saturday nights, the smell of the bacon my father in law would cook on Sunday mornings to lure us out of bed. The sunshine, the fun, the togetherness. As I thought about having to say goodbye to this home, and the heavy heart it's causing us all, especially my husband, I began to think about a home and the memories it holds.
A house begins with someone's creative vision and a building crew's hard work. Then comes floors and walls, windows and ceilings and lots of other intricate details. A house doesn't become a home though, until it has people living inside of it. A house, for many, is a place where new beginnings come alive, and that's when it starts to change into something much more than a house.
Maybe it starts with the floor embracing the feet of two newlyweds, dancing the night away together. Maybe some of the first sounds the walls hear are those of excitement and love as their new life together gets underway.
Then perhaps that same floor begins to serve as a saving grace, as it creeks a quiet meditation to the mom who is up all night, rocking her sleepless baby in her arms, as they snuggle together in Grandma's antique rocking chair.
In time, the walls begin to fill with noise. That sleepless baby's cry, being soothed by Mom's lullaby, has now morphed into the sounds of a toddler, running barefoot on those floors, yelling, "You can't catch me Daddy!" and the wild laughter of both of them as he does! Maybe there's even the sound of a jealous dog's bark, wanting desperately to join in on the fun.
As the family grows and time goes on, the walls of a home accumulate so much. Maybe the sound of a piano playing, or a drum set drumming. Or sibling laughter, sibling knock down, drag outs, and the forceful tone of a parent's reprimand as they attempt to play referee. The endless sound of washing machines and dryers, cleaning uniforms, and ballet outfits, and work clothes, and towels, and you name it. Balls being thrown inside and denting those walls, despite the many warnings that this is not allowed! Or maybe the sound of the glass breaking as it hits a window, smashing it to pieces. The sound of that same window being replaced and some years later serving it's purpose well as a means for the teenager to sneak out of the house as Mom and Dad sleep soundly, believing that all's well. And then, the excrutiating sound of the clock on the wall, ticking, ticking, ticking, as Mom and Dad wait, after discovering that teenager is not in his bed.
The mounds of dirt and piles of dust, the stripping of wallpaper and new coats of paint as those floors and walls begin to show their age. The dancing and resting, the arguments and heart to heart discussions. The joys, the heartaches and yes, too many memories to count. A home is our sanctuary through them all.
So what is the appropriate way to say goodbye to a home? I suppose with grace, and a grateful heart, and an understanding that as loved as a home can be, the people who gave it life to begin with have more value.
Thanks for all the memories. May you provide countless more for whoever finds their way through your doors next.
xo,
Carrie
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
