Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Pink
Pink.
Pink makes me happy.
I wasn't a pink little girl. I was a tomboy.
A never-wear-skirts-or-dresses, Yankees hat wearing tomboy. On the rare occasions I had to wear a dress, I wore shorts underneath.
Slowly in my teens, when I discovered boys as more than buddies, I slowly discovered pink.
In my 20s, pink started to enter my life.
In my early 30s, pink became my accessory.
In my late 30s, it became my attitude.
And now, in my 40s, it is my signature.
"I believe in pink," Audrey Hepburn famously said. "I believe that happiest girls are the prettiest girls."
NOT pretty girls are happy.
But happy girls are pretty.
That's what pink does to me. It makes me happy. And then, in turn, it makes me pretty.
I, like Audrey, believe in pink.
Pink makes me happy.
I wasn't a pink little girl. I was a tomboy.
A never-wear-skirts-or-dresses, Yankees hat wearing tomboy. On the rare occasions I had to wear a dress, I wore shorts underneath.
Slowly in my teens, when I discovered boys as more than buddies, I slowly discovered pink.
In my 20s, pink started to enter my life.
In my early 30s, pink became my accessory.
In my late 30s, it became my attitude.
And now, in my 40s, it is my signature.
"I believe in pink," Audrey Hepburn famously said. "I believe that happiest girls are the prettiest girls."
NOT pretty girls are happy.
But happy girls are pretty.
That's what pink does to me. It makes me happy. And then, in turn, it makes me pretty.
I, like Audrey, believe in pink.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Property Virgin
One of my New Year's resolutions was to buy a house. I got my mortgage pre-approved, giving me a price range that would feel comfortable. I've been looking online since the fall, but really started looking for real after the holidays.
My real estate agent would send me listings, and I would drive through the neighborhoods, getting a feel for who lived there, what it was near, what the traffic was like, how it looked from the outside, etc. My first weekend, I drove by 24 houses, with the help of Pippa (my GPS with the British accent) and went into the model for new construction townhouses.
I was immediately in love. I wanted to stop looking. I could have everything on my wish list -- hardwood floors, gas fireplace, soaking tub, finished basement.
But my Doylestown big brother talked me down. "This is your first house. You can't jump at the first thing you like. You need to look more."
"But did I tell you about the tub?!" I said excitingly in his office. I think I might have even jumped up and down a little.
"Laurie.....Laurie....this is a big deal....you need to go slowly."
"And the hard wood floors....and the fireplace with the light switch." A little less excited, still a little jumping as I talked.
"Just look at all your options, that's all I'm saying."
And he was right. I needed to do my due diligence. That week, Linda and I went to two of the houses from my weekend neighborhood stalking. One was awful, even if it was in the neighborhood where Pink's grandmother lives. Possible Carey Hart sightings are not enough.
The other was a definite contender. The carpets looks good. It had hardwood floors. A finished basement. The walls would have needed to be painted, but unlike one of the open houses I stopped in the previous weekend, no wallpaper to scrape off.
And so went the next few weeks. Linda would email me a list by the end of the week. I would look at them online and then map out anything that looked promising. Sunday afternoons, after my work out, I would get in the car and drive all over, making notes. And then the following week, we'd see anything that was promising.
And then, as we were looking at a super cute townhouse. Colors on the wall -- all fun and appropriate. Hardwood floors on the first floor. Fireplace. But, not basement. No attic. Tight storage. I didn't want to like it as much as I did, but I knew I would outgrow it immediately. No place to put a treadmill. No place for a sewing/craft room.
I am not a hoarder by any means, but I have "stuff." And I've been very creative in all of my apartments with challenging closet space to figure it all out. When I buy something, I don't want to have to be creative with storage.
And so as I stood in that dining room, trying to figure out how I could make it work, I looked at Linda and said, "let's just buy the new construction. I think I've seen enough to know."
And so this past Monday, Linda and I went up to the model home and I signed what seemed like 167 pieces of paper for a house to be built this summer and I will be able to move in towards the end of the summer. The builder representative would explain what each page was and I'd look at Linda, she'd nod and I would sign and initial. On and on.
I bought a house. A brand new house. And I get my hardwood floors.
And a gas fireplace (anyone who knows me knows I'm always cold and how much I will enjoy that in the colder months).
And a soaking tub. When I lived in Baltimore, I have a claw-foot tub and I used it at least four times a week. A regular bathtub won't do after having something that deep. It doesn't need to be extra long or extra wide, but it needs to be deep. And that's what I'm getting.
And a finished basement. For my treadmill. And for a craft room. I can set up the sewing machine and leave it set up.
I've been pinning all sorts of things on Pinterest the past few months. And this week I made an expandable file just for the house. Each section is a different room. For decorating ideas. For figuring out the lay-out in each room.
Wednesday, I meet with the mortgage company.
And next Monday, Linda and I are going to the showroom to pick out cabinets, flooring, counter tops, etc.
It's coming along. I bought a house. I'm a property virgin no more.
My real estate agent would send me listings, and I would drive through the neighborhoods, getting a feel for who lived there, what it was near, what the traffic was like, how it looked from the outside, etc. My first weekend, I drove by 24 houses, with the help of Pippa (my GPS with the British accent) and went into the model for new construction townhouses.
I was immediately in love. I wanted to stop looking. I could have everything on my wish list -- hardwood floors, gas fireplace, soaking tub, finished basement.
But my Doylestown big brother talked me down. "This is your first house. You can't jump at the first thing you like. You need to look more."
"But did I tell you about the tub?!" I said excitingly in his office. I think I might have even jumped up and down a little.
"Laurie.....Laurie....this is a big deal....you need to go slowly."
"And the hard wood floors....and the fireplace with the light switch." A little less excited, still a little jumping as I talked.
"Just look at all your options, that's all I'm saying."
And he was right. I needed to do my due diligence. That week, Linda and I went to two of the houses from my weekend neighborhood stalking. One was awful, even if it was in the neighborhood where Pink's grandmother lives. Possible Carey Hart sightings are not enough.
The other was a definite contender. The carpets looks good. It had hardwood floors. A finished basement. The walls would have needed to be painted, but unlike one of the open houses I stopped in the previous weekend, no wallpaper to scrape off.
And so went the next few weeks. Linda would email me a list by the end of the week. I would look at them online and then map out anything that looked promising. Sunday afternoons, after my work out, I would get in the car and drive all over, making notes. And then the following week, we'd see anything that was promising.
And then, as we were looking at a super cute townhouse. Colors on the wall -- all fun and appropriate. Hardwood floors on the first floor. Fireplace. But, not basement. No attic. Tight storage. I didn't want to like it as much as I did, but I knew I would outgrow it immediately. No place to put a treadmill. No place for a sewing/craft room.
I am not a hoarder by any means, but I have "stuff." And I've been very creative in all of my apartments with challenging closet space to figure it all out. When I buy something, I don't want to have to be creative with storage.
And so as I stood in that dining room, trying to figure out how I could make it work, I looked at Linda and said, "let's just buy the new construction. I think I've seen enough to know."
And so this past Monday, Linda and I went up to the model home and I signed what seemed like 167 pieces of paper for a house to be built this summer and I will be able to move in towards the end of the summer. The builder representative would explain what each page was and I'd look at Linda, she'd nod and I would sign and initial. On and on.
I bought a house. A brand new house. And I get my hardwood floors.
And a gas fireplace (anyone who knows me knows I'm always cold and how much I will enjoy that in the colder months).
And a soaking tub. When I lived in Baltimore, I have a claw-foot tub and I used it at least four times a week. A regular bathtub won't do after having something that deep. It doesn't need to be extra long or extra wide, but it needs to be deep. And that's what I'm getting.
And a finished basement. For my treadmill. And for a craft room. I can set up the sewing machine and leave it set up.
I've been pinning all sorts of things on Pinterest the past few months. And this week I made an expandable file just for the house. Each section is a different room. For decorating ideas. For figuring out the lay-out in each room.
Wednesday, I meet with the mortgage company.
And next Monday, Linda and I are going to the showroom to pick out cabinets, flooring, counter tops, etc.
It's coming along. I bought a house. I'm a property virgin no more.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Resolution Update
Resolution 1 -- I will run a 5K.
Though it was on a treadmill, and I still want to do it outside, I did actually run the equivalent of a 5K last week.
Resolution 2 -- I will my hit goal weight (15 pounds past pre-baby weight) by June 1.
Though it was on a treadmill, and I still want to do it outside, I did actually run the equivalent of a 5K last week.
Resolution 2 -- I will my hit goal weight (15 pounds past pre-baby weight) by June 1.
I am two pounds under pre-baby weight, well within sight of losing another 13 by early June.
Resolution 3 -- I will learn to maintain by the end of the year (because losing it is only half the battle).
Resolution 3 -- I will learn to maintain by the end of the year (because losing it is only half the battle).
Nothing I can do about this one. Yet.
Resolution 4 -- I will do my damnedest to run/walk 1,000 miles. That's going to be tough. I was about five miles short of merely 500 miles for 2012. But that's taking into account that I had stopped running, that I was dealing with a new job, a move, wrapping up the old job, plus all the misadventures that January brought. So we'll shoot for 1,000 and see how close I get.
Resolution 4 -- I will do my damnedest to run/walk 1,000 miles. That's going to be tough. I was about five miles short of merely 500 miles for 2012. But that's taking into account that I had stopped running, that I was dealing with a new job, a move, wrapping up the old job, plus all the misadventures that January brought. So we'll shoot for 1,000 and see how close I get.
I'm not on pace to hit 1,000 miles yet, but I'm hopeful that the summer will change that. Right now, I'm at 93 miles with the goal of hitting 125 by the end of February.
Resolution 5 -- and what I wouldn't be able to do if I was still in Ithaca...buy a house.
Resolution 5 -- and what I wouldn't be able to do if I was still in Ithaca...buy a house.
Mortgage pre-approved. Real estate agent lined up. Did some neighborhood drive-bys and some open houses today. It's all underway.
The Weight of Words
One of my bonus friends (those I found because of adoption or IF) shared a story on Facebook yesterday. She and her husband struggled with infertility for nearly a decade. We met when she had an IVF treatment in New York. That treatment worked, with triplets. Sadly, two of the triplets were lost in utero.
This was her post yesterday, on the anniversary of losing one of the babies:
Today (yes, today) we were walking into a small store with Seth in a stroller. We were followed closely behind by a mom and grandmother holding two twin babies. We stopped and my dear husband pushed the stroller to the side to awkwardly hold the door open for the women and their babies. Sensing that holding the door open was awkward with a large stroller, the grandmother said "You're lucky you don't have two babies."
The moral of this story: Know your audience before you act smugly regarding your blessings.
This was her post yesterday, on the anniversary of losing one of the babies:
Today (yes, today) we were walking into a small store with Seth in a stroller. We were followed closely behind by a mom and grandmother holding two twin babies. We stopped and my dear husband pushed the stroller to the side to awkwardly hold the door open for the women and their babies. Sensing that holding the door open was awkward with a large stroller, the grandmother said "You're lucky you don't have two babies."
The moral of this story: Know your audience before you act smugly regarding your blessings.
I can't tell you the things people have said to me that I literally had to stop myself from slapping them, or screaming at them, or even hanging up on them (because, yes, even in your circle of family and friends, people say the wrong things).
"You're so luck to not have kids [or a husband]."
"It must be nice to have the time to do that. I've got to make lunches for everyone and iron clothes."
Words can have weight. And impact. A year later. Decades later.
I am reminded of something said to me when I was 13. Long before IF came into my life, but right in the middle of my other life struggle -- my weight.
At nine, I was going to Kelly Lynn (which used to be a chain of all-women gyms). At 10, I was reading Richard Simmons and the Scardale Diet Book. At 11, I was eating tuna -- no mayo -- on a bed of lettuce. When I look at pictures of me from this time, I wasn't fat. I was solid. I felt fat. I thought I was fat. I was taught I was fat, because I wasn't skinny.
But that was the time. It was the late '70s and early '80s. Calories, diets, fattening -- those terms were thrown around with exotic abandon. Jane Fonda, with her fancy hair and leg warmers, capitalized on this new sudden obsession with weight loss. I remember her workout album (yes album) with the moves charted out on the cover.
How I hated working out. Not because I was lazy. But for the same reason that I hate working out in front of a mirror or taking an exercise class to this day. I felt/feel clumsy. Unathletic. Fat.
My weight has been my issue my whole life. (I only got a reprieve from it when I tried to get pregnant or adopt. But even then it was an issue, gaining 43 pounds on the hormones.) And the topic of family conversation. My sister would call from the other side of the country each week and always ask, "how's your diet?"
But it wasn't Kelly Lynn. Or Jane Fonda. Or Richard Simmons. Or Dr. Scarsdale. Or the weekly questions from Alaska about my diet.
It was my niece's third or fourth birthday party. I went for a second piece of cake and my brother said, "do you really need that?"
In front of everyone. I was mortified And hurt. This was the brother I loved the most. The brother who was never cranky with me. The brother who never lost his patience with me. The brother who took me places.
After the party, my parents tried to talk to me about it. I don't remember anything about the conversation, except the line from my usually quiet father, the 15 words that still haunt me to this day. "Do you know how proud of you your brother would be if you lost weight?"
What I heard -- your brother doesn't love you because you're fat.
~~~~~~~
I am full of advice to my friends with daughters, especially if their daughters happen to be a little chubby. There is so much more awareness of eating disorders, girl power, making them feel smart instead of pretty, being healthy as opposed to being skinny. But I tell the cautionary tale about words having weight.
I told this story to my sister-in-law a few weeks ago. "Do you know how devastated your brother would be if he knew how he hurt you?"
My SIL struggles with her weight and my brother loves her unconditionally. There are no comments, no pushing her to diet, no snide remarks. I guess you could say he has evolved from that 21-year-old all those years ago.
And I've finally evolved too. I love to work out, though not in a class and not in front of a mirror. Even now when I lift, I turn sideways from the mirror. I eat healthy. Yes, I count calories but this is no longer a diet, this is my new way of life.
And slowly I'm starting to lose the fat girl inside of me. Slowly I'm starting to believe I'm worthy, that my brother -- and any man -- will love me no matter what. And it's not because I'm losing weight, it's because slowly, I'm losing the weight of those words.
~~~~~~~~
So the moral of the story, know your audience. Choose your words carefully. Because that carefree, fabulous, single girl you envy because she has time to workout six days a week is aching to be a mother. That beautiful family with the almost one-year-old still mourns the loss of their two other babies. That 13-year-old girl will take -- as gospel -- the things she hears from the most important men in her life at the time, and project them onto every future relationship.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
A year ago tomorrow I became a mom.
And three days later, it was taken away from me.
A lot of happened in a year, good and bad, high and low. But ultimately what happened for me is that I got to re-invent my life.
I believe in fate, but I also believe that you have to make the right decision or choose the right path to be where you're supposed to end up. And so I was given the opportunity by one of my favorite people in the world to think about life outside of Ithaca. And every move after that as been because of me.
I used to think I was strong because of what I dealt with and went through while I was trying to have a baby. I wasn't. Not really. I made a decision and just stayed on that course. That was actually the easy thing to do.
The hard thing....the strong thing...was to give up. To move on. To rebuild.
A year later, I have a job that I love, that I am challenged at, that makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes, but where I see that I'm making a difference.
My friends who were important to me in Ithaca are still important to me -- 200 miles haven't made a difference.
I hope that Takesha did the unselfish thing and found a new home for Cooper (or Tristan as she was calling him). Plain and simple, she was incapable of taking care of him financially. And I hope that decision gave her the opportunity to re-envision her life. That she's pulled her shit together and that Brooklyn is happy and secure and has a better mother today than she did a year ago.
I know I'll never know if any of that happened for sure, but on the occasional times I think about him, those are the only thoughts that can make me not think about him all the time. Because I may have only been his mother for three days, but in those three days, I imagined his whole amazing life.
I couldn't let tomorrow go by without thinking of him.
A lot of happened in a year, good and bad, high and low. But ultimately what happened for me is that I got to re-invent my life.
I believe in fate, but I also believe that you have to make the right decision or choose the right path to be where you're supposed to end up. And so I was given the opportunity by one of my favorite people in the world to think about life outside of Ithaca. And every move after that as been because of me.
I used to think I was strong because of what I dealt with and went through while I was trying to have a baby. I wasn't. Not really. I made a decision and just stayed on that course. That was actually the easy thing to do.
The hard thing....the strong thing...was to give up. To move on. To rebuild.
A year later, I have a job that I love, that I am challenged at, that makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes, but where I see that I'm making a difference.
My friends who were important to me in Ithaca are still important to me -- 200 miles haven't made a difference.
I hope that Takesha did the unselfish thing and found a new home for Cooper (or Tristan as she was calling him). Plain and simple, she was incapable of taking care of him financially. And I hope that decision gave her the opportunity to re-envision her life. That she's pulled her shit together and that Brooklyn is happy and secure and has a better mother today than she did a year ago.
I know I'll never know if any of that happened for sure, but on the occasional times I think about him, those are the only thoughts that can make me not think about him all the time. Because I may have only been his mother for three days, but in those three days, I imagined his whole amazing life.
I couldn't let tomorrow go by without thinking of him.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Bring it On
I spent part of this afternoon re-reading the blog from this past year. It seems like some of the stuff I've been through was much longer ago than 11months, but here I am about to welcome 2013.
I'm a different person than I was on January 1, 2012. And even more than that, a different person than I was on February 1, 2012.
Who would have thought I wouldn't be at Ithaca College anymore? Or even living in New York? I'm healthier - mentally and physically (although at this very moment my sinuses are inflamed and I can't breathe). I'm five pounds within pre-baby weight. And I've resolved the baby issue and more importantly, am at peace with it.
And so my goals and resolutions for 2013, borrowed from a friend's Facebook post:
* I will run a 5K. I've done many and in some cases, ran most of it. But I've never run the full 3.1. This year, I will.
* I will my hit goal weight (15 pounds past pre-baby weight) by June 1.
* I will learn to maintain by the end of the year (because losing it is only half the battle).
* I will do my damnedest to run/walk 1,000 miles. That's going to be tough. I was about five miles short of merely 500 miles for 2012. But that's taking into account that I had stopped running, that I was dealing with a new job, a move, wrapping up the old job, plus all the misadventures that January brought. So we'll shoot for 1,000 and see how close I get.
* and what I wouldn't be able to do if I was still in Ithaca...buy a house.
I'm a different person than I was on January 1, 2012. And even more than that, a different person than I was on February 1, 2012.
Who would have thought I wouldn't be at Ithaca College anymore? Or even living in New York? I'm healthier - mentally and physically (although at this very moment my sinuses are inflamed and I can't breathe). I'm five pounds within pre-baby weight. And I've resolved the baby issue and more importantly, am at peace with it.
And so my goals and resolutions for 2013, borrowed from a friend's Facebook post:
* I will run a 5K. I've done many and in some cases, ran most of it. But I've never run the full 3.1. This year, I will.
* I will my hit goal weight (15 pounds past pre-baby weight) by June 1.
* I will learn to maintain by the end of the year (because losing it is only half the battle).
* I will do my damnedest to run/walk 1,000 miles. That's going to be tough. I was about five miles short of merely 500 miles for 2012. But that's taking into account that I had stopped running, that I was dealing with a new job, a move, wrapping up the old job, plus all the misadventures that January brought. So we'll shoot for 1,000 and see how close I get.
* and what I wouldn't be able to do if I was still in Ithaca...buy a house.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Just Call Me LeBron
I don't know if I'm supposed to make some grand announcement. I certainly won't be going on ESPN for an hour-long special. But I have made my decision. (For those of you who don't follow sports or have any clue as to what I'm referencing, here's the background.)
Nearly six years ago, I called my brothers and sisters and told them, "I'm starting the process to get pregnant!" I told my closest friends, far and near. And I started shopping.
Three years later, I "came out" as a prospective adoptive parent.
After the Takesha nightmare, I took a break. I said I needed a year. But even then, even when I said I needed a year, I think I knew. I think I was letting it sink in for everyone else.
I've done all I can. I've done more than most would have. People tell me that, and in the moment I waved them off, but now....I realize it. I have done more the most.
When a blogger friend -- also single -- was going through the last stages of getting her daughter, she was telling me about the "courtship" with the birth mother. The back and forth, the worrying about saying the wrong thing that might offend, that might make this person change her mind.
I may have been 90% sure leading up to that moment, but in reading that email, in feeling that feeling in the pit of my stomach, I knew. It's not that I can't do this, it's that I no longer want to go through all those fucking hoops.
I don't want to have the second phone line. And the business cards. And the website. And do the advertising. And have the conversations with the attorney. And have the conversations with the birth mother, and worry about every. single. word. I say. Will she like me? Will she think I'm worthy?
And beyond that, I don't see myself as single mother to an infant at 43. When I started this process, way back when, the goal was to be a mom by 38. Certainly before 40, not three years into my 40s.
Over the summer, before my move, I gave almost all of my baby stuff to my friends Molly and Jill, who were both due in June.
They ended up having their babies on the day I left Ithaca (Laila, in my right arm) and four days later, on my second day at my new job (Emily, in my left arm).
And when all of that stuff was out of my house, I was left with one Rubbermaid bin. And that night I slept great.
There was some closure.
Last month, when I pulled my Christmas stuff out of the storage closet, I saw the baby bin. I asked Molly when I saw her a few days later, what should I do with the quilt that I made? And the blanket that my mother made?
I've come to decide that they will go to my next niece's to have their first babies. I'll just hold onto them. But everything else in the bin? What to do with it all?
When I left Ithaca College, I gave "gifts" to people I worked with. It was sort of a tradition there. The knick-knacks that accumulate in your office go to other people. And I was thoughtful in who I gave things to. Peter got my candy dish because he always came into my office, would take a piece of hard candy, put four pieces in his pocket and then take another before leaving. Tina got my Staples "easy" button because as an amazing administrative assistant and friend, she made things easier. And on and on...
And so I pulled the bin in and took everything out. Some may find what I'm doing heart-breaking, but as I wrote to one friend, I'm finding joy in the process of thinking about who gets what. And so one friend who lives in Baltimore and just adopted a little girl from Ethiopia is getting the "my first O's cap" baseball hat and my Princess Tiana Hallmark ornament. Another single mom with one child is getting my Hallmark ornaments that are of a momma and baby snowman (not daddy, just a momma).
There are still a lot -- A LOT -- of Yankees onesies in all sizes, but I think a dent has been made.
And not quite as sad as the Ernest Hemingway story. He once won a bet by crafting a six-word short story that can make people cry.
And so I'm done. No more baby momma drama. No more advertising. No more buying things, which I admit is a hard habit to break.
I find myself in Target or Kohls and see things on the clearance rack and for a brief moment, think I should get it. And then walk away.
And I can still be a mom someday.
Wanted: professional, handsome, kind and funny man, sports fan a must, preferably a widower with two small children.
Nearly six years ago, I called my brothers and sisters and told them, "I'm starting the process to get pregnant!" I told my closest friends, far and near. And I started shopping.
Three years later, I "came out" as a prospective adoptive parent.
After the Takesha nightmare, I took a break. I said I needed a year. But even then, even when I said I needed a year, I think I knew. I think I was letting it sink in for everyone else.
I've done all I can. I've done more than most would have. People tell me that, and in the moment I waved them off, but now....I realize it. I have done more the most.
When a blogger friend -- also single -- was going through the last stages of getting her daughter, she was telling me about the "courtship" with the birth mother. The back and forth, the worrying about saying the wrong thing that might offend, that might make this person change her mind.
I may have been 90% sure leading up to that moment, but in reading that email, in feeling that feeling in the pit of my stomach, I knew. It's not that I can't do this, it's that I no longer want to go through all those fucking hoops.
I don't want to have the second phone line. And the business cards. And the website. And do the advertising. And have the conversations with the attorney. And have the conversations with the birth mother, and worry about every. single. word. I say. Will she like me? Will she think I'm worthy?
And beyond that, I don't see myself as single mother to an infant at 43. When I started this process, way back when, the goal was to be a mom by 38. Certainly before 40, not three years into my 40s.
Over the summer, before my move, I gave almost all of my baby stuff to my friends Molly and Jill, who were both due in June.
They ended up having their babies on the day I left Ithaca (Laila, in my right arm) and four days later, on my second day at my new job (Emily, in my left arm).
And when all of that stuff was out of my house, I was left with one Rubbermaid bin. And that night I slept great.
There was some closure.
Last month, when I pulled my Christmas stuff out of the storage closet, I saw the baby bin. I asked Molly when I saw her a few days later, what should I do with the quilt that I made? And the blanket that my mother made?
I've come to decide that they will go to my next niece's to have their first babies. I'll just hold onto them. But everything else in the bin? What to do with it all?
When I left Ithaca College, I gave "gifts" to people I worked with. It was sort of a tradition there. The knick-knacks that accumulate in your office go to other people. And I was thoughtful in who I gave things to. Peter got my candy dish because he always came into my office, would take a piece of hard candy, put four pieces in his pocket and then take another before leaving. Tina got my Staples "easy" button because as an amazing administrative assistant and friend, she made things easier. And on and on...
And so I pulled the bin in and took everything out. Some may find what I'm doing heart-breaking, but as I wrote to one friend, I'm finding joy in the process of thinking about who gets what. And so one friend who lives in Baltimore and just adopted a little girl from Ethiopia is getting the "my first O's cap" baseball hat and my Princess Tiana Hallmark ornament. Another single mom with one child is getting my Hallmark ornaments that are of a momma and baby snowman (not daddy, just a momma).
There are still a lot -- A LOT -- of Yankees onesies in all sizes, but I think a dent has been made.
And not quite as sad as the Ernest Hemingway story. He once won a bet by crafting a six-word short story that can make people cry.
And so I'm done. No more baby momma drama. No more advertising. No more buying things, which I admit is a hard habit to break.
I find myself in Target or Kohls and see things on the clearance rack and for a brief moment, think I should get it. And then walk away.
And I can still be a mom someday.
Wanted: professional, handsome, kind and funny man, sports fan a must, preferably a widower with two small children.
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