newborn photos

A few days after Colden came home from the hospital, I arranged a newborn photo session with Melissa Deakin Photography as part of our belly to baby series. Armed with a mini heater, a sound machine, at least 20 different baby blankets, and four hours to spare, Melissa got down to business. She took a risk shooting in the buff; but the outcome far surpasses the downside of a few resulting wet spots. Here are the images Melissa captured that spring day in late April.

My favorite ever newborn image of Colden

 

announcing COLDEN

In addition to these professional photos, we succumbed to hospital marketing, and let their in house photog snap a few quick ones of Colden the day he was discharged. Here are my favorites.

We are so in love.

welcome to holland

The day after Colden was born, our doctor gave us a poem intended to ease the pain of the diagnosis, and perhaps provide a bit of perspective on our new found situation. It's titled Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley.

I can't put it any better, so I'll let the the author's words speak for themselves:

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Well, we've landed in Holland. It's time we learn Dutch....

To help find our way in this new world of down syndrome (aka Holland), I turned to where else, but the internet. One of the first major resources I discovered was a blog called Noah's Dad about a family in Texas raising a beautiful little boy with down syndrome named Noah, who is only about 15 months older than Colden. I cannot tell you how inspiring his site has been for Matt and I; nor how the wealth of information provided has helped us navigate this unknown landscape of Holland.

Rick, (Noah's dad), posts the cutest videos of Noah, along with helpful tips on everything they've encountered in regards to development, therapy, doctors, specialists, etc. If it has to do with down syndrome, they've addressed it. It's a wonderful resource for parents, friends, and anyone who wants to know more about DS. Noah's dad is paving the way for us, and letting the world know that it's OK to have down syndrome. It's really not scary at all. I hope Noah's dad never stops sharing this message; nor his tales of sweet Noah.

Another wonderful resource was given to me on my first Mother's day, a poignantly timed, and rather thoughtful gift from one of my closest friends, the book: Bloom: Finding Beauty in the Unexpected by Kelle Hampton. Ironically, it was released the day before Colden was born. Her story is so frightening similar to ours in that she didn't know, and found out shortly after the birth of her daughter, that her beautiful little girl had down syndrome. The images she uses to retell her story are absolutely gorgeous and convey perfectly the emotional journey she went through in the days, weeks, and months after Nella was born. She also keeps a current blog, Enjoying the Small Things, which chronicles her every day life with Nella, big sister Lainey, and baby-to-be. Plus, it's chock full of the same stunning images from her book. The moments and stories she continues to share remind me to not just enjoy, but to celebrate the small things in life.

I'll leave you with a quote from her book, a string of words that have found their way into the catalog of my heart; filed under my sweet Colden.

Love me. Love me. I'm not what you expected, but oh, please love me.

surprise delivery

I've written Colden's birth story out in my mind a hundred times, maybe even a million....but I've avoided putting it out on digital paper until now. I've just been scared. What happened leading up to Colden's birth was dramatic in how fast it all went, but it's really what happened after he was born that makes my stomach flop each and every time I think about it, let alone talk about it. What happened after was when the real drama unfolded.

Here's the full story of how our sweet Colden entered this world.

In the very wee hours of April 4th, 2012 I went into labor. At only 37 weeks, our little boy was ready to burst onto the scene! It was certainly sooner than any of us had imagined.

I started having contractions around 1:30 AM that morning. Like any typically pregnant person (if the phrase typically pregnant can even exist), I attributed the pain to my pregnancy as a whole- meaning towards the end I was fatigued, uncomfortable, and my body ached frequently. I just assumed the discomfort stemmed from growing pains- so I whimpered my way back into bed, and fought to find my way back to the peaceful dreamland I so desperately yearned for.

This yearning was in vain.

3:30 AM: I decided to wake Matt. He was very used to me getting up during the night (my preggo bladder to blame), and wasn't alarmed. This time was different, however. My pain was coming in waves, and he realized quickly we should be timing its peaks. Twenty minutes later, he determined my contractions were coming every 10 minutes.

The next few hours were a wretched blur of pain, pain, and more pain. I never made it back to dreamland, that's for sure.

Somewhere between 330 and 430 AM my contractions jumped to every seven minutes or so- at which point Matt called my doctor. Prior to the call, I was hoping and praying this was false labor, as my water never broke, and there were no other indicators of labor aside from the blinding pain rising and falling in my abdomen (I forgot to mention I was already 2 cm dilated). Based on Matt's description however, my doctor calmly relayed that she thought I was in labor and to make our way to the hospital when I felt I was ready - BUT, there was no need to rush as my contractions weren't yet five minutes apart.

5:30 AM: Matt does the dishes.

Ok- yes. We took the super redundant, first time parent, 'we're going to scare you into going' birth class at our hospital. From the 18 outdated videos we were forced to watch, all of them had us convinced of one thing: labor takes FOREVER. Stay at home for as long as possible before heading to the hospital for fear of arriving too early and being sent home. Despite my pain, Matt thought we should wait a while before leaving to avoid said scenario. Alas, what is a man to do while is wife is lying in bed writhing in labor pains?!?

DO THE DISHES.

I'll never forget the sound of the water rushing, the pots and pans clanking, and thinking: what in the hell is he doing?? Months later....we can have a laugh about it. Really. Haha :) But at the time, I was convinced my husband was clinically insane.

6:00 AM: Somewhere between last night's dinner being scrubbed down the drain, and my screaming into a pillow (yes, we've moved to screaming), my contractions darted to 5 minutes apart, and were wickedly intense. It was time to GO! With our bags partially packed (they say to have them packed by 35 weeks), and my trusty pillow in tow, we began the 30 minute journey to our delivering hospital.

That was the longest car ride of my life.

Upon arrival, Matt left our car right out front with the flashers on (something they tell you NOT to do at the birth class, schmirth class). I'm pretty sure nothing could have stopped us in that situation, anyway. They could have towed the car and it wouldn't have mattered- I needed to get inside.

Clad in a wheelchair, we entered the labor and delivery wing around 6:45 AM. The pillow I made sure to bring remained glued to my face, continuing to absorb each and every contraction induced scream. Aside from my muffled shrieking, I think Matt and I played it pretty cool. We weren't frantic, on edge, or unreasonable. Matt simply relayed we thought I was in labor, and that was it. Given this cool, calm, and collected demeanor (and the fact that I was only 37 weeks), I think the hospital staff assumed we had a lot of time to play with....

It wasn't until later that we realized arriving at 645 in the morning meant we were right on the cusp of the 12 hour, 7 pm to 7 am shift change. The staff departing at 7 am didn't want to be responsible for me; although the 7 am staff had yet to clock in. To get me out of the reception area, I was placed in a triage waiting room and told  someone would be in to check on me once they found an available nurse.

The next 45 minutes we spent alone in the triage room. In a word, my physical experience in that room was ghastly. With no pain medication, rapid contractions, and a Dr's office style stump instead of a actual bed to lie on- I thought I was going to die in that room. After such a long time of waiting, I reached for Matt, and told him that he HAD to go find someone. We couldn't wait any longer.

8:15 AM: Matt returned with a nurse/midwife that had just come on duty. Finally.

Taking in the scene, she checked me right away, and blurted out: "You're 8 to 9 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced- we're going to need a delivery room immediately." As soon as I heard these words, I let my head drop back on the table in a complete sigh of relief that someone was here to take care of me, and that this was REALLY happening. I had not imagined it all as false - this was real, active labor and this baby was coming, now!!

Like most pain intolerant human beings, my first question on the way to the delivery room was to ask if there was time for an epidural. The nurse placed her hand on my shoulder, and relayed that she wasn't sure. Now, it was not in my plan to have an un-medicated birth. The goal was to avoid a c-section, but I didn't feel the need to be a hero. I was ready for the juice. At this point I wanted the juice.

Thankfully, there was a small window of time. Literally, the tiniest window as 30 minutes after I got the epidural I was pushing. I could still feel the right side of my body, but the medicine had taken enough of the edge off that I no longer thought it was certain that I was going to die. I just thought I might.

Before it was time to push, Colden's heart rate dropped to a scary level and in a matter of seconds the feeling in my delivery room went from anxious excitement to an awful fear of the unknown. I wasn't oblivious to the drop, and knew that getting Colden out as soon as possible was residing on my shoulders. An oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth and my doctor told me it was time to give it all I had. We didn't have a minute to spare; we were playing with seconds.

Nearly eight pushes later our sweet little boy was born at 10:23 AM (the 23 being Matt's lucky number), and weighed in at 5 lbs 14.9 oz. He measured in at 19 inches long.

We named him Colden Matthew (Colden after a shared love of literary character Holden Caufield, and Matthew after dad, with the bonus meaning of gift from God). The very first thing Matt said as soon as Colden was born was how cute he thought he was. I couldn't agree more. He was then, and is now our perfect little boy.

First family photo

The joy we felt in those first few moments after Colden's birth will most likely never be surpassed. Nearly 30 seconds after he was born however, our doctor noticed something different. Somewhere during the commotion, the scurrying around the room, and the hushed comments, I heard the phrase...'characteristics of down syndrome..' Were they talking about Colden? In an instant the number of people in the room doubled. What was going on? Still on the table with my legs in the air, I knew something was wrong. The feel in the room had changed. No one was smiling. No one would make eye contact with me. I remember repeating myself several times and saying 'Is he ok? Is he ok? Is he ok?' Yet, no one said anything.

As my doctor delivered the placenta, the neonatologist in the room came over to my husband and I. I'll never forget his utter lack of bedside manner as he looked at the two of us with my blood all over his hands and said in a strong monotone voice: "Have you heard of down syndrome? Do you know what down syndrome is? Colden is displaying characteristics of trisomy 21, also referred to as down syndrome."

WHAT?

What was he talking about? Up until this point I had had a perfectly healthy pregnancy, was not over 35, and was not as risk for anything related to down syndrome. What did he mean by displaying characteristics?

Matt asked him to explain. What did we need to do to confirm? How did he know? Was this really happening? I had SO many questions. My thoughts were scattered and I felt like I had stopped breathing. Confusion, doubt, anger, and total fear all burrowed their way into my chest. Right up to my throat. For once in my life I was rendered completely speechless. I remember just staring at the neonatogist as if he had just told me our son had died. I honestly could not process anything he was trying to tell us.

He said they would need to do a blood test to confirm it, but that he was 99% sure that Colden had down syndrome. To make matters worse, Colden's early delivery was cause for everything to not quite work as well as it could have, if he had stayed baking a little longer. My heart broke as they took Colden from my arms and sent him up to the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit).

For the next 24 hours Matt and I held each other, wept, and prayed like hell that WE would be in that 1%. That somewhere in this nightmare there would be a ray of sunshine. I called my parents in Colorado, and the joy of welcoming Colden was overshadowed by complete fear. I remember saying to my mom "They think he has down syndrome," as hot streams of tears ran down my face. Her response: "We'll just love him even more."

The next day the neonatologist confirmed our worst fears. Colden had down syndrome. So much for the 1%, right? The irony was beyond comprehensible. We had less than a 1% chance of conceiving a child with down syndrome, yet when we needed the odds to be in our favor we came up short. The very first question that came to my mind was, what did I do wrong? Was this my fault? The neonatologist reassured me that this had nothing to do with what I did or didn't do during my pregnancy. It wasn't the latte I had or didn't have, or the prenatal pilates class I had taken. It had happened at conception, entirely outside of my control. But it didn't matter. I had stopped listening. I immediately blamed myself, and I felt like throwing up.

It's funny sometimes how things are meant to be. For the last several years I have been searching for a cause. Something to feel really passionate about. Something that mattered to me, and carried special meaning for my family. I wasn't quite sure what that was; but I also never expected God to slap me in the face with it. I know now that this special gift happened for a reason. Colden was meant to have his extra chromosome, and this was the child God had planned for us all along.

The next several days were a flood of emotion.  I found myself balling up, withdrawing, and unable to talk to anyone. I was in shock. I was in denial. I had no idea how to even have a conversation with someone about Colden, let alone reveal the news that he had down syndrome. As the calls/texts/emails came pouring in, I shut down. I stopped responding, and eventually everyone got the message that something was going on, and that we needed some space. I regret this partially now, but there was no way I could joyfully have a conversation about Colden with out completely losing it.

Two days after delivery I was released, yet Colden remained in the NICU. Although we would sleep at home, Matt and I spent nearly 12 hours a day by his side as he grew stronger inside his little glass house at hotel NICU. I breastfed while he stayed plugged into all of his monitors and machines. At home I breast pumped throughout the night and found a great sense of pride knowing that even though he was stuck in a little box away from me at night, I was still providing the best nutrition I could. Matt would frequently make midnight runs with my milk, just to make sure he never had to have any formula.

Our little Easter bunny - born 4 days shy of Easter Sunday

Father, son, and raffi wubbanub

Proud grandparents in from Colorado

Grammy's Heaven

Colden's glass house

He was severely jaundiced, unable to control his own temperature, occasionally needed oxygen, and sometimes needed an extra helping of my milk through a tube if he didn't take the minimum amount of breast milk from the bottle at night.

Every morning when Matt and I arrived we yearned to hear a good progress report from the nighttime nursing staff. This was only ever sometimes the case. Several days in a row his bilirubin sky rocketed and we weren't allowed to remove him from the light for more than 15-20 minutes at a time. It was really just to feed and that was it.

Making sure his tan is even

Is it hot in here?

The day Colden detached from a few of the monitors because he didn't need them anymore was a HUGE milestone. We started calling him cordless Colden, as we no longer had to thread 6 different wires through his diaper. Talk about challenging as a first time parent. You think changing a typical diaper is tough the first go around? Imagine the fear of disconnecting his oxygen or another important monitor with one flick of your wrist as you delicately snake your way around all his cords. This is on top of reaching through the six inch hand/arm slots on the isolette. Brutal.

This song and dance when on for 15 days.

beautiful blue eyes + yummy milk

Cordless Colden - getting a peek

Mama and her boy

Who wouldn't love this squishy face?

In the late afternoon of April 19th, (15 days after he was born), we were allowed to bring Colden home. What a day to be thankful. He was still super tiny, hovering right around 6 lbs, but we were relieved to finally be bringing our son home, to Colden's house.

Getting ready to go home!

First car ride - go CU!

'It's a boy' decorations courtesy of Grammy

A pear tree for Colden from our wonderful friends

Looking tired, but so happy to have Colden home!

Soon after the version of our life we call Colden began. An endless stream of doctors visits, specialist care, every kind of screening/testing imaginable, state officials, medicaid reps, early intervention, and a mountain of infinite paperwork. Six months later, we have yet to come up for air.

Despite our gut wrenching experience of not knowing, and how we found out, we would not trade Colden for anything. In fact, I'm glad he has down syndrome (well not the associated health risks of course- we can skip those). The diagnosis has humbled us as a family and reminded me that I'm not in charge. No matter how much I plan, it's still the big guy upstairs that holds all the cards. God has a wonderful plan for our sweet little boy. Colden's already working his magic, as he weaves his heart around all of us. He has forever changed our family....for the good.

Remember that passion I was searching for? Well I've found it. It's a little boy named Colden. He has inspired me to be a huge advocate of down syndrome awareness and education. So many of our friends responded with "I'm so sorry" when they learned of his diagnosis. That should never be the case. Every child is a miracle. And Colden is a special gift. In their defense, our friends just didn't know. They have an inaccurate and scary picture of what down syndrome really is. I want to change that. I want our friends, family, and especially expectant mothers to know this is NOT a scary thing. Finding out the way we did was scary, but Colden is not at all a mistake. He is a beautiful addition to our lives. More importantly, he's helped us to see the beauty and richness that already exists in our every day lives; a beauty we never seemed to notice before.

We love our sweet Colden more than anything; and we feel ever so blessed to have received this special surprise delivery.

First pic @ Colden's House

chasing the light

A quarter of the way into my pregnancy I discovered Pinterest. This led to a ridiculous amount of baby product searching, nursery inspiration gathering (I think this is where my chevron obsession began), and entirely waaaay too much time spent on idea hunting in general. Somewhere amongst the thousands of pregnancy pins, I made the decision that I wanted to do a maternity shoot. Not the kind of quirky, cheesy (or kinky- please) shoots I've seen; but something super cute and tasteful. Given that our go-to engagement and wedding photographer resides in Colorado, I was forced to look local. Enter the fabulously talented Melissa Deakin of Melissa Deakin Photography. I gave her a call, and presto- we had a date on the calendar for late March, around my 36th week of gestation.

Here's the product of that gorgeous 75 degree afternoon where we spent chasing the light.

Colden's calling!

colden's house

So it's October 2012. We've been in our new house for nearly a year now! Insane.

Last summer (before we knew we were preggo) we casually started looking for a house in the burbs. After our two year experiment in Buffalo quickly passed, I never ever would have thought it was possible for us to stay in western NY. But, as fate would have it...things changed. Matt was poised for a new position at work, and conversations about starting a family began to make their way into our daily routine. It was time. So the search for our very first home began.

In regards to real estate, everything here is OLD. Houses were built in the 1800's! This may seem quaint until you walk through a house that calls the earth it's basement floor. Yes, I mean dirt. I'm used to the ultra brand new-ness of Colorado, where you pick your newly minted home straight off the conveyor belt- complete with custom everything. After viewing at least 100 older houses (thank you mobile Zillow app), we started to get discouraged. The area we were targeting just didn't have enough inventory, plus all the homes needed a lot of work. If you know Matt and I- you know we're not 'reno' kind of people :) I'm happy with minor remodeling projects....paint, carpet, fixtures, etc. But I'm not at all comfortable with bringing down walls and gutting things (this stems from a life-long aversion to getting dirty). We very much needed to find a home that was new(er), suited to our tastes, and that we loved enough to want to stay here. We wanted much more than just four walls.

Call it luck, fate, or providence- but our house was meant to find us. We stumbled upon the listing by complete chance, and couldn't wait for our appointment with the agent (literally) before driving by the actual house and confirming what we saw online: that it was exactly what we were looking for. As we stalked the property, viewed it several times, met and got to know the owners, we knew this was OUR house. We put in a very strong offer, and after a fair amount of negotiation, we got the call.

It. was. ours.

Colden's House

Shortly after we knew we got the house, we found out we were expecting. Our lives were about to change drastically!! We moved in last Halloween, when I was about 14 weeks pregnant. We didn't know the gender of our baby, nor his name, but we know now that this is, and will always be Colden's house. We say it each and every time we come home.

Since we moved in, we've painted, switched out carpet, and added a few Pinterest inspired light fixtures..plus we've brought in a truckload of baby stuff, created a nursery, etc...which I hope to include in an updated post. Here's a few pics of the house at Christmas last year (about 10 months ago). We couldn't be happier with, or more grateful for this village of East Aurora gem.

front door

front porch- isn't the view phenomenal? there isn't a house across the street..

entry way + photo wall

view from the front entrance - the fireplace sold us

living room - this has changed with the addition of some new furniture

kitchen + dining

view from the mid stairway landing

view from the fireplace

dining space

kitchen: we hit the fridge jackpot.

view from kitchen...get ready for the new light fixtures! did i mention we have 18 ft ceilings?

catch up

Lots has happened in the last year and a half. Lots. LOADS, in fact.

Here's a quick recap:
- We bought a house and moved to the burbs
- The hubs started a brand new job (the 'I'm a grown ass man' sort of job)
- We had a baby. Yes, I gave birth to a real BABY! Sweet Colden Matthew to be exact.
- On top of all that, we received some life changing news...

I'd like to chronicle each of these events properly and give every story the attention it deserves- so come along with me as I press the rewind button on the last year and a half.

With love,
Our new family of three
{ Colden's House }

all organic everything

It's a new year, and the right time for a new motto.  Since my husband and I were at my parent's home in Colorado, something clicked regarding our food consumption ways.  I think many factors led to this proverbial light bulb going on that include- wanting to feel healthier, live a better life, but most importantly educating ourselves on the notion that food does, truly matter.  You are what you eat.  Your body is your temple.  These sayings exist for a reason.

Coincidentally, over the holiday gorging season we downloaded a book called Mastering your Metabolism by Jillian Michaels (host of the Biggest Loser).  Now, I am not one to read these types of informational books- I'm a novelist myself and prefer something with a story.  However, the addition of a Kindle into our lives makes reading article type books remarkably fun to me.  So alas, the hubby and I read the book together (well really he read most of it- kindle hog!), and I followed along where I could.  I won't go into all the details- but what we did read was alarming.  Beforehand I knew all the standard tips about eating non-processed foods, eating small meals to keep your metabolism up, choosing veggies over processed carbs, etc; but I will admit I did not know much about added hormones.  In fact, I didn't know anything at all.  Who knew that adding so many unknown hormones to your food would set you so out of wack??  It all makes sense if you think about it.  Your body has it's own rhythm and it's own delicate system of hormones to handle- so it's no wonder we feel fatigued, out of shape, or down right irritable after a day of processed simple carbs, high fructose corn syrup, and a bevy of hormone packed cheese and meat.  'Everything in moderation' no more. Everything organic here we come.

After finishing the book, we decided to make it a goal to change the way we think about eating.  And I don't just mean choosing yogurt and fruit over waffles and syrup; but to really make a lifestyle shift and proactively change our lives for the better.  I will warn you though, going organic is NOT cheap!  I was floored during my first shopping trip armed with my organic list of meal planned ingredients when I discovered that a 3-pack of organic chicken breasts was a staggering $11.84, whereas there hormonal equivalent was a mere $5.61.  Quite a difference when you are on a budget.  Also- two grossly ignorant things happened on this very enlightening shopping trip:

1- Upon checking out a woman in line next to me gasped and asked me where I had found my 'yellow' bananas, since the entire section of bananas she looked through were bright green (an indication they were picked far too early and pumped with hormones to handle the journey across the globe to a grocery store near you).  Before I could even reply she saw the tag, distastefully interjected and said, 'ohhhh, they're organic!'  As if this was a terrible crime that she herself would never commit.  Really??  Well I've been enjoying my perfectly yellow bananas all the way home.

2- When all my items were finally placed on the conveyor belt and the anti-organic woman had fled, I was able to stand near the cashier.  As she continued to scan my items the cashier came to my gallon of organic milk (which costs a mind boggling $6.99), and stopped.  "You know this is organic right?  Are you sure you want this??"  she asked.  'Uhhhh yes', I replied.   "I only ask because people always grab it by mistake and it usually makes their day when I bring up that they accidentally chose organic instead of regular- and I just want to make sure since it costs way more."  Why thank you for bringing this to my attention- I love getting lessons in food dietary matters from the 17-year-old cashier.  The saddest part about this story was that she actually thought the hormone laced milk was the regular, and not the other way around.

Despite this sampling of the nation's leading view that organic means weird, we are very excited about the meals we've cooked up so far.  First on the line up was sending the hubby to work with a container of homemade steel-cut oatmeal with a little brown sugar and milk.  For dinner we created a lovely baked talapia with asparagus, mushrooms, and peppers, along with a side of mushroom brown rice pilaf.  This was accompanied by a spinach and feta salad with yummy roma tomatoes.  We've also tried our organic chicken breasts marinated in a citrus dill sauce with a delightful cous cous and a bottle of Cakebread Sauvignon Blanc.  I bought some quiona and am nervous to try it out--so we'll see how that one goes :)  Our meals are by no means gourmet masterpieces, but the fact is we're trying.  And we're really enjoying the extra time we get to spend together making dinner as a unit.  We both feel inspired and energized about our shift to all things organic; literally with food, and metaphorically speaking with our minds.

never, never, never give up

I worked in the financial services industry for six years before I decided I wanted to do something different with my life.  Something to help people.  As a kid, I always looked up to the humanitarian figures- strong females such as Princess Diana and Mother Theresa.  Even my mom scored high on my list of people I wanted to be like.  She was a high school teacher, and absolutely loved her job.  No matter what school she taught in, or where we lived, with out a doubt she would always become the 'favorite teacher' in her school.  She bought winter coats, and eye-glasses for her kids that couldn't afford it.  She went to tell one of her student's parents that their daughter was pregnant, because the 15 year-old was too scared to do so.  She attended student graduations, and funerals.  Her life was her students.

Although I didn't make this connection until later in my professional career, when I did it seemed as if it was always meant to be.  My entire life the examples laid before me were to help my family, friends, and neighbors.  The choice to leave finance and become a teacher was so obvious!  What better a profession than a teacher to make a difference?  This decision coincided with a move my husband and I made from San Francisco to Buffalo, NY; ironically for a professional career change of his own.

I enrolled and completed my master's program during our first year in western NY.  Since graduating, I've been searching for a job as a teacher.  It has been a year now.  To my frustration, teaching jobs are scarce.  School districts have been laying off more then they are hiring.  To top it off, I feel a strong bias towards hiring locally bred western NY'ers, as opposed to an out-of-stater like myself.  After a year of searching, a sprinkling of subbing, and lots of hoping- I still have nothing.  I am in a state of questioning whether this was the right decision.  Should I have really left finance??  Should I have left a high-paying, prestigious, glamorous job in the big city to become a low-paying, non-glamorous TEACHER?  A position that so many people disrespect?  I'm not sure the general population even realizes how hard it truly is to be a teacher.  The demand of always being 'on', of dealing with parents, school boards, politics, and overall bureaucratic BS.  Teachers walk a tight rope of rules and regulations on a daily basis, and sadly parents expect them to teach their kid the difference between right and wrong.  Tell me again, why I CHOSE to do this??  Oh yes, I had a dream to help kids.  Instead I'm getting slapped in the face for trying.

Some say the secret of life is to fall seven times, and get up eight.  Well, I've stumbled.  I'm wavering on my altruistic decision.  I'm wondering what to do next.  I'm still hoping to help the world, and make an impact in a positive way.  Although my experience in the last year has created an awful and bitter taste in my mouth, I choose to not give up.  I choose to keep trying until I get what I want.  I still have the hope of helping the world in some way, and to share my experiences through writing.  A few years ago my mom gave me a carved plaque that I've carried with me to all the places I've moved.  My husband and I placed it above the archway of our front door as a reminder when we leave our home and enter the world everyday.  It reads: 'Never, never, never give up'.  Looks like my retired mom is still teaching.

doubled edged sword

Hi, it's me again.  I have written a single blog post to my name, aside from this one now.  It's funny- when I set up this blog about a month ago, I had grand aspirations of writing something thought provoking on a daily, or somewhat weekly basis.  However, I seem to have turned up short.  It is not due to lack of substance; in fact loads has happened in the past month.  For starters...I went to the middle east, for the first time, and I left my hubbie at home.

My journey began with a 10.5 hour direct flight from JFK to the ancient metropolis called Istanbul....not Constantinople of course.  Whilst on the plane, I studied the map and was (and still am in fact) confused as to which part of the world Turkey is really in.  Geographically speaking, half of the city is in Europe, and half of it is in Asia.  So as a whole, where is the city really?  Before I left, I searched within the 'Europe section' of a Borders book store for books on Turkey/Istanbul, only to find that all books related to my country where located under the dismal one shelved section titled 'the Middle East'.  Hmmmmm, this should have been my first clue.

Once I landed, my friend/old roommate cheerfully greeted me at the airport.  I was secretly elated knowing she was coming to get me, and that I did not have to struggle getting into central Istanbul on my own.  En route to the city center, I noticed right away that the city's architecture was not just old, but alluring.  So many ancient buildings- which always makes my mind leap to their origins.  What I wouldn't give for a time machine.  The second most obvious characteristic of the city were the hills!  As we went up and down in our shuttle bus, I couldn't help drawing a comparison between where I was, and the hilly city by the bay- San Francisco.  ohhhh, how i miss it.

Given my itinerary had us leaving for Greece a few days later, I spent very little time in Istanbul.  The highlight of my time there was our trip to the Grand Bazaar, an ancient trading post- and in my opinion the original western concept of a 'mall'.  Housed in ancient mosques, there are rows and rows of shops selling everything from spices & designer purses, to hookas.  Before I left, I promised my husband I would bring him back a truly original souvenir.  So, I was on the prowl.  Down and around the rows we went, and although I was tempted by a very authentic looking Louis Vuitton hand bag, I kept my eye on the prize.  Finally- I found it!  A shop selling ancient replicas of Turkish swords and daggers.  Now I will admit, my historical knowledge of the Ottoman and Byzantine empires is pretty awful- but somehow I felt very connected to the swords and daggers from this era of history.  And I thought it would make the PERFECT souvenir.  Twenty minutes, much heckling, and two kisses later, the real silver sword was mine for only 100 Lira!  Talk about a bargain.  I was absolutely thrilled with my purchase, not to mention the story surrounding how we made the deal.  Back at my friend's apartment, I carefully stowed my sword in order to retrieve it on our return from Greece, and my way back to NY.

To make a long story short (I really have a tendency to be waaaaay too verbose and get carried away with every single detail possible) here's what happened in Greece.  We had a few hiccups upon landing in Santorini (our hotel was closed and was located on the remote side of the island- not to our knowledge of course), but we made it successfully into the little town of Fira, the thriving village we should have booked in the first place.  After two days here and a day in Oia (pronounced eeeeeee-aaaaahhhhh), I have to say GO TO SANTORINI, if you ever get the opportunity.  

The picturesque village of Oia, Santorini

It is absolutely breathtaking!  Gorgeous white stucco buildings, blue roofs, and the most dramatic views of the Mediterranean anyone could ever ask for.  From my perspective the Greeks were VERY accommodating, and surprisingly most on the island spoke English.  I really hope to take Matt back here someday, as the island is very romantic and although I was there with good friends, I know I want to come back with my man.

After a wonderful day and a half in Athens (I do not recommend any longer of a visit than this), we were headed to the airport to fly back to Istanbul when we received some pretty scary news.  A suicide bomber had attacked central Istanbul, in the area called Taksim square: exactly where I was staying, where the girls live, and where we were all headed back to.  All three of us were speechless and not quite sure what to do.  In that moment, I called Matt and we made the decision together that there was no point for me to go back to Istanbul- even if I was to spend two more days there, and half of my belongings were still residing right in Taksim square.  But the girls however, had to head back to their home and make their own preparations for leaving.  We bid farewell at the airport and I spent the night in Athens alone, until I could get on a flight to JFK the following morning.  I have never felt more relieved to be home on US soil as I did after this trip.  I am truly thankful we were not in Istanbul the day of the bombing.  I feel extremely lucky to have missed it entirely- having been so close.  Much like a double edged sword, the favorable outcome of my trip are the memories and photos I've brought back; whereas the unfavorable consequence of not listening to my gut instinct is experiencing a scare of this scale.

But wait.  What about all of the stuff I left in Istanbul?  My friend of course agreed to have it all shipped back to me.  What a gem.  So now it's been two weeks since I got home and my much anticipated package from Turkey has finally arrived.  With Matt standing beside me, I plunged into the cardboard and and rifled through all of my clothes, shoes, books, and more to find the sword.  I couldn't wait to give it to him!  At last I felt the gloss of the bag it had come in from the shop at the Grand Bazaar.  I grabbed it and pulled it through the clothes.  To my horror, it was empty.  Gone. Taken.  At immigration, customs, whatever.  After all this time, all I wanted was to see my prized sword and give it to Matt (since naturally I had built it up as the best ancient silver sword in the world) and here it was gone.  My friend told me she had indeed included it in the package, and that in all likelihood it would not make it through customs.  Naively, I was hoping that it would.  Damn!  Such disappointment.  It feels now as if the sword is just a figment of my imagination.  Like I never bought it, nor did it ever exist.

The point of my story is this:  I am more than just happy I made it home safe and sound.  I'm grateful and relieved.  But if anyone is going to Istanbul anytime soon, do you mind picking me up an ancient silver sword?  I'd prefer a curved one, please.  Ohhh, be ready barter and sell your kisses.