my new office chair
random building which looks like it belongs at the beach
Esther is headed towards her last day of school before summer break. I wish she could keep going because her French is just starting to really take. I can feel it, I can hear it, I can smell it. She's exuding escargot and frogs legs.
I don't want to break the spell.
I will miss our mornings walking over this bridge to school. I feel so smug ever time we do it, thinking of all the people in their cars during morning rush hour.
Of course we'll still walk over the bridge, just not with so much purpose, apprehension or smugness.
We had an afternoon thunderstorm here. Loud, crashing thunder, lightning flashes, heavy rain. I loved it. Isla was on the couch with me, watching Babar ala Neige. I'm force feeding my children French, one video at a time.
Listening to the cars swish by, slishy- sloshy sluice, makes me feel like I'm living in a city. I've always secretly wanted to live in a city but never had the gumption. It's never too late, to get your gumption, I guess.
New post over at BabyCenter about our evolving TV viewing habits.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Esther picked these flowers for her friend Ariah's new baby brother today.
Upon hearing the news of the successful adoption, she said, "Their hearts were broken and now they're getting fixed."
One stitch, or gummy smile, at a time.
More quotes from Esther can be found over here, as well.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I just read the most amazing, news:
A friend, the mother of one of my daughter’s friends, a woman I’ve known for almost 8 years yet am still getting to know-- one long New England winter at a time-- is in Rwanda with her husband and her seven year old daughter.
Four long years and untold suffering since her second child, a son, was conceived and then stillborn, she has finally been given the official okay to adopt a Rwandan orphan.
In this post she describes holding her soon-to-be-adopted son for the first time:
“Eventually a sister walks toward us with a bundle in her arms, She holds him so we can see him, and I greet him for a while with her holding him. Then suddenly he is put in my arms and it takes just a minute for me to feel comfortable accepting him, actually the minute is more like the time it takes for me to let myself love him."
Funny, though her writing is rich and descriptive, and the story, the back story, all of it has been so emotional for all of us who have played a part in this family’s lives, I didn’t cry when I first read it. I simply exhaled, as if I had been holding my breath for a thousand years.
But I’m crying now.
There’s a great French saying I just learned: “Pleure, tu pisseras moins: Cry, you piss less.”