Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Squirrel dress
When Olivia was around three, and into age four, she had just a few items of clothes that she would wear. Mind you, her closet and drawers were filled, but there were only a few pieces that she would actually wear. One outfit was a powder blue bodysuit, with a tutu attached to it. She wore this with rainbow striped tights, and red sparkly shoes. She wore this to the supermarket, to the library, while eating meals. She loved it. She even wore it to a museum and everyone smiled at her, thinking that she had dressed up for the occasion. Little did they know the battle that would have ensued if I had dressed her myself.
Then there was the squirrel dress. A hand me down from my sister. It was a denim jumper, with patches on the bottom of it of a squirrel, and acorns, and oak leaves. When Olivia laid eyes on this dress for the first time, it was love at first sight. The tutu ensemble was cast aside. The rainbow tights and sparkly shoes replaced with "big girl" patterned tights, and hot pink cowboy boots.
I had to make sure the squirrel dress was ready to go each day. This meant getting it off of her at night, and doing laundry after she went to bed. Not really what I felt like doing at the end of the day, but it made her happy. Such a simple little thing made her smile each day. Why wouldn't I?
Charlotte had the infamous pink skirt. It was a long tiered prairie style skirt. She literally wore it until the elastic started showing through the waistband. She insisted on it still being part of her repertoire, even when it was leaving red marks around her middle. My friend Nichol used to laugh each time she saw Charlotte in it. You would have thought she had no other clothes. She loved it. And I loved that she loved it.
Those days seem like yesterday, yet the memories are starting to get grainy. Replaced with current day to day life. Bigger girls. Bigger wants. Bigger needs. It becomes more complicated to make them feel that pure happiness. The kind that the squirrel dress brought. Or the security of the pink skirt.
Things are not so complicated socially, yet, with Charlotte. Not so much with Olivia. She calls me into her room at night when she has a problem. I love that she does this. She is me. She needs to get it all off of her chest. She waits until the time is right, and confesses. These days, it's girl trouble. I remember it well. The awful start of cliques, and mean girls emerging and heading the pecking order. Olivia told me that she was mean to her friend the other day, at recess, because some other girls thought it was a good idea. It made me angry. It made me feel so sad that all my hard work was wiped away at the mere suggestion of some nameless, faceless girl. It also made me feel sad. Gone are the days of everyone just playing together, and having fun. It becomes more complicated from here on in, and it breaks my heart.
She told her friend after recess, that she was sorry. Thank goodness she has a conscience. She asked her if they could still be friends. Her friend said yes. She came home and confessed, and cried, and cried. She said that she just wanted people to like her, and she didn't want to be alone. I just wanted to cry for her. I just wanted to put her back in her squirrel dress, and cowboy boots. I wanted to take her back to the days of rainbow tights, and tutus, and eating breakfast with a tiara on. We were in such a vibrant, rainbow shimmered, soap bubble. All protected from nameless, faceless people. Where whatever I said, was gospel, and everyday was easy, and filled with simple happiness.
I feel like Olivia's time in our bubble is morphing into something else. Like all soap bubbles, the rainbow swirls on the skin of it disappear, and turn to black and white swooshes, just before they pop.
She was up all night throwing up last night. We have had no sleep. Yet in the quiet of the night, after she was done dry heaving, and the temporary wave of feeling better washed over her, we sat quietly together. Her, on the bath mat. Cross legged. Her hair back in a bun. I thought to myself how much older she looked. What a young girl she is turning into. With worries, and insecurities. But also with confidence, and joy in all she does.
Today, I will let her drink soda. I will feed her crackers. And maybe some soup. I love feeling needed this day. It is my simple happiness. And it brings a smile to her face. It is pure, and easy.
Today, we are still in the safety of our bubble. For just a bit longer.
Then there was the squirrel dress. A hand me down from my sister. It was a denim jumper, with patches on the bottom of it of a squirrel, and acorns, and oak leaves. When Olivia laid eyes on this dress for the first time, it was love at first sight. The tutu ensemble was cast aside. The rainbow tights and sparkly shoes replaced with "big girl" patterned tights, and hot pink cowboy boots.
I had to make sure the squirrel dress was ready to go each day. This meant getting it off of her at night, and doing laundry after she went to bed. Not really what I felt like doing at the end of the day, but it made her happy. Such a simple little thing made her smile each day. Why wouldn't I?
Charlotte had the infamous pink skirt. It was a long tiered prairie style skirt. She literally wore it until the elastic started showing through the waistband. She insisted on it still being part of her repertoire, even when it was leaving red marks around her middle. My friend Nichol used to laugh each time she saw Charlotte in it. You would have thought she had no other clothes. She loved it. And I loved that she loved it.
Those days seem like yesterday, yet the memories are starting to get grainy. Replaced with current day to day life. Bigger girls. Bigger wants. Bigger needs. It becomes more complicated to make them feel that pure happiness. The kind that the squirrel dress brought. Or the security of the pink skirt.
Things are not so complicated socially, yet, with Charlotte. Not so much with Olivia. She calls me into her room at night when she has a problem. I love that she does this. She is me. She needs to get it all off of her chest. She waits until the time is right, and confesses. These days, it's girl trouble. I remember it well. The awful start of cliques, and mean girls emerging and heading the pecking order. Olivia told me that she was mean to her friend the other day, at recess, because some other girls thought it was a good idea. It made me angry. It made me feel so sad that all my hard work was wiped away at the mere suggestion of some nameless, faceless girl. It also made me feel sad. Gone are the days of everyone just playing together, and having fun. It becomes more complicated from here on in, and it breaks my heart.
She told her friend after recess, that she was sorry. Thank goodness she has a conscience. She asked her if they could still be friends. Her friend said yes. She came home and confessed, and cried, and cried. She said that she just wanted people to like her, and she didn't want to be alone. I just wanted to cry for her. I just wanted to put her back in her squirrel dress, and cowboy boots. I wanted to take her back to the days of rainbow tights, and tutus, and eating breakfast with a tiara on. We were in such a vibrant, rainbow shimmered, soap bubble. All protected from nameless, faceless people. Where whatever I said, was gospel, and everyday was easy, and filled with simple happiness.
I feel like Olivia's time in our bubble is morphing into something else. Like all soap bubbles, the rainbow swirls on the skin of it disappear, and turn to black and white swooshes, just before they pop.
She was up all night throwing up last night. We have had no sleep. Yet in the quiet of the night, after she was done dry heaving, and the temporary wave of feeling better washed over her, we sat quietly together. Her, on the bath mat. Cross legged. Her hair back in a bun. I thought to myself how much older she looked. What a young girl she is turning into. With worries, and insecurities. But also with confidence, and joy in all she does.
Today, I will let her drink soda. I will feed her crackers. And maybe some soup. I love feeling needed this day. It is my simple happiness. And it brings a smile to her face. It is pure, and easy.
Today, we are still in the safety of our bubble. For just a bit longer.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Meal
$2.99 for 2 pounds of wild caught mussels. I got 4 pounds. Sauteed up some shallot and scallions, and garlic, in beautiful butter. Added some beer, and steamed them up. Served with bread, and an arugula salad with shaved locatelli, and lemon and olive oil. Some black pepper and sea salt. Even Molly was dipping her tiny pieces of bread in the briny broth.
We had a nice meal together to celebrate David's birthday. Homemade cards, and more cupcakes.
I hope we are here next February.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Investment
Today is David's birthday. He is 41. We had a little dinner for him over the weekend. I made linguine and clam sauce. We had cupcakes. The girls love birthdays. Today, after Olivia's dentist appointment, we will have another birthday party. The girls would never let the actual day go unrecognized. Olivia wished us a Happy President's Day yesterday, so today must be celebrated.
Today I will be dropping off our proposal to the lovely counselor, at the Credit Agency. We had to write what we are hoping the mortgage company will do for us. I guess from there, they can counter offer, or they don't have to do anything at all. We looked up home prices in our neighborhood, with the same amount of bedrooms and bathrooms, and square footage. We were shocked by the low prices. The de-valuation of our entire area is staggering. The inflated price that we owe for this house, due to late fees, plus legal fees, not to mention the obscene amount of back mortgage payments, thanks to our mortgage company dragging the "trial period" of our never to be modification on for far too long. It is disgusting. It is greed.
So we proposed that the mortgage company short sale us the house for the current market value, which is around $83,000.00. They are willing to sell it for less than that, to a stranger. Citimortgage...allow my family to avoid foreclosure. Keep us in our home. Accept some sort of payment for this house, instead of letting it sit empty for years, and rot, and need repairs. I say, it will cost you far less in the end, to keep us in our house, instead of kicking us out of it, and allow it to sit, and fall into disrepair, like all of the other countless empty homes in my neighborhood.
There is a house that has been empty since we moved here, almost 8 years ago, down the street from us. It was purchased last Spring. I was talking to the woman who owns it, at the bus stop on Thursday. She said they purchased it as a foreclosure, for $52,000.00. It has one more bedroom, and bathroom, than my house. It sat empty for over 7 years, only to be purchased for $52,000.00.
In a few years, when the market rebounds, we can sell this place, and you will get all that you invested in us back.
Because we are a good investment. I promise you.
Fingers crossed that Olivia has no cavities. I have to decorate the house for our family party tonight, as I do every year. Mussels for dinner tonight. And some crusty bread. Maybe a movie.
Happy Birthday David. I love you to pieces.
Today I will be dropping off our proposal to the lovely counselor, at the Credit Agency. We had to write what we are hoping the mortgage company will do for us. I guess from there, they can counter offer, or they don't have to do anything at all. We looked up home prices in our neighborhood, with the same amount of bedrooms and bathrooms, and square footage. We were shocked by the low prices. The de-valuation of our entire area is staggering. The inflated price that we owe for this house, due to late fees, plus legal fees, not to mention the obscene amount of back mortgage payments, thanks to our mortgage company dragging the "trial period" of our never to be modification on for far too long. It is disgusting. It is greed.
So we proposed that the mortgage company short sale us the house for the current market value, which is around $83,000.00. They are willing to sell it for less than that, to a stranger. Citimortgage...allow my family to avoid foreclosure. Keep us in our home. Accept some sort of payment for this house, instead of letting it sit empty for years, and rot, and need repairs. I say, it will cost you far less in the end, to keep us in our house, instead of kicking us out of it, and allow it to sit, and fall into disrepair, like all of the other countless empty homes in my neighborhood.
There is a house that has been empty since we moved here, almost 8 years ago, down the street from us. It was purchased last Spring. I was talking to the woman who owns it, at the bus stop on Thursday. She said they purchased it as a foreclosure, for $52,000.00. It has one more bedroom, and bathroom, than my house. It sat empty for over 7 years, only to be purchased for $52,000.00.
In a few years, when the market rebounds, we can sell this place, and you will get all that you invested in us back.
Because we are a good investment. I promise you.
Fingers crossed that Olivia has no cavities. I have to decorate the house for our family party tonight, as I do every year. Mussels for dinner tonight. And some crusty bread. Maybe a movie.
Happy Birthday David. I love you to pieces.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Stars
I had to read the paragraph twice, this morning. My eyes were still sleepy. It was from my friend Nichol. Her baby, born to soon, has apparently suffered some damage to her brain. She will be both physically and mentally disabled. The doctors are unsure of the severity.
Oh my friend Nichol. My heart is broken for you.
Memories of a hot summer day. You dancing in my living room to old Bruce Springsteen. Rosalita. Drunk from an evening of drinking margaritas. You twirling, and your skirt spinning in a circle beneath you. Your face smiling. Your terrible voice trying to keep up with the song.
Mornings of coffees, and long talks. Some of the best talks of my life. Phone calls from across the ocean. Two and three hour long talks, not wanting them to end.
Holidays, and dirty diapers. Birthday parties, and trick or treating. Waking, after having Molly ,to you standing there with a pile of magazines, and you laughing at my snoring.
Last week, my girls wished upon a star for your baby. Tonight, we will call upon them all.
I miss you. I love you.
I wish we could go back to that summer day.
Oh my friend Nichol. My heart is broken for you.
Memories of a hot summer day. You dancing in my living room to old Bruce Springsteen. Rosalita. Drunk from an evening of drinking margaritas. You twirling, and your skirt spinning in a circle beneath you. Your face smiling. Your terrible voice trying to keep up with the song.
Mornings of coffees, and long talks. Some of the best talks of my life. Phone calls from across the ocean. Two and three hour long talks, not wanting them to end.
Holidays, and dirty diapers. Birthday parties, and trick or treating. Waking, after having Molly ,to you standing there with a pile of magazines, and you laughing at my snoring.
Last week, my girls wished upon a star for your baby. Tonight, we will call upon them all.
I miss you. I love you.
I wish we could go back to that summer day.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
HAMP
Last Friday, I had lunch with an amazing group of women at my girls old, and soon to be Molly's new, preschool. The women who teach there are all mothers. They have young, and grown children. There ages vary. Some of them are battling cancer. One lost a husband too soon, and has a child, and a future that seems so far from what she planned. These women all work together, and I have known some of them for years. They make it seem like you are walking into someones kitchen, instead of a workplace. Each time I am there, I am made to feel so welcome, and warm, and loved. They are a beautiful bunch of girls.
I started talking to some of them, as we sat around small preschool tables, on tiny chairs, eating together. I started telling them about my own family's share of problems, which really are not problems at all, compared to most. At the mere mention of finances coming up short, and my home being in foreclosure, it was as if there was permission in the room to share about this hush hush subject. Everyone had a story. One friend told me that her husband had not worked in three months. Another told me they were months behind in their mortgage. Still another feared losing her home.
Each woman effected by this time we are living in. Each woman representing a family she is a member of, trying to keep them all afloat. I left that lunch feeling both comforted and alarmed. I kept thinking over and over again as I drove home, that this "thing" that is happening, is bigger than me. It is bigger than my family. I am but one, of far too many. It made me angry. It made me worried about friends, and families, and people I don't even know. It made me feel sad for those suffering through this, and too ashamed to talk about it.
I can't stop talking about it. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't help but feel like people's hard times are causing a ripple effect in their lives, that they may very well be unable to ever recover from. I think that stinks. Actually, I think it sucks.
I don't have an answer, or even a suggestion on how to help anyone. I just know that I see too many empty houses. Too many families on public assistance. Too much worry. Too much fear. I read something yesterday. It was from the New York Times, from Christmas Day. It was discussing how the HAMP program (Homes Affordable Modification Program) laid out by the Treasury, has been largely ineffective. It states "As of mid-December HAMP has processed almost 520,000 permanent loan modifications. The panel estimated that by the time the program is finished, it will have prevented only 700,000 foreclosures over all-quite a contrast to the three to four million modifications that the Treasury anticipated when it rolled out it's plan. Up to 13 million foreclosures are expected to have occurred by 2012, the panel said".
13 million. That is a lot of people. That is a lot of families. I am no expert, but I bet all those people will cost tax payers way more money post- foreclosure, that maybe if they had gotten a wee bit of a break pre- foreclosure.
But who am I? A mother, seeing far too many empty houses. Reading about far too many families receiving public assistance. Having far too many conversations with hard working people, getting jerked around by their mortgage companies, and being powerless to stop it. Who am I? After all...I am in the middle of losing my home.
But you see, this "thing" here...it's bigger than me. It's bigger than most.
I started talking to some of them, as we sat around small preschool tables, on tiny chairs, eating together. I started telling them about my own family's share of problems, which really are not problems at all, compared to most. At the mere mention of finances coming up short, and my home being in foreclosure, it was as if there was permission in the room to share about this hush hush subject. Everyone had a story. One friend told me that her husband had not worked in three months. Another told me they were months behind in their mortgage. Still another feared losing her home.
Each woman effected by this time we are living in. Each woman representing a family she is a member of, trying to keep them all afloat. I left that lunch feeling both comforted and alarmed. I kept thinking over and over again as I drove home, that this "thing" that is happening, is bigger than me. It is bigger than my family. I am but one, of far too many. It made me angry. It made me worried about friends, and families, and people I don't even know. It made me feel sad for those suffering through this, and too ashamed to talk about it.
I can't stop talking about it. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't help but feel like people's hard times are causing a ripple effect in their lives, that they may very well be unable to ever recover from. I think that stinks. Actually, I think it sucks.
I don't have an answer, or even a suggestion on how to help anyone. I just know that I see too many empty houses. Too many families on public assistance. Too much worry. Too much fear. I read something yesterday. It was from the New York Times, from Christmas Day. It was discussing how the HAMP program (Homes Affordable Modification Program) laid out by the Treasury, has been largely ineffective. It states "As of mid-December HAMP has processed almost 520,000 permanent loan modifications. The panel estimated that by the time the program is finished, it will have prevented only 700,000 foreclosures over all-quite a contrast to the three to four million modifications that the Treasury anticipated when it rolled out it's plan. Up to 13 million foreclosures are expected to have occurred by 2012, the panel said".
13 million. That is a lot of people. That is a lot of families. I am no expert, but I bet all those people will cost tax payers way more money post- foreclosure, that maybe if they had gotten a wee bit of a break pre- foreclosure.
But who am I? A mother, seeing far too many empty houses. Reading about far too many families receiving public assistance. Having far too many conversations with hard working people, getting jerked around by their mortgage companies, and being powerless to stop it. Who am I? After all...I am in the middle of losing my home.
But you see, this "thing" here...it's bigger than me. It's bigger than most.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Fledge
Yesterday,we had our meeting with the credit counselor who is in charge of the mediation we are going to have in March, with our mortgage company.
Speechless. No words that I can type here, could possibly describe the person we were forced to sit in a room with for almost three hours with. But...let me try.
She was judgemental, cold, mean, awful, spineless, condescending, defeating, discouraging, pessimistic, nasty, rude, dark....I could go on and on. As soon as she came out of her office, we both knew. She looked like she was right out of central casting. The casting call was for uptight, mean, sour, lady. She didn't even say hello to David and I. She called us in, and there began the most torturous three hours of our life.
At points, I felt compelled to fly across the desk, and place my hands around her neck. She would ask us questions, and type our responses into the computer, and she rolled her eyes. She actually rolled her eyes. She suggested, at the end of our meeting, that we could make some cuts in our budget. She actually said that if we go on spending the way we have been, we will not be able to make a mortgage payment. Spending the way we have?? I heard my voice rise in her office. I actually said that I had to laugh at that remark. She then scrunched her face up, and raised her voice at me. I felt my heart race, and my neck and cheeks get red. She then suggested that we could make cuts in our food budget, and had we thought about food banks.
Mind you...this process we are involved in, is voluntary. Meeting with this credit counselor is a necessary step, in order to go to court with our mortgage company. No one is making us try and save the roof over our heads. We have chosen this route. So technically, we are this woman's "customers". She treated us like derelicts. We have to write up a proposal to the mortgage company. She actually asked us if we knew what a proposal was. There was such a pregnant pause after she asked that question. I was unsure how to even respond to her. David and I just looked at each other, dumbfounded.
She then proceeded to take out a book about budgeting, and with a red pencil...I kid you not...began circling things in the book, and suggested we get a steno pad, and write down all of our spending.
I was done. I turned my ears off. Hot tears stung my eyes, and just flowed. She glanced at me once, and didn't even care that an emotion was happening right before her eyes, on the other side of her desk. Ironically, she had a "Love" sweater on, and a heart pendant, in honor of Valentines Day.
We left the meeting, both feeling discouraged, and down. She offered us no hope, and in fact told us that we were going to have a hard time finding affordable housing for a family of five, if we eventually have to move out of our house.
Thanks Carole. You made our day.
We had a night of Valentine card giving, and conversation heart eating. Pink and red cupcakes were served. We all told each other we loved one another. It was nice. It made the day seem like a distant blur, but there was an underlying icky feeling.
We checked the hummingbird camera. We have been checking it every other day or so. Watching the baby birds growing, and practicing using their delicate little wings has been so amazing.
Yesterday, they fledged. The nest is empty. The camera was off the nest, and now pointed to a new one, being made, by the same hummingbird mother. Her babies left at 10:30 yesterday morning, and by lunch time, she was halfway through with a new home.
The hummingbirds name is Phoebe.
She is beautiful.
Speechless. No words that I can type here, could possibly describe the person we were forced to sit in a room with for almost three hours with. But...let me try.
She was judgemental, cold, mean, awful, spineless, condescending, defeating, discouraging, pessimistic, nasty, rude, dark....I could go on and on. As soon as she came out of her office, we both knew. She looked like she was right out of central casting. The casting call was for uptight, mean, sour, lady. She didn't even say hello to David and I. She called us in, and there began the most torturous three hours of our life.
At points, I felt compelled to fly across the desk, and place my hands around her neck. She would ask us questions, and type our responses into the computer, and she rolled her eyes. She actually rolled her eyes. She suggested, at the end of our meeting, that we could make some cuts in our budget. She actually said that if we go on spending the way we have been, we will not be able to make a mortgage payment. Spending the way we have?? I heard my voice rise in her office. I actually said that I had to laugh at that remark. She then scrunched her face up, and raised her voice at me. I felt my heart race, and my neck and cheeks get red. She then suggested that we could make cuts in our food budget, and had we thought about food banks.
Mind you...this process we are involved in, is voluntary. Meeting with this credit counselor is a necessary step, in order to go to court with our mortgage company. No one is making us try and save the roof over our heads. We have chosen this route. So technically, we are this woman's "customers". She treated us like derelicts. We have to write up a proposal to the mortgage company. She actually asked us if we knew what a proposal was. There was such a pregnant pause after she asked that question. I was unsure how to even respond to her. David and I just looked at each other, dumbfounded.
She then proceeded to take out a book about budgeting, and with a red pencil...I kid you not...began circling things in the book, and suggested we get a steno pad, and write down all of our spending.
I was done. I turned my ears off. Hot tears stung my eyes, and just flowed. She glanced at me once, and didn't even care that an emotion was happening right before her eyes, on the other side of her desk. Ironically, she had a "Love" sweater on, and a heart pendant, in honor of Valentines Day.
We left the meeting, both feeling discouraged, and down. She offered us no hope, and in fact told us that we were going to have a hard time finding affordable housing for a family of five, if we eventually have to move out of our house.
Thanks Carole. You made our day.
We had a night of Valentine card giving, and conversation heart eating. Pink and red cupcakes were served. We all told each other we loved one another. It was nice. It made the day seem like a distant blur, but there was an underlying icky feeling.
We checked the hummingbird camera. We have been checking it every other day or so. Watching the baby birds growing, and practicing using their delicate little wings has been so amazing.
Yesterday, they fledged. The nest is empty. The camera was off the nest, and now pointed to a new one, being made, by the same hummingbird mother. Her babies left at 10:30 yesterday morning, and by lunch time, she was halfway through with a new home.
The hummingbirds name is Phoebe.
She is beautiful.
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