wanna win a blackberry curve?

From Shelley's blog:

I am giving away my Blackberry Curve. It is in excellent condition....I've had it less than 6 months and always carried it in it's case. It works with a T-Mobile SIM card(and I'm sure it can be unlocked for other carriers). When we changed cell phone providers, I decided to downgrade to something cheaper. I sold my husband's identical phone on ebay in less than 5 minutes for $170. I decided to give mine away instead. So, here's the deal:

On July 27th, I will pick my Xander up out of his bed, kiss his chubby little cheek.....and thank the Lord for putting him in my arms one year ago. To honor that moment one year ago, I am auctioning off my Blackberry Curve with every penny of the money raised to go into the grant fund for Raina, who is waiting in Bulgaria. Raina, like Xander, has Down Syndrome and clubbed feet. She is destined to live her life confined to a crib unless a family takes a leap of faith and adopts her into their family.

So, here's how this is going to work. There is a Chip In widget over on the side of my blog. A $5 donation made through that account will enter your name in the drawing. You can enter as many times as you want....each entry requires $5. The auction will end on July 27th and Xander will draw the winner himself. Every penny of the money in the chip-in account will go to Raina.....and someone will get my Blackberry Curve. You can keep it, resell it yourself....whatever you want to do with it. My intention is to get some money in this little girl's grant fund.

If you are reading this and you blog, PLEASE mention this on your blog. You can even put the widget on your blog too. You can get the code here. Some of you that read this get hundreds of readers a day on your blog. My prayer is to raise at least $500 for Raina's grant. That's going to take 100 entries. My husband thinks I'm crazy and I'm going to give my Blackberry away for like $20. Help me prove him wrong and raise some money for this little angel who's waiting on a mommy and daddy to call her own!!!!

going away gifts

I am trying to get over this heartache of losing Hunter and Wendy. Today after work, I went shopping and bought a bunch of stuff for him to keep him busy on the road to Florida. I spent about 2 hours trying to plan this out, get just the right stuff to entertain a 4 yr old in a car for 3 days. Im sure his Grandma will be doing the same, so hopefully my pile will complement her pile and he will have plenty of fun things to do along the way. Truth be told, I dont want him to go...at ALL. I am still trying so hard to bite my lip and stop from crying half the time. But they are going, and I want him to be ok, and this is the only way I can tell him that I love him without losing it and bawling my eyes out, and he doesnt need that. Anyway, its coming fast, and I have a few more things to grab (doesnt ANYONE sell those pillow bottomed lap desk things anymore?) Hunter is 4, Cars, Diego, matchbox cars...God Im gonna miss him.

Curious George and Down syndrome

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Curious_George

discovered the above link while searching the internet for a photo of CGs apartment this weekend (Ciarra was sure he lived in Boston)

Sad, sweet, tragic, beautiful...all of the above


Quote:
Curious George Takes a Job

As stated in an interview, the book Curious George Takes a Job was inspired by a true story. A boy, whose name is not known today, was born in Hamburg in 1909 with Down's Syndrome. He was institutionalized by his parents, condemned to a life at the facility.

When the boy was 15, he escaped from the institution and fled into the city streets. Hungry and in search of food, he found the briefly unattended kitchen of a restaurant, where a cook found him playing with the food and eating it. The cook, intrigued, put him to work to clean dishes, and took him home that evening. Within the following days, the cook arranged with a friend to have the boy wash windows at an office building.

The boy's work went well at first. But in one office, he found colored paints. He used them to paint a mural on the wall of the office. The tenant returned to his office after a lunch break to find the boy busy painting, and he started to chase after him. The boy jumped out a third-story window, breaking some bones.

The story made local headlines. After several weeks of hospitalization, the boy was formally adopted by the cook, and he later became the star of an amateur movie. He was recognized in the coming years as a talented artist. Some of his artwork was sold by the renowned bookseller, A.S.W. Rosenbach.

Tragically, his identity, art, and other details of his life were lost in the ravages of World War II, and he is believed to have been put to death by the government of Nazi Germany.

there was no public outcry when:

Rolling Stone magazine last month ran this, included in a piece called "Full Metal McCain":

And when it comes to Obama's and his wife's America-hating, well . . . McCain really doesn't need to say anything about that. All he needs to do to remind audiences of Reverend Wright and Michelle "I'm proud of America for the first time" Obama is to offer a few bons mots in the opposite direction. "I seek the office with the humility of a man who cannot forget that my country saved me," McCain likes to say. And while he doesn't believe he was anointed by God to lead the great nation of America, he insists, "I am her servant, first, last and always."

That's it — that's the entire argument. McCain is a canny enough old goat to know that the public's insatiable appetite for traitorous enemies will do the rest. He'll wave as many flags and stand in front of as many fucking fighter jets as you like, while the other guy lectures us about why he doesn't always need to wear a flag pin in his lapel and calls a bomb-throwing Sixties terrorist "a guy who lives in my neighborhood" instead of calling for his immediate beheading

.

What's especially creepy about this flashback this time around is that it seems to mirror the tragic loop in McCain's own psyche. For all his frantic recanting of the many embarrassingly bipartisan episodes from his Senate past, McCain has never betrayed even a nanosecond's worth of memories from the central catastrophe of his life: his capture and torture in a Vietnamese prison. But now that he is finally pitted, in the great battle of his life, against a smooth-talking peacenik nearly half his age who wants American troops to withdraw instead of pressing on for "victory" in an unpopular war, McCain can keep reliving all those old hurts and all those old battles over and over again, in front of sympathetic crowd after sympathetic crowd.

But God forbid we should offend Obama...



Why is it only good for Conservatives to be caricatured? If one is wrong, so is the other. One makes national news, the other is never mentioned? One is an attempt at irony, intended to point out the supposed misperceptions in the media. The other is just plain mean. Is either one fair? I dont think so. But what is even more unfair is the lack of outcry when the caricature was depicting the torture and imprisonment of a man who has dedicated his life to service of his fellow Americans, and who once sat in just such a cell and was tortured for real.

The date was Oct. 26, 1967. I was on my 23rd mission, flying right over the heart of Hanoi in a dive at about 4,500 feet, when a Russian missile the size of a telephone pole came up—the sky was full of them—and blew the right wing off my Skyhawk dive bomber. It went into an inverted, almost straight-down spin.

I pulled the ejection handle, and was knocked unconscious by the force of the ejection—the air speed was about 500 knots. I didn't realize it at the moment, but I had broken my right leg around the knee, my right arm in three places, and my left arm. I regained consciousness just before I landed by parachute in a lake right in the corner of Hanoi, one they called the Western Lake. My helmet and my oxygen mask had been blown off.

I hit the water and sank to the bottom. I think the lake is about 15 feet deep, maybe 20. I kicked off the bottom. I did not feel any pain at the time, and was able to rise to the surface. I took a breath of air and started sinking again. Of course, I was wearing 50 pounds, at least, of equipment and gear. I went down and managed to kick up to the surface once more. I couldn't understand why I couldn't use my right leg or my arm. I was in a dazed condition. I went up to the top again and sank back down. This time I couldn't get back to the surface. I was wearing an inflatable life-preserver-type thing that looked like water wings. I reached down with my mouth and got the toggle between my teeth and inflated the preserver and finally floated to the top.

Some North Vietnamese swam out and pulled me to the side of the lake and immediately started stripping me, which is their standard procedure. Of course, this being in the center of town, a huge crowd of people gathered, and they were all hollering and screaming and cursing and spitting and kicking at me.

When they had most of my clothes off, I felt a twinge in my right knee. I sat up and looked at it, and my right foot was resting next to my left knee, just in a 90-degree position. I said, "My God--my leg!" That seemed to enrage them —I don't know why. One of them slammed a rifle butt down on my shoulder, and smashed it pretty badly. Another stuck a bayonet in my foot. The mob was really getting up-tight.

we all ought to be ashamed. If we would all treat each other like people and not political pawns, then maybe we would all stand together and decry such things. Unfortunately, the media seems to be biased. did you hear a word of this until today? Did you ever even know about the one of McCain? I doubt it.

back in a few days!

we leave early tomorrow for the NDSC conference in Boston!! (Wish me luck driving in the city!!)

words to remember

"commote" is remote in Ciarra speak.
"time long ago" is "a long time ago"

When Jesse was little, he had a minor speech delay. Our babysitter, Sarah, was "Sailah", and shoulder was "shurdle". Kristin used to say "be cafully, Daddy" for "be careful".

Kids grow up so fast, I never want to forget the way they were when they were little, it helps me not beat them when they get big and mouthy. ;)

we should all teach our kids Spanish. So says Obama.

Mr. Obama, I am an AMERICAN, I speak ENGLISH. I teach my children to speak English... their primary language is and always WILL be ENGLISH. There are FAR too many of you liberals out there, wanting to throw away our heritage and become a melting pot. Pardon me if I choose to hold on to MY heritage in MY country.

Godspeed, little man

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

my heart is broken-again

When Jesse was born 12 years ago, I was a Girl Scout leader for Kristin's Brownie troop. I loved it, loved the kids (who are all 19-20 now) and had so much fun with it. One of my girls was a darling little girl named Andrea. You may notice a recent picture of her in a post titled "For Andrea". It is a picture of her with Ciarra. Andrea is like my own in many ways, and her new baby Aislynn is family, too. They became my family when Andrea's mom (and dammit, I will admit, I knew the tears would flow writing this one, so forgive me as a I type with blurred vision) when Andrea's mom Wendy became my co-leader. Wendy was a single mom, kind of a redneck girl like me. We hit it off so well, and our girls did too. She doted on Jesse, was his wrestling buddy and biggest fan. She went with me when we picked up Alex in Connecticut, and when we buried him. She was there for me when Ciarra was born. We have gone through puberty in 2 sets of kids, I held her son before she did. I took the first pictures of her holding her first grandchild. Over those 12 years, we have become very close. It is that comfortable kind of close, where you can fall asleep watching tv late at night and she does, too. Where a weekend when they havent been here is rare. When the high sweet voice of her precious 4 yr old son Hunter isnt wailing "I wanna stay at Chelle's house!!"






Wendy is the best friend I have ever had. We look alike, we think alike, people either think we are sisters or lesbians, and I laugh more with her than I ever have in my life. She has listened and talked quietly many times, she let me tell her to "grow a backbone" and then listened to me whine when she did grow one and used it on me. She is my BEST friend.



We introduced her to our friend Rob years ago, and they have been married since about 2000. Jim was their best man. Hunter joined Wendys daughter Andrea and Robs daughter Amara, and was the glue that bound them all together. A few years ago, things got really tough financially, and they moved to Florida, to stay with Robs folks. I thought I would never breathe again. We had dinner with them the day before they left, and as I came through town with the groceries, I passed their house, and the piles of trash and throwaways waiting at the curb, and the sight of the trailer with all of their stuff in it undid me. I came home, cooked dinner, then tried to sit and eat, but I couldnt swallow. I left the table, and they left and drove away with hardly a word spoken. What words do you use? "I'll miss you"? It doesnt come close. For 12 years, we have done everything together. She is the sister that was taken from me through adoption. She and the kids come every year to help decorate the tree. Thanksgiving isnt Thanksgiving without our famous apple dumplings and all of us crowded around my little kitchen table laughing and eating till we want to die.
Rob and Wendy lasted about 8-9 months in Florida that time. They hated it. Too hot, too city, too far away. We stayed in touch, went down for a week and hung out, but the hole they left was so big that I could easily have fallen into it. I missed Hunter's voice, I missed Amara...who stayed here with her bio mom but might as well have been on the moon. I missed Andrea. But mostly I missed the best friend who made me laugh so hard I cried, and cry so hard I couldnt breathe. They came home finally, restarted their lives, brought back the baby boy who is a part of all of us...filled the hole in my sons heart that will always be Hunter's.


Life was good again. There have been fishing trips, camping trips, paintball parties, Christmas's, birthdays and illnesses, train rides, Halloween hanuted houses, a new Grandchild, Buddy Walks, life...







A few days ago, Jim told me that he had news for me that would break my heart. I thought somebody died. They might as well have. Rob and Wendy and Hunter are leaving again. Winters in Maine are grossly expensive, Rob is on disability and Wendy cant do it alone financially. They are broke, and behind. Once again, the allure of Floridas weather, Robs parents and a free place to stay to get back on their feet has won out. and we have lost. Once again, I am planning a gathering of goodbyes. But this time...Wendy hasnt said a word to me. She must know I know, but it isnt because we are chatting about it. We havent. I know only because Jim told me. I think she knows it is too painful for me to take without being angry and resentful and crying my damn eyes out. She isnt just my best friend, she is my family. This time feels like it will be forever, and HOW do you fill that kind of hole? How do I just smile and say it will be ok when all I can think of is how much I will miss hearing "Hi Chelle!" from that boy, and missing my best friend and almost-sister peeling potatoes on the weekends, hearing the guys BBQing on the porch? How do I just smile and say it is ok when i KNOW how much she doesnt want to go? when Andrea will be here, and Aislynn...and i know she will cry all the way there wondering how she can drive away from first steps, first words, first birthdays? And what about Amara? will she be lost to me, too? I cant breathe for thinking that half of what feels like my family is being taken away. This time, I think, Florida will become their home, and they will make it work. And I will never walk away from maine and its woods and mosse and people. We can talk by phone, no doubt. But in my heart, this is the end of one of the best parts of my life. I never had much for family, as a kid. Certainly never anything/anyone I could count on to be here whenever I needed them. (extended family I mean) My only sister was given up for adoption.

but this is not just me hurting. Rob is Jim's best friend. Wendy is mine. Jesse & Amara have been buddies since the days we dressed them up in "wedding clothes" and married them off. Hunter and Ciarra are best of friends. Kristin and Andrea....it is all of us. We match. We understand one another, get each others jokes. even our dogs are siblings. How do you just lose all that? I know people survive this, but right now I cant breathe. My heart feels like it is on standby, and the tears have flooded my nightgown. And I have to go get groceries and gather up kids and dogs and bathing suits and head out to camp to face whatever awaits me, to say goodbye a thousand times, in my mind. To watch Hunter play knowing that the next time I see him, he will probably be much taller, much older, and not so excited about "Chelle" anymore. To watch Jesse slowly get used to the fact that his beloved Hunter, and Wendy (who has been a HUGE part of his life since he was born, closer than family) will really not be coming over to play WII tonight, or make him blush, or get him to smile. To hear Ciarra ask, over and over because this is simply too big to really understand.."When is Wendy coming home?"

And I have to do it all while trying to remember to keep breathing and not cry. Im not sure I can do that. Who was it that said big girls dont cry?

my summer reading

New Directions in Special Education: Eliminating Ableism in Policy And Practice (Paperback)by Thomas Hehir (Author)

Just finished reading this this morning. It is very informative, although somewhat generalized to all disabilities. It gives some very good arguments and research in defense of Inclusion (although also very clear that Inclusion is not for all kids) It really delves into ableism and universal design. I very much enjoyed this book, it is not tremendously long, and is very informative.




War Against the Weak: Eugenics and America's Campaign to Create a Master Race (Paperback)by Edwin Black (Author)

GREAT book, although extremely big and very hard to put down. This terrific book delves into the American roots of eugenics, and is very eye-opening.

The plans of Adolf Hitler and the German Nazis to create a Nordic "master race" are often looked upon as a horrific but fairly isolated effort. Less notice has historically been given to the American eugenics movement of the 19th and early 20th centuries. Although their methods were less violent, the methodology and rationale which the American eugenicists employed, as catalogued in Edwin Black's Against the Weak, were chilling nonetheless and, in fact, influential in the mindset of Hitler himself. Funded and supported by several well-known wealthy donors, including the Rockefeller and Carnegie families and Alexander Graham Bell, the eugenicists believed that the physically impaired and "feeble-minded" should be subject to forced sterilization in order to create a stronger species and incur less social spending. These "defective" humans generally ended up being poorer folks who were sometimes categorized as such after shockingly arbitrary or capricious means ! such as failing a quiz related to pop culture by not knowing where the Pierce Arrow was manufactured. The list of groups and agencies conducting eugenics research was long, from the U.S. Army and the Departments of Labor and Agriculture to organizations with names like the "American Breeders Association." Black's detailed research into the history of the American eugenics movement is admirably extensive, but it is in the association between the beliefs of some members of the American aristocracy and Hitler that the book becomes most chilling. Black goes on to trace the evolution of eugenic thinking as it evolves into what is now called genetics. And while modern thinkers have thankfully discarded the pseudo-science of eugenics, such controversial modern issues as human cloning make one wonder how our own era will be remembered a hundred years hence.

In the first half of the 20th century, more than 60,000 Americans-poor, uneducated, members of minorities-were forcibly sterilized to prevent them from passing on supposedly defective genes. This policy, called eugenics, was the brainchild of such influential people as Rockefellers, Andrew Carnegie and Margaret Sanger. Black, author of the bestselling IBM and the Holocaust, set out to show "the sad truth of how the scientific rationales that drove killer doctors at Auschwitz were first concocted on Long Island" at the Carnegie Institution's Cold Spring Harbor complex. Along the way, he offers a detailed and heavily footnoted history that traces eugenics from its inception to America's eventual, post-WWII retreat from it, complete with stories of the people behind it, their legal battles, their detractors and the tragic stories of their victims. Black's team of 50 researchers have done an impressive job, and the resulting story is at once shocking and gripping.

For anyone who is interested in the battle against modern day eugenics, or who is raising a child with Down syndrome, this is an important read. It will help explain the roots of the current problem, and absolutely help you argue against what is happening to our children.