* Getting to know the women I am caring for.
* Hearing phrases like "we'll tuck you in before we leave" from other midwives.
* Seeing other midwives treat women LIKE PEOPLE. When they are having a hard time, we give big hugs; showing concern and NOT detachment.
* Having the opportunity to contribute to women's health.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Thoughts on Mother's Day and miscellaneous
I apologize for my absence of late. Placement was much crazier than I had anticipated and oh, so lovely for the most part and I WILL write about highlights when it has finally sunk in that it's over. Whew.
Right now I've got my knickers in a twist about something else that's irked me of late.
Mother's day.
I've never been one for Hall.mark holidays in general, but Mother's day is especially troublesome. I read somewhere that it began as a day to write to your Mother, because, let's face it, we're not always as on-the-ball about communicating with our folks as we should be, but then it morphed into this pink toile thingie with flowers all over it served with brunch. (You're probably wondering at this point what the heck goes on at my house.)Honestly though, I'm not sure I want to celebrate it at all.
Why would I want to celebrate a day that causes so much pain to so many people I care about? And how can we justify buying that many cut flowers when so many women are dying in childbirth for lack of a tiny vial of oxytocin? (helps prevent post-partum hemorrhage).
I was sitting in church on Mother's day thinking of all the ways some churches/people/etc have excluded parents who have lost their children and pregnancies and I wanted to do something about it. My Mom, who is painfully aware of my outspoken feelings regarding injustice and my propensity for "making a scene" furrowed her brow and said "It's alRIGHT." But no, it wasn't and it isn't. Until every Mom, every where, is included and made a priority, I think it's hypocritical to celebrate those lucky few who are.
Right now I've got my knickers in a twist about something else that's irked me of late.
Mother's day.
I've never been one for Hall.mark holidays in general, but Mother's day is especially troublesome. I read somewhere that it began as a day to write to your Mother, because, let's face it, we're not always as on-the-ball about communicating with our folks as we should be, but then it morphed into this pink toile thingie with flowers all over it served with brunch. (You're probably wondering at this point what the heck goes on at my house.)Honestly though, I'm not sure I want to celebrate it at all.
Why would I want to celebrate a day that causes so much pain to so many people I care about? And how can we justify buying that many cut flowers when so many women are dying in childbirth for lack of a tiny vial of oxytocin? (helps prevent post-partum hemorrhage).
I was sitting in church on Mother's day thinking of all the ways some churches/people/etc have excluded parents who have lost their children and pregnancies and I wanted to do something about it. My Mom, who is painfully aware of my outspoken feelings regarding injustice and my propensity for "making a scene" furrowed her brow and said "It's alRIGHT." But no, it wasn't and it isn't. Until every Mom, every where, is included and made a priority, I think it's hypocritical to celebrate those lucky few who are.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
For the amazing women I know who made the hardest choice of their lives
For all the women still with us who LIVE with that choice.
From Slate
The Invisible Dead
The grisly truth about the Super Bowl abortion ad.
By William Saletan
Posted Monday, Feb. 1, 2010, at 8:06 AM ET
Also in Slate, Jason Fagone explains the real meaning of the pro-life Tim Tebow commercial.
Tim Tebow
Tim Tebow, the college football hero and Heisman Trophy winner, won't be in next Sunday's Super Bowl. But he's already one of its stars. Focus on the Family, an interest group opposed to abortion, will air a 30-second commercial featuring Tebow and his mother, Pam. According to the group's press release, the Tebows "will share a personal story centered on the theme of 'Celebrate Family, Celebrate Life.' "
The story, apparently, is about Tim's birth in 1987, when his parents were missionaries in the Philippines. According to Pam's account in the Gainesville Sun, she contracted amoebic dysentery and went in a coma shortly before the pregnancy. To facilitate her recovery, she was given heavy-duty drugs. Afterward, doctors told her the fetus was damaged. They diagnosed her with placental abruption, a premature separation of the placenta from the uterine wall. They predicted a stillbirth and recommended abortion.
But Pam was against abortion, and she had faith in God. She refused. Today, her reward is a healthy, athletic, stellar son. "I've always been very [pro-life] because that's the reason I'm here, because my mom was a very courageous woman," Tim told reporters last week. That's the prescribed moral of the story: Choose life. Dave Andrusko, the editor of National Right to Life News, puts it eloquently: "This amazing young man is able to share his many gifts because, and only because, Pam Tebow said no to abortion and yes to life."
Pam's story certainly is moving. But as a guide to making abortion decisions, it's misleading. Doctors are right to worry about continuing pregnancies like hers. Placental abruption has killed thousands of women and fetuses. No doubt some of these women trusted in God and said no to abortion, as she did. But they didn't end up with Heisman-winning sons. They ended up dead.
Being dead is just the first problem with dying in pregnancy. Another problem is that the fetus you were trying to save dies with you. A third problem is that your existing kids lose their mother. A fourth problem is that if you had aborted the pregnancy, you might have gotten pregnant again and brought a new baby into the world, but now you can't. And now the Tebows have exposed a fifth problem: You can't make a TV ad.
On Sunday, we won't see all the women who chose life and found death. We'll just see the Tebows, because they're alive and happy to talk about it. In the business world, this is known as survivor bias: Failed mutual funds disappear, leaving behind the successful ones, which creates the illusion that mutual funds tend to beat market averages. In the Tebows' case, the survivor bias is literal. If you're diagnosed with placental abruption, you have the right to choose life. But don't be so sure that life is what you'll get.
Placental abruption is rare. The detachment from the uterine wall can range from partial to total. By most accounts, it occurs in fewer than 1 percent of pregnancies. The more broadly it's diagnosed, the less fatal it is on average, since the subtlest cases are also the least dangerous.
In 2001, the American Journal of Epidemiology published an analysis of 7.5 million births that took place in the United States in 1995 and 1996. Abruption was documented in 46,731 of these pregnancies. Six percent of normal pregnancies produced babies with birth weights low enough to risk long-term health damage. Nearly half the abrupted pregnancies produced such babies. Ten percent of normal pregnancies ended in premature births; most abrupted pregnancies ended that way. In normal pregnancies, the perinatal mortality rate—death of the fetus after 20 weeks gestation, or death of the baby in its four weeks after birth—was less than 1 percent. In abrupted pregnancies, the rate was roughly 12 percent. If the total number of abrupted pregnancies in the United States in those two years was 46,731, then the number of fetuses and babies killed by placental abruption was 5,570.
And that's just the U.S. number. In less developed countries, studies have found higher rates of perinatal death. In Thailand, a 2006 review of 103 abrupted pregnancies showed a rate of 16 percent. In Sudan, an analysis of more than 1,000 cases from 1997-2003 yielded a rate of 20 percent. In Tunisia, a 2005 review of 45 cases indicated a rate of 38 percent.
If you see no moral difference between an early fetus and a late fetus or baby, you can argue that any perinatal death rate short of 100 percent is better than preemptive abortion. But what about the women who carry abrupted pregnancies? For them, the potential complications include internal bleeding, hemorrhagic shock, kidney damage, embolisms, and heart failure. The Thai study reported hemorrhagic shock in 19 percent of women with abrupted pregnancies. In Burkina Faso, a 2003 review of 177 abrupted pregnancies reported a maternal death rate of 4 percent. In Pakistan, a 2009 review of 106 cases found a maternal death rate of 5 percent. By some estimates, placental abruption causes 6 percent of all maternal deaths.
I can't tell you what drugs Pam Tebow was given or how severe her abruption was. I sent her a query through Focus on the Family three days ago and haven't heard back. But remember, she was doing missionary work in the Philippines. The perinatal and maternal death rates from abruption in her area were probably closer to the rates in Pakistan or Burkina Faso than to the U.S. rate. She and her son are with us today not just because of courage but because of luck.
And don't forget her age. Pam entered the University of Florida at 17 and graduated in 1971. That would make her about 37 years old in 1987, when she developed her abruption. She and her husband were literally praying for another baby. In that situation, at that age, carrying a compromised pregnancy to term carries an additional risk: that you'll lose not just this baby but the ability to conceive another. That's a further reason why a doctor might recommend abortion—or why a woman might choose it.
Pro-lifers have always struggled with the invisibility of unborn life: millions of babies aborted every year, concealed in wombs behind closed doors. How do you open the world's eyes to what it can't see? In Tim Tebow, they see the invisible made visible: a child who has lived to tell his story because an abortion didn't happen. "If his mother had followed her doctor's advice," notes LifeSiteNews, "he would be just another abortion statistic."
But what's true of abortion is also true of pregnancy complications. If Pam Tebow's abruption had taken a different turn, her son would be just another perinatal mortality statistic, and she might be just another maternal mortality statistic. And you would know nothing of her story, just as you know nothing of the women who have died carrying pregnancies like hers.
And what do you know of the women who chose to abort in similar circumstances? You never saw their tears for the life lost. You never heard their prayers for another chance. Maybe you've seen them rocking their babies or laughing with their toddlers. But did you make the connection? Do you know their stories? Is Pam Tebow's choice the only way to celebrate life and family?
Pam made a brave choice, and she has raised a fine son. Celebrate his life. But celebrate her luck, too—and say a prayer for all the women and babies who didn't make the cut.
From Slate
The Invisible Dead
The grisly truth about the Super Bowl abortion ad.
By William Saletan
Posted Monday, Feb. 1, 2010, at 8:06 AM ET
Also in Slate, Jason Fagone explains the real meaning of the pro-life Tim Tebow commercial.
Tim Tebow
Tim Tebow, the college football hero and Heisman Trophy winner, won't be in next Sunday's Super Bowl. But he's already one of its stars. Focus on the Family, an interest group opposed to abortion, will air a 30-second commercial featuring Tebow and his mother, Pam. According to the group's press release, the Tebows "will share a personal story centered on the theme of 'Celebrate Family, Celebrate Life.' "
The story, apparently, is about Tim's birth in 1987, when his parents were missionaries in the Philippines. According to Pam's account in the Gainesville Sun, she contracted amoebic dysentery and went in a coma shortly before the pregnancy. To facilitate her recovery, she was given heavy-duty drugs. Afterward, doctors told her the fetus was damaged. They diagnosed her with placental abruption, a premature separation of the placenta from the uterine wall. They predicted a stillbirth and recommended abortion.
But Pam was against abortion, and she had faith in God. She refused. Today, her reward is a healthy, athletic, stellar son. "I've always been very [pro-life] because that's the reason I'm here, because my mom was a very courageous woman," Tim told reporters last week. That's the prescribed moral of the story: Choose life. Dave Andrusko, the editor of National Right to Life News, puts it eloquently: "This amazing young man is able to share his many gifts because, and only because, Pam Tebow said no to abortion and yes to life."
Pam's story certainly is moving. But as a guide to making abortion decisions, it's misleading. Doctors are right to worry about continuing pregnancies like hers. Placental abruption has killed thousands of women and fetuses. No doubt some of these women trusted in God and said no to abortion, as she did. But they didn't end up with Heisman-winning sons. They ended up dead.
Being dead is just the first problem with dying in pregnancy. Another problem is that the fetus you were trying to save dies with you. A third problem is that your existing kids lose their mother. A fourth problem is that if you had aborted the pregnancy, you might have gotten pregnant again and brought a new baby into the world, but now you can't. And now the Tebows have exposed a fifth problem: You can't make a TV ad.
On Sunday, we won't see all the women who chose life and found death. We'll just see the Tebows, because they're alive and happy to talk about it. In the business world, this is known as survivor bias: Failed mutual funds disappear, leaving behind the successful ones, which creates the illusion that mutual funds tend to beat market averages. In the Tebows' case, the survivor bias is literal. If you're diagnosed with placental abruption, you have the right to choose life. But don't be so sure that life is what you'll get.
Placental abruption is rare. The detachment from the uterine wall can range from partial to total. By most accounts, it occurs in fewer than 1 percent of pregnancies. The more broadly it's diagnosed, the less fatal it is on average, since the subtlest cases are also the least dangerous.
In 2001, the American Journal of Epidemiology published an analysis of 7.5 million births that took place in the United States in 1995 and 1996. Abruption was documented in 46,731 of these pregnancies. Six percent of normal pregnancies produced babies with birth weights low enough to risk long-term health damage. Nearly half the abrupted pregnancies produced such babies. Ten percent of normal pregnancies ended in premature births; most abrupted pregnancies ended that way. In normal pregnancies, the perinatal mortality rate—death of the fetus after 20 weeks gestation, or death of the baby in its four weeks after birth—was less than 1 percent. In abrupted pregnancies, the rate was roughly 12 percent. If the total number of abrupted pregnancies in the United States in those two years was 46,731, then the number of fetuses and babies killed by placental abruption was 5,570.
And that's just the U.S. number. In less developed countries, studies have found higher rates of perinatal death. In Thailand, a 2006 review of 103 abrupted pregnancies showed a rate of 16 percent. In Sudan, an analysis of more than 1,000 cases from 1997-2003 yielded a rate of 20 percent. In Tunisia, a 2005 review of 45 cases indicated a rate of 38 percent.
If you see no moral difference between an early fetus and a late fetus or baby, you can argue that any perinatal death rate short of 100 percent is better than preemptive abortion. But what about the women who carry abrupted pregnancies? For them, the potential complications include internal bleeding, hemorrhagic shock, kidney damage, embolisms, and heart failure. The Thai study reported hemorrhagic shock in 19 percent of women with abrupted pregnancies. In Burkina Faso, a 2003 review of 177 abrupted pregnancies reported a maternal death rate of 4 percent. In Pakistan, a 2009 review of 106 cases found a maternal death rate of 5 percent. By some estimates, placental abruption causes 6 percent of all maternal deaths.
I can't tell you what drugs Pam Tebow was given or how severe her abruption was. I sent her a query through Focus on the Family three days ago and haven't heard back. But remember, she was doing missionary work in the Philippines. The perinatal and maternal death rates from abruption in her area were probably closer to the rates in Pakistan or Burkina Faso than to the U.S. rate. She and her son are with us today not just because of courage but because of luck.
And don't forget her age. Pam entered the University of Florida at 17 and graduated in 1971. That would make her about 37 years old in 1987, when she developed her abruption. She and her husband were literally praying for another baby. In that situation, at that age, carrying a compromised pregnancy to term carries an additional risk: that you'll lose not just this baby but the ability to conceive another. That's a further reason why a doctor might recommend abortion—or why a woman might choose it.
Pro-lifers have always struggled with the invisibility of unborn life: millions of babies aborted every year, concealed in wombs behind closed doors. How do you open the world's eyes to what it can't see? In Tim Tebow, they see the invisible made visible: a child who has lived to tell his story because an abortion didn't happen. "If his mother had followed her doctor's advice," notes LifeSiteNews, "he would be just another abortion statistic."
But what's true of abortion is also true of pregnancy complications. If Pam Tebow's abruption had taken a different turn, her son would be just another perinatal mortality statistic, and she might be just another maternal mortality statistic. And you would know nothing of her story, just as you know nothing of the women who have died carrying pregnancies like hers.
And what do you know of the women who chose to abort in similar circumstances? You never saw their tears for the life lost. You never heard their prayers for another chance. Maybe you've seen them rocking their babies or laughing with their toddlers. But did you make the connection? Do you know their stories? Is Pam Tebow's choice the only way to celebrate life and family?
Pam made a brave choice, and she has raised a fine son. Celebrate his life. But celebrate her luck, too—and say a prayer for all the women and babies who didn't make the cut.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The Epidemic
It's not H1N1 or Avian Flu.
It's actually much, much more common than either, but doesn't get very much press unless the rich and famous are affected.
But it hurts and it's effects can be damaging and far-reaching.
I'm talking about divorce.
It's hit my family quite a lot in the last year. Out of 4 siblings in my extended family, 3 have divorced or are separated. It's hit my in-laws too.
I don't know what it is, or what's changed. When I was in elementary school, I only remember one girl from my class with divorced parents. It was an unfamiliar concept, distant from our own tiny realms of experience. Now I am hearing story after story of marriages, many lasting 20 or 30 years coming to a final and sudden end.
I can't understand it.
Is it the insidious media with its constant message of "You deserve better", "You're worth it?" He doesn't put the toilet seat down? He's malfunctioning or obsolete, trade him in for something better. She gets cranky sometimes or you feel she's hard on you? Well that cutie down the hall is nothing but smiles, perhaps it's time for a change. Our culture, that raises such successful consumers, apparently raises terrible spouses.
I've been there. I know what bitterness and resentment can grow. You start to feel that you're doing more, that they're not listening to you, not respecting you enough. You remember that time two birthdays ago when you asked for something specific and what you got wasn't even in the same department of the store. This little cesspool builds up in your mind and every slight, every disappointment, gets dumped into it. It stinks up your life and you think that if you dump the person responsible, you dump the pool too.
The problem is that many times, building that little pool is a choice we make. Now before I go any further, I am NOT talking about ignoring abuse in any form, I don't care if he's not hitting you, if he's hurting you and you're starting to think you're not "worth it", that's abuse. Because you're worthy of love and real love isn't supposed to hurt.
One summer day I was sitting around reading, in the same room, but not on the same proverbial page as my spouse. I was reading this book by Rob Bell called 'Sex God'. He's a pastor and has a real gift for getting at the nitty gritty and he started talking about this thing called AGAPE.
No, I'm not talking about the way you stare when your spouse dances to "Vogue", this is a kind of love.
An all-encompassing kind of love, a compassionate love, a merciful love, an unconditional kind of love.
And then, it happened.
The Epiphany.
It was like my relationship up to that point had been a straggle-y tree trying hard to stay upright through harsh winds and then all of a sudden, someone had staked it, propped it up so it could grow, unbent and undamaged by what was going on around it.
I can't say it's all roses, because it isn't. Loving someone even when they disappoint you is a choice you make, because above all else, above the moment, the misdeed or the misunderstanding, you love that person.
Successful, loving marriages make children happy.
Successful, loving marriages make adults happy.
But they also give hope.
Hope that there is a love, all encompassing, passionate, forgiving and merciful out there for everyone.
Hope that good things can survive this twisted way of life we've developed.
I put my arms around a man who has been married for 20 years and sat weeping because his marriage is no more. We prayed with him, prayed and hoped that his wife has the same realization, that she can find the heart of it all, not in the superficial day to day, but in the deep, deep understanding that we all deserve love. Not from the cutie down the hall who smiles because she's never seen us mad or in our underwear, but from the person who has seen us at our worst and still loves us and from the God who is grieved when we lose sight of it, because He loves us more than anyone else could.
So I pray for your marriage tonight and if you have already walked that hard road called divorce, you are not alone, I've been there once myself and I hold you up. I pray your heart heals, your spirit is renewed and that love on this side of life finds you once more, because I'm certain there is love on the other side.
God bless you.
It's actually much, much more common than either, but doesn't get very much press unless the rich and famous are affected.
But it hurts and it's effects can be damaging and far-reaching.
I'm talking about divorce.
It's hit my family quite a lot in the last year. Out of 4 siblings in my extended family, 3 have divorced or are separated. It's hit my in-laws too.
I don't know what it is, or what's changed. When I was in elementary school, I only remember one girl from my class with divorced parents. It was an unfamiliar concept, distant from our own tiny realms of experience. Now I am hearing story after story of marriages, many lasting 20 or 30 years coming to a final and sudden end.
I can't understand it.
Is it the insidious media with its constant message of "You deserve better", "You're worth it?" He doesn't put the toilet seat down? He's malfunctioning or obsolete, trade him in for something better. She gets cranky sometimes or you feel she's hard on you? Well that cutie down the hall is nothing but smiles, perhaps it's time for a change. Our culture, that raises such successful consumers, apparently raises terrible spouses.
I've been there. I know what bitterness and resentment can grow. You start to feel that you're doing more, that they're not listening to you, not respecting you enough. You remember that time two birthdays ago when you asked for something specific and what you got wasn't even in the same department of the store. This little cesspool builds up in your mind and every slight, every disappointment, gets dumped into it. It stinks up your life and you think that if you dump the person responsible, you dump the pool too.
The problem is that many times, building that little pool is a choice we make. Now before I go any further, I am NOT talking about ignoring abuse in any form, I don't care if he's not hitting you, if he's hurting you and you're starting to think you're not "worth it", that's abuse. Because you're worthy of love and real love isn't supposed to hurt.
One summer day I was sitting around reading, in the same room, but not on the same proverbial page as my spouse. I was reading this book by Rob Bell called 'Sex God'. He's a pastor and has a real gift for getting at the nitty gritty and he started talking about this thing called AGAPE.
No, I'm not talking about the way you stare when your spouse dances to "Vogue", this is a kind of love.
An all-encompassing kind of love, a compassionate love, a merciful love, an unconditional kind of love.
And then, it happened.
The Epiphany.
It was like my relationship up to that point had been a straggle-y tree trying hard to stay upright through harsh winds and then all of a sudden, someone had staked it, propped it up so it could grow, unbent and undamaged by what was going on around it.
I can't say it's all roses, because it isn't. Loving someone even when they disappoint you is a choice you make, because above all else, above the moment, the misdeed or the misunderstanding, you love that person.
Successful, loving marriages make children happy.
Successful, loving marriages make adults happy.
But they also give hope.
Hope that there is a love, all encompassing, passionate, forgiving and merciful out there for everyone.
Hope that good things can survive this twisted way of life we've developed.
I put my arms around a man who has been married for 20 years and sat weeping because his marriage is no more. We prayed with him, prayed and hoped that his wife has the same realization, that she can find the heart of it all, not in the superficial day to day, but in the deep, deep understanding that we all deserve love. Not from the cutie down the hall who smiles because she's never seen us mad or in our underwear, but from the person who has seen us at our worst and still loves us and from the God who is grieved when we lose sight of it, because He loves us more than anyone else could.
So I pray for your marriage tonight and if you have already walked that hard road called divorce, you are not alone, I've been there once myself and I hold you up. I pray your heart heals, your spirit is renewed and that love on this side of life finds you once more, because I'm certain there is love on the other side.
God bless you.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Loving the Unloved and thoughts on Santa
A week ago, I was driving to my Uncle's when I passed a man holding a sign that said, "Hungry".
I had nothing to give him.
I went back later, imagining handing him the money he was asking for and what I would say and this is what I came up with:
"Christ came for you."
Because He did. He didn't come to save the saved, He came to minister to the lost, the hopeless, the broken, the unloved.
If I let a Christmas pass without loving those same people, then I've missed the point.
I've always sat on the fence about Santa. We never had him in our house and I've never cared if other people did, but as I get older and in-laws try repeatedly to force me to include him I find myself thinking a lot about that particular tradition and lately, I've noticed a glaring hole. In many movies and stories, Santa delivers gifts to every child on earth, but we adults know this isn't true. Santa comes, for the most part, to those who can afford him.
Where does that leave the others?
One movie was talking about the "naughty list" and I wondered if children who found themselves without gifts on Christmas morning thought that perhaps they weren't deserving.
I guess my biggest problem with Santa is that he's a once-a-year imaginary gift man, whereas Christ is a real, everyday promise, the greatest gift that's ever been given.
And His gift is for everyone, whether you can afford it and are deserving, or not.
I had nothing to give him.
I went back later, imagining handing him the money he was asking for and what I would say and this is what I came up with:
"Christ came for you."
Because He did. He didn't come to save the saved, He came to minister to the lost, the hopeless, the broken, the unloved.
If I let a Christmas pass without loving those same people, then I've missed the point.
I've always sat on the fence about Santa. We never had him in our house and I've never cared if other people did, but as I get older and in-laws try repeatedly to force me to include him I find myself thinking a lot about that particular tradition and lately, I've noticed a glaring hole. In many movies and stories, Santa delivers gifts to every child on earth, but we adults know this isn't true. Santa comes, for the most part, to those who can afford him.
Where does that leave the others?
One movie was talking about the "naughty list" and I wondered if children who found themselves without gifts on Christmas morning thought that perhaps they weren't deserving.
I guess my biggest problem with Santa is that he's a once-a-year imaginary gift man, whereas Christ is a real, everyday promise, the greatest gift that's ever been given.
And His gift is for everyone, whether you can afford it and are deserving, or not.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Gabriel
I think about you.
I think about your tiny face and the faces of your parents hanging above it.
I want to help your Mother, your Father, give them all that they could hope for.
I can't.
But God can.
Because you are with Him, because through Christ we are forgiven, I know you will be together once more.
But, oh, how you are missed, little one.
Remembering with love, Gabriel Anton
December 10, 2007
I think about your tiny face and the faces of your parents hanging above it.
I want to help your Mother, your Father, give them all that they could hope for.
I can't.
But God can.
Because you are with Him, because through Christ we are forgiven, I know you will be together once more.
But, oh, how you are missed, little one.
Remembering with love, Gabriel Anton
December 10, 2007
Friday, October 16, 2009
My Apologies
I'm so sorry, dear bloggy friends, that I haven't been around lately. I kind of feel tapped right now and don't really know what to write.
Rest assured, I'm alright, things are going well.
Fall is our very favourite season around here. The leaves changing, the crispness in the air, the smells of bonfires. I hope, even if you don't have the colours we do, that you are enjoying it. I promise when the spirit moves me, I'll be back to write again.
Much love to all.
Rest assured, I'm alright, things are going well.
Fall is our very favourite season around here. The leaves changing, the crispness in the air, the smells of bonfires. I hope, even if you don't have the colours we do, that you are enjoying it. I promise when the spirit moves me, I'll be back to write again.
Much love to all.
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