amtolle

The Beginning of a Novel

The research into the writing of my first book, has helped answer some questions on where I came from. The fact finding has helped to give a beginning to my life.

The emotions and feelings are hard to understand. I am not alone in feeling this way. My sister, she now shares the same feelings as I did and do. She is a little lost at the moment on what to do next, but has filed for her original birth certificate, the one prior to her adoption. She does not know how far she is going to go, if she will seek out her biological parents or not. She will cross that bridge when she gets there.

For me, I do not feel like I am totally alone in knowing there was a secret so sacred no one spoke. Since my sister has contacted every living relative and family friend she can think of to ask questions, the secret is no longer secret.

“The girls know they are adopted”

One of the steps in the research is to contact an attorney to learn how to obtain the adoptions statues for the state of New Mexico. I was born in Colorado, but the adoption was in New Mexico. The online sources give current adoption statues, not the statues of the 1960’s when I was adopted. There will probably be a road trip involved.

There is one road trip to Colorado. My oldest daughter and I are going to research the Sister’s of Mercy orphanage history. The Sister’s of Mercy opened a hospital, boarding schools and orphanage in the late 1880’s. The orphanage was still in operation in the 1960’s. Several catholic orphanages were also used as unwed mothers homes in the 1950′ thru 1970’s. The catholic orphanages did not handle the adoptions, that was the responsibility of attorneys or adoption agencies. We are going to look into the not so popular history of Durango, Colorado, the place of my birth and my beginning.

In learning how to write a novel, the book I am reading, “How Fiction Works” by James Wood states to have location and history information correct. And since my life is the spine to this novel, I want the information to be accurate as best as is possible.

This novel will be full of intriguing events such as meetings at the state line to pick up a baby, a coworker’ girlfriend is pregnant, to adopting a half-breed child from white parents. Secrets, lies, and turmoil. Should make a good read. My life seems to be a fiction novel, why not write it down for others to share.

I did not tell to keep things secret, nor did I tell the lies. Those who did are gone, their voices silence. I will let facts expose the deceit and mysteries of my life. One day, I will be free of the cocoon of deceit. A follower told me that would make a good title, Free from the Cocoon of Deceit, for an autobiography, sounds good.

amtolle

Prescription: Lamb Cuteness

This week has been tough emotionally. When I try to speak to my adoptive family about my adoption, I go on an emotional roller coaster. What do I do when the emotions start to become overwhelming? I go to the ewe and lamb pen. Since I am not very good and fast with the making of videos, I borrowed a cute lamb video from you tube.

And when I do not have lambs I go to you tube and watch a few videos. Who can not love the way the jump and race around? Young lambs show the joy of just being alive. Something I need reminded of this week. There is joy in just being alive.

I sit, breath, watch and focus on the moment, not my past. The lambs are a fast fix of my emotions. I just have to sit and watch.

Each of us has times when emotions seem to go wild in our lives. My emotions go wild when I think about not being told I was adopted by my parents. The fact I did not have facts until I was 48 is hard sometimes. I usually just push it out of my mind. But maybe the Creator is telling me I need to face it and know it. Not push the facts out of my mind on some back dusty corner shelf, but learn to embrace that part of my life, and not let the deceit of a lifetime control my emotions.

Today, was a day to just be. I watched the lambs. Groomed the horses. No talking to relatives, to researching for answers, no writing on the book to come. Just being. Letting the sea of emotions calm to focus on what I will be doing next.

I took the day off and watched lambs jump for joy.

amtolle

Free Me from the Cocoon of Deception

Sounds like a nice book title….? Actually it is a plea. A plea to family members sworn to secrecy for almost 60 years. I know I am adopted, why not tell me the story.

I learned 12 years ago I was adopted beyond any doubt. I was in my late forties. As a “white fleece” I call Vital Statistics to see if they would tell me I was adopted. The kind lady answered she could not, but I could pay the fee and request my adoption records. If there are no records the agency would refund my money. Ok, I played the game, I paid the fee, filled out the information and waited. A couple weeks later I received a large envelope with my original birth certificate, two letters from the attorney to the State requesting the new birth certificate because I had been adopted and a copy of the court stamped and recorded degree saying I was adopted to my parents and my new name.

First response to seeing the information was shock, no emotions and not one thought went through my mind. Just silent shock. Later, a huge array of emotions hit, mostly about the lies, teasing from cousins about being adopted, being called a half-breed, the avoidance of the subject. Anger was the predominate first emotion. Sadness followed wondering why no one could tell me the truth.

( In this post, father and mother refer to those who took care of me and raised me.)

My father was deceased. I would ask my mother, she was still living in the area we grew up in with her sister, my aunt. On a visit, my aunt brought out her wedding album. My aunt was a beautiful bride, had the full wedding common in that time era. I saw pictures of my sister on a pillow in my aunt’s lap at the wedding. I asked where are the pictures of me with my aunt? The photo album was slammed shut, aunt say, “I am tired of looking at these” and put the album away. I brought up the trouble I was having in getting a birth certificate, and that my sister and I were 19 weeks apart.

“Well, the state looses things all the time.” my mother said, staring out the window. “You know your sister was premature.”

“Yeah, but it takes awhile before a woman can get pregnant after having a child.” I responded.

Mom looks at and gives her giggle (the indicator a lie is going to be told), ” Your dad and I were h***y”. Aunt joins in the giggle.

“It is impossible for my sister and I to be as close in age as we are.” I state.

Mom looks at me sternly, “We are not discussing this. What do you know you were just a kid.” And leaves the room with an excuse to freshen up.

I knew I was not going to get anywhere there. And so it is with the rest of my aunts and uncles from my mother’s side of the family.

Feeling frustrated, I put the information on the shelf.

Two years later, while talking and reconnecting with cousin M, I set up the conversation to see if she would change the subject, or tell the truth.

“You know you and your sister are both adopted, right.” stated cousin M.

The tears began to flood down my checks. She continues,” You know right? oh my God, you did not know. I was not supposed to tell you. I was never to say a word about it. I thought you knew. I am so sorry, I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

I gain composure, told her the story of obtaining my adoption records and I knew with no doubt I was adopted.

I had lived with the lie “you are not adopted” for almost 50 years. You get in the habit of living a lie, going along with the status quo. I decided I was old enough to stop.

Shortly after obtaining my adoption records, I got me a female purebred Australian puppy. I named my puppy my original birth name, Bonnie Jo. Each time I had to call my puppy, I had to say my original birth name and remember not to live the lie. My puppy is now twelve years old. I do not live the lie of “not being adopted”.

I have informed every relative I have talked to I am adopted, I have court records showing I am adopted. And yes, some aunts and uncles have asked to see the court records, to verify I am not making up a story.

My sister asked, “Why did you not tell me I was adopted when you found out?”

I will admit, I feel guilty about not telling her ten years ago when relatives told me we both were adopted. But mom was still living. Mom lived a few miles from my sister. If I told my sister she was adopted along with me, my sister would go straight to mom and ask. I know what my mom’s answer would be, as I heard it often enough when I uncovered a truth, “Do be absurd. You know your sister makes up things, or gets things changed around. Your not adopted, and neither is she.”

In a way it is good a non family member told my sister. She can not say it was some story they got from me that is not true.

My sister has called a living aunts and uncles asking questions. She has no more information from them as I did. ” I do not know, but you were so cute and we were so glad to have you in our family. Does it really matter. Besides I can not remember all that went on back then.”

I feel wrapped in a cocoon, tight like the changing caterpillar, only I can not get out, but want to see the light and fly in all my beauty. If my sister and I are going to get any answers, it will have to be from a non family member.

amtolle

Update to “Decisions Are Made”

We make decisions daily, most are not major and have no major consequences or actions following the decision.

Late last night, actually at 2 AM today my time, I made a decision and posted “Decisions Are Made”, not realizing the events that would follow. I was expressing a decision concerning my adoption and the reasons for choosing not to pursue finding my biological family. There would be events from me posting my thoughts and decision on my adoption that I could not even dream up.

I appreciate all the comments and words I have received on the post “Decisions Are Made”. I appreciate those who follow my blog, and those I do not know who read my postings. A surprise greeted me this morning at approximately 9:30 AM with a phone call from one of my followers I was unaware of, the sister I was raised with.

When my sister called me, which is very rare, mostly we communicate through text messages, which is great as we are both busy people. I thought her call was to bring me bad news, the kind of news about family no one wants to hear. Instead, she wanted to talk about my blog post. She follows my blog, a happy surprise for me.

God does work in mysterious ways. We both knew one of us two girls had to be adopted. Sisters can not be 19 weeks apart in age, and both be born from the same biological mother. She had heard whispered rumors I was adopted, not a big deal. Last week, she ran into an person who our dad worked for and some how in the conversation came up about our dad adopting two children. My sister figured I was adopted, but the person insisted there were two children adopted. Then she reads my blog post “Decisions Are Made” at 4 AM in the morning of posting. She could not sleep, so she read my blog.

In the phone conversation she wanted to know what I knew about our adoptions. Who told me what. What was said. How I obtained my adoptions records. Where I had researched to learn of my biological parents.

I told her she was adopted first as a premature infant. Our mother’s mom, a nurse, was at her birth. I was adopted later at thirteen months of age. Our mom and dad fought over my adoption, my dad insisted, my mom did not want to adopt me. Raising two young children only 19 weeks apart in age with one being a preemie, would be a lot of work. Being the mother of four, with two girls 17 months apart, I can understand the reluctance of my mother concerning my adoption. Plus, I was not an infant.

I let her know our brothers who are natural children, both know of our adoptions. Our brothers had told my husband of my children I was adopted. She might want to start there since one of our brothers still lives in the same town.

I also told her of when I knew I was adopted and tried to get our mom to tell me. Mom was not going to ever tell me I was adopted, even though I let her know I was. Letting her know there may be some reluctance from our brothers to discuss the subject.

Many followers wonder why we were not told of our adoptions by family members or our parents. Talking to several family members, the younger ones were swore to secrecy with “beating until death” if they ever mentioned to us about being adopted. It was a very strict rule of silence within both sides of the family to never, ever under any circumstances reveal to either one of us about being adopted. Do not judge our family as these rules were held in place.

Every family has secrets, things that are spoken in whispers or not spoken of at all. This rule of silence was enforced so strongly, my cousin M who was the first family member to tell me, still feels badly about breaking this rule of silence even today.

My sister, 19 weeks younger than myself, for the first time learned she was adopted as well. My sister is wanting to find her biological parents and family. I wish her all the best. I know she will meet roadblocks trying to find information. I know there will be emotions on meeting the biological family. I am excited for her.

I am glad the light has finally shined on a this deeply hidden truth in our family. That was not the intent of my writing the post “Decisions Are Made”. I knew in the 1990’s I was adopted from the words of my husband at the time sharing that my brothers told him I was adopted. I put the information on a shelf. The information collected dust for many years. Then at the age of 48, I decided to dust off the information and see what I could find. On and off I have done research to find my biological parents. The recent research I have decide to end the searching. I was bringing a closure to the my search for biological parents. I am still writing a novel about the unwed homes and adoptions with a hint of my biological parents.

Yes, a white rose bush is so fitting for the remembrance of my adoption and biological parents.

amtolle

Decisions are Made

Some of life’s major events that affect us personally, are decisions made by others. I am adopted. I had no say in my adoption. The fact I was adopted was kept from me, my parents never once told me I was adopted. The grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, my husbands were told I was adopted, even my parents’ two natural children were told of my adoption. I was not. My mother denied I was adopted when I told her I had to be adopted when I was 30ish years old. At the age of 48, a cousin finally admitted to me I was adopted. The big life secret about me was finally in the open. The need to deny and not talk to me about being adopted is baffling, but not my decision.

I was 48 when I requested and received my adoption papers and information, including an original birth certificate. I had an organization called Adoption Angels locate my birth parents. My birth mother was already deceased. I supposedly have some half siblings for both my birth mother and birth father.

Lately, after some comments from a previous blog I posted, I made a decision to look into the adoption process of the time. The one question that had always troubled me was why I was put up for adoption. Previous research I discovered the wedding certificate of my birth parents. My birth parents were married as teenagers. According to the laws of the time period they would have required parental consent in order to get a marriage license and be married. It was not a runaway to Las Vegas to get married scenario.

They were married two years before I was born. So why was I put up for adoption by a married couple?

Those are decisions made where I have no consent or influence. I live with the consequences, but they did also.

Currently, I restarted the research of my adoption to perhaps find some answers. Those answers are going to be a little difficult to find considering my adopt took place over 50 almost 60 years ago. My adoption happened during what is termed the “Baby Scoop Era”. Where young pregnant usually unwed mothers were sent away to have their babies and return home without the child.

During this time was the sexual revolution, breaking the bonds of no sex until after matrimony. After World War II, women were experiencing new freedoms previous generations had not been given. But, some of the old rules of no sex until marriage were kept in place, since the only legal form of birth control was a condom. Yet, according to society, it was the woman’s fault if she got pregnant out of wedlock. These children who were born out of wedlock was their mother’s “dirty little secret” and was to be kept a secret for a lifetime.

Photo of babies at an unwed mothers home

In my research, I discovered that the women who gave children up for adoption kept their secret for a lifetime. They never told future husbands, their children or other family members. The only family members who knew of the given up child, was the mother’s parents.

Along with my research, I came across organizations who try to help adoptees reconnect with their biological families. I read the testimonies, one woman who was adopted during the time frame I was, found her biological mother. She was able to meet her biological mother, but not her half siblings. The biological mother was not ready to tell her children about her. The woman also shared, her biological mother never told her biological father about the pregnancy.

These women who became pregnant, went to an unwed mothers home and gave up their child, kept the secret of giving up a child as strongly as my parents refused to tell me I was adopted.

My biological father was an United States Marine at the time of my birth. Today, he is 80ish years old. If he knew of my birth, that I existed, would he even remember? Would his memory be clear? He has lived his life, do I have the right or would it be right to disrupt his golden years with my discovery? What type of shock of emotions if he did not know I existed, to suddenly learn he had a daughter when he was twenty?

My biological mother is deceased, she died before I was 48 years old and seen my adoption records. Her children, my half siblings, do I have the right to put a mark on their mother’s memory? They by all reason were never told of my existence, do I have a right to disrupt their lives?

The most important questions are what do I gain, how would contacting them be helpful for me? Answer some questions about why I was put up for adoption, doubtful. Medical family history, probably not much help since I have lived to be 60ish, doctors feel if I was going to have a health problem was could be prevented by knowing my family medical history, it would have already showed up. My biological family medical history is not necessary information that I need at this point in my life.

I have and continue to live my life by causing no harm to others. Even if the person deserves to get a “beating”, I am reluctant to give the beating. Example, I kicked a cheating boyfriend out of the house by beating him with the couch cushions, instead of the cast iron frying pan he deserved.

I choose to live in harmony and to not disturb the harmony of others’ lives. I can only see if I pursue the research of finding my biological father and half-siblings of causing a rift in the harmony of their lives. The reactions to my existence and possible interaction may cause hostility towards me and disrupt the harmony I have in my own life.

So, for once and for all, I am going to make the final decision. I am not going to not pursue the finding of my biological family. My oldest daughter has expressed a desire to search out my biological family, a desire I will discuss with her as to what the consequences of doing so may be.

I wish and pray for my biological family to have peace, joy and a good life. I will bury my questions under a rose bush in remembrance of my biological parents and family.

amtolle

P.S. I plant different rose bushes as remembrances of those were important in my life who are deceased.

Lambing Has Began

I love to watch new life enter the world. I raise sheep, so I watch baby lambs being born. The group of ewes that are currently having lambs are first time ewes or first time mothers. I raise most of my ewes. This group of first time mothers I have raised from lambs.

Two days ago, the first lamb arrived. The lamb arrived in the early morning before I had begun my day. A boy lamb or ram lamb was born. The ewe is a good mother, taking care of her lamb and knowing where he is at all times. Mothering is a trait learned from their mothers when they were born. This ewe #32 had her lamb on her own. Spring lambing 2022 has officially begun.

Today was Sale Barn day, the day I go to the sheep auction to socialize and see what sheep are selling for. I also went today with the hope of purchasing another livestock guard dog puppy, a male. I was able to get our new livestock guard dog puppy, a male, eight weeks old, named Bob. I check the expectant mothers several times a day. Upon returning home, I opened our gate and felt I needed to look at the expectant mothers.

One ewe was in labor, and it was not good, only one leg instead of two and a head. No time to waste, with gate still open and sheep in the yard to graze, truck still running, I went to work. First, find the others leg. Sheep are very small, so any feeling for a leg or nose is done with two or three fingers. Barely found a second foot, but not sure if this ewe is caring a single lamb or twins. Hoping the foot belongs to the lamb I can see, I try to pull the foot forward to free up the shoulders and allow the lamb to enter the world. Things are too slippery. I get a piece of hay bale twine, with two fingers put a loop around the foot. By now the lamb’s tongue is blue, not a good sign. I pull on the twine hoping to move the foot and leg forward, the ewe grunts and pushes, finally the leg adjusts and the birth starts progressing. She pushes and I pull to deliver a little boy. I instantly clear the head, and put the lamb in front of mom. I see his rib cage is moving, meaning he is alive, not to get him invigorated by mom licking on him. Mom is in a little bit of shock from the stalled delivery, so I wipe my wet hands from the birth on her nose, she begins to lick and talk to her lamb.

A few minutes later I checked to see their progress, lamb was nursing, mom was doing good.

I am thankful I have the knowledge and experience to assist this ewe with the delivery of her lamb. I did not always have the knowledge or experience. I started raising sheep in 2016. Although I had assisted horses in delivery, a sheep is much smaller and more of a challenge to assist in the delivery of young.

With anything we want to learn, we have to take a step forward to learn and do. At first we are not good at what we are doing. There is no “instant success” in any activity or adventure. You have to gain knowledge, skill and experience to reach success.

I tried to get some videos on this post. I will have to take time to upload, download and whatever else I need to do to allow you the pleasure of seeing a new born lamb and mother. I did remember to bring the cell phone to take photos and video after. The situation before was serious, no time for photos.

Hope you enjoy. Thanks for stopping by for a visit.

amtolle

It is DONE!

Finally, after gathering numbers our tax return is filed. I do not like what in the United States we call “tax season”. The time of year when a person has to gather all their financial information to send to the government to make sure we pay the taxes owed.

I used to be a bookkeeper for others, but I do not like working inside. I prefer to be outside breathing fresh air and working with animals or playing in the dirt. But during each month I sit down at my desk and do our financial records, and once a year we file the tax information.

Financial records are important for the sheep farm. I need to know if I am making a profit on raising the sheep and what my cash flow is. A person can have many assets, but no cash flow. Cash flow is important as I have to purchase feed every month.

Bookkeeping is the necessary evil of having a business. There are advantages of being self-employed, I get to do what I love doing, taking care of animals and growing plants for food or pleasure.

One important task of being self-employed is to do the bookkeeping to know if what you are doing is making money or costing money.

The hardest part for me and others is treating the business like any other job. You have set times to work, and schedule certain tasks with a deadline. I have a schedule I keep in my planner on breeding dates that lead to lambing dates. I also schedule the deworming, vaccinations and hoof trimming times. The days in between are sometimes difficult to fill with tasks. There is always fences that need to be check and repaired, shelters to clean and other sheep care items.

During the scheduling of what to do with your time, there needs to be time off. The time in the week where you do something besides work. I find this to be the hardest time to schedule. There is always a long list of things that need to be done or improved upon.

The past two years I have learned I am more productive and my problem solving is much faster if I stay to the scheduled time off from work. Just like when working a job for someone and being there scheduled times during the week, when those days off come around you unwind, clear your thoughts, destress. It is the same when you are self-employed. You need time to unwind, clear your thoughts, destress, think of something other than your business to get refreshed.

Raising sheep is harder to get a day totally off, as the sheep need to be fed and watered. During the months when the grass is growing, they are herded to pasture and returned to the pens at night. They need care seven days a week all year long. But on my scheduled days off, I only do the feeding part of taking care of sheep. After the chores of feeding and water are complete, I have me time.

What do I do with me time. In the spring I plant flowers and a vegetable/herb garden. Or I might decide that I am going to paint or sew something. I do anything that is not related to the business that I can be creative doing. The most important is the activities of the day bring me joy, no pressure.

So, with the work of raising sheep and time doing something to relax, when do I clean house. I clean house on Sundays. I keep the house up daily, like washing dishes, etc. But the mopping the floors, laundry and what I call heavy cleaning is done on Sundays. Why Sunday? Monday through Friday other businesses are open, so if I need something to do a task, I am able to get it. Saturdays are sheep auction days, I am at the auction sale barn to socialize and keep track of the markets on sheep. Sunday is the only day left for the deep cleaning of the house.

The important decision is to make a schedule that allows you to get things done just as you would working for someone else. And stay with the schedule.

Photo by Aphiwat chuangchoem on Pexels.com

The most helpful tool to being self-employed is an alarm clock. You set the alarm clock to get out of bed and start your day. No sleeping in when it is a day to go to work for yourself. You want to treat yourself as a boss, just as you would if you worked for someone else. Yourself deserves to have a good employee in yourself.

I had to change and grow to be a good employee for myself. The hardest was starting my day at the same time each day and not be sidetracked. I am still working on the side track. I do not always do the task I scheduled for that day.

Do you have the discipline to work for your self? Have you ever thought about working for yourself? What would your schedule be?

amtolle

The Start of My Day

Each day I start with a cup of coffee in my office. I have a window where I observe the outside world waking up with me. Outside of the window is one of two trees. For reasons unknown this tree has the life of the whole yard. The birds nest there. The cats play in this tree, and the dogs nap under the tree.

The office is also where my daily planner is and all other business related items. My daily planner reminds me of the choices I made on the previous Sunday. Each Sunday I sit down and plan out a week.

The plans include what jobs will be done on the place such as fixing fences, training dogs or horses, building things and tearing down things. My planner also holds all the important dates for the sheep farming business, such as breeding dates, lambing dates and when to vaccinate or deworm. I also record when ewes lamb in my planner.

Along with work related reminders, I have planned out our meals. Meal planning helps schedule an easy to make dinner on a really busy day or perhaps just left overs from the day before. The planning of meals assists with grocery shopping, one of my least favorite activities. How can something cost so much and just disappear in a week? It was worse when there were children in the home.

Yes, I start each day, not having to think or schedule, just enjoy. Enjoy the view from my window as I and the world around me wakes up. Today, I say a cat playing in the tree, racing around the branches hoping to catch a bird off guard for a tasty meal.

After his scampering among the branches, he took to watching, just as I was. Yes, the window is dirty.

amtolle

Getting Ready

I raise sheep. I plan the months I want the lambs to be born in. February is not a month for lambs. The icy rain storms with frigid cold temperatures and high humidity are hard on lambs. The lambs get cold. When lambs get cold, they become lethargic and do not get up to eat. Unless the lambs eat, they will die. The work for keeping lambs alive in February is much more work and requires around the clock care in the cold. I do not like the cold.

I planned the lambing of a group of first time mothers to be in March. March is here and they are starting to make udders and getting ready for the process of labor and lambs.

A week or two before the scheduled time of lambing, I get my lambing kit ready. My lambing kit contains a digital scale with a sling for weighing the lambs after their born. I need their birth weight for my record keeping. Ear tags are included to mark the lambs so I know which lamb came from which ewe and to track weight gain. Probiotics are used to give their digestive system a jump start. The more milk they are able to digest, the stronger they are as newborn lambs. The last is iodine tincture to treat the umbilical cord to prevent infection. And my little book.

My little book records the date, ewe’s number, the lamb’s number, sex and the birth weight and weaning weight. The difference in the weaning weight and birth weight tell me if the ewe is producing good to excellent milk for her lambs. Milk production is important to having a healthy lamb.

I enjoy the lambing. I do not like the cold. I enjoy watching new life be born. The sight of the lamb is always a happy thought and will brighten my darkest days. This year, I am trying to remember my phone or the camera for lambing. I want to take more pictures to share my lambing joys with others. One of my faults is I get so into the moment of watching the new lambs stand, walk and nurse, I forget to take pictures to share.

I do not live with my phone attached to my body. My phone is not strong enough to survive the rigors I put it through. I used to have a really tough phone. That phone had a rough life. The phone went swimming in the water troughs twice, was ran over by the large tractor once and I do not know how many times the riding lawn mower abused it. And it kept working. Although the old phone handled the farm life well, it got to the point it could no longer handle the internet life. So I had to get a good internet capable phone that lacked the tough exterior of its predecessor.

Look forward to some lambing stories and pictures provided I remember the phone and remember to use it.

amtolle

The Rocking Chair

While pregnant with my second child, I wanted a rocking chair to rock my baby. I searched yard sales to find one. I could not afford to purchase a rocking chair new. Finally I my searching was rewarded with locating a bentwood rocking chair with maroon covered back and seat. There were scratches on the woodwork, and the covering was not plush as when new. But it was sturdy, able to perform the purpose it was created for. And I could afford the price. I took my treasure home.

I placed the rocking chair in the main part of the living room, center of all the family activity. I rocked my baby even before we met each others eyes. In the rocking chair I rocked my second child, third and fourth.

The rocking chair became the place where I read books to the small children while nursing the fourth child. The rocking chair would support the weight of all five of us, as children hang on mom and the chair when I was reading. Them saying, “I need to see the pictures.”

As the children grew, we could not all be supported by the rocking chair. But mom and a child could. The rocking chair was moved to the quiet part of the main living room. There each day, mom and child, would have a quiet time of being held and loved.

Years move on and the child and mom time becomes the catch up on the day time. After school, each child took a turn telling mom about their day. The new kid at school, how they got a perfect score on a test, or sometimes the test score was not so good. We would rock and talk.

Children grow and become teenagers. The talks in the rocking chair became less often. The conversations shifted to friendships that struggled or a heart felt interest, and dreams of after graduation.

Time does not sit still like the rocking chair does in a corner collecting dust. The children have become young adults with jobs and first loves. Not much time to sit with mom and talk about their day.

I do not know what happened with the rocking chair after the children left home. I know it was a little wobbly and covered with scratches. The padded seat had been recovered once with a patterned material.

I did not think the children thought much about the rocking chair and time spent with mom until I received a phone call one day from my second son. He and his wife made a decision to get divorced and he was hurting inside. “Mom I wish I could just sit on your lap in the chair the way we used to when things were not going well. I wish I was with you in the rocking chair.”

Sometimes it is the plain and small things that make such a difference in the lives of children.

amtolle