tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-358729932011-12-14T19:03:48.717-08:00We seek the roots laced through our history~ our life's threads. We uncover them when something is awry in the bloom, always looking to the source of its strength. And what of traumatized children? What of a little one with attachment disorder and a complete lack of trust in the self and the world? What do they have to cling to or grow from? Our mission is very much about seeking, possessing, and restoring these cords- these foundations, for ourselves, and for these hurt kiddos.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.comBlogger201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-13581637978903519492007-05-18T21:32:00.000-07:002007-05-18T21:48:23.468-07:00

no voice. they have none at all. a five year old says her daddy washes inside her tooty with his bare hands. they warn him of his "boundaries" and go on with their day. what have we told her? this same girl at ten finds out her mother is pregnant. she writes a letter to the state, and the judge and anyone who will listen. "don't let her take a baby home for one night" she pleads. she begs. she

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-68814532422986716192007-05-10T10:39:00.000-07:002007-05-10T11:01:15.974-07:00

I don't know why I want to include this, except that I can't get it out of my head. When I first heard it, I could only weep for my daughter Emma. I wondered if perhaps the artist (Emmylou Harris) had herself lost a baby. the more I listen to it, the more I wonder if it is a different kind of lost. a Tieran kind of lost. either way, it is more than a song, it seems to me a prayer. And I pray it

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-68550660768808909592007-05-07T14:47:00.000-07:002007-05-07T14:49:01.895-07:00

isn't it ironic. friday my son's birthmother gave birth to another boy. justice is his name. how perfect. perfectly maddening and sickening. a baby with that name born to a world that will not show him any.I wish I had something powerful to say. to believe in. to feel.I feel nothing. it is just too much

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-89073963499132960032007-05-02T23:46:00.000-07:002007-05-02T23:58:42.998-07:00

I haven't been able to form a thought, let alone in words, since my last post. But I've been thinking a lot about long reaches lately. Tieran's been at his new temporary home for three months now. Three months since I left him there, both of us in a fog. That day where he showed true fear is long gone. His survival mode is back, and his defiance even stronger. I can't help but wonder how far the

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1170213435790561992007-01-30T19:13:00.000-08:002007-01-30T19:17:15.810-08:00

He is gone, I’m sure. I’m really convinced that he might be someplace too hard to come back from. His eyes are empty, and look only straight ahead. They are looking right through whatever is right in front of him. I lean down and embrace him. I crouch and pull him on my knee. I repeat what the new teacher has just repeated twice herself. He stares through her forehead. I whisper, hoping a change

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1170211676416099842007-01-30T18:37:00.000-08:002007-01-30T18:47:56.436-08:00

"I am humbled in this city. There seems to be an endless sea of people like us~Wakeful dreamers, I pass them on the sunlit streets. In our rooms filled with laughter We make hope from every small disaster" The WeepiesI haven't written for ages. I have hardly talked with my loved ones. I started to think there was no point in writing. Even talking. What is there to say? How can I express anything

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1168599534888888412007-01-12T02:18:00.000-08:002007-01-12T03:10:33.940-08:00

I walked out the door yesterday and waltzed straight into Narnia. Complete with last year's fawn nibbling ivy in the snow just off my front porch. It wasn't until later that I thought perhaps I had seen Tieran. I saw him everywhere, actually. First in the stubborn little fawn that has been eating alone in my yard for the past three days-well into dark snowy nights- and soon after in a baby duck.I

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1164697680386328662006-11-27T22:45:00.000-08:002006-11-27T23:13:15.763-08:00

Tieran's third birthday. His first trip home with us. I remember how surprised I was at how willingly he came. We had just shown up a few days before, ready to spend a few days getting to know him... Not intending to necessarily bring him home. But it was going so well, and he was so incredibly loving and open and it just seemed so right. Ah, if only we knew that it was a telltale sign of

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1162978296254362372006-11-08T01:11:00.000-08:002006-11-08T01:31:36.273-08:00

Okay, this is not for the weary or faint-hearted. And definitely a long read. But well worth it to any who are considering adoption of a foster kiddo(not as a "do not proceed" just as a "proceed with care and awareness!") Or for any who are trying to understand the situations these families face. I am trying to hold onto this, as Tieran is very much unable to say it with his words, and working

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1162976897724908032006-11-08T00:49:00.000-08:002006-11-08T01:11:45.350-08:00

I feel like Bill Murray in What About Bob."Baby steps off the elevator... Baby steps down the hall..." And then there's the fact that I could also be seen standing in the middle of town screaming for a shrink... But that's a topic for another day.As for today, I got a miraculous phone call. And in all my excitement I completely forgot what the heck I was really so excited about. We have been

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1162449174869375142006-11-01T21:57:00.000-08:002006-11-02T09:07:15.260-08:00

I used to be quite Pollyanna-ish. You know her, right? She's the center of a "heart-warming story of hope and happiness... Pollyanna is the timeless tale of a little girl with an irrepressible enthusiasm for life ... Pollyanna plays the 'Glad Game' -- in which everyone can find a silver lining in even the darkest cloud, and her sunny nature, good humor and determination to look on the bright

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1162279242999055082006-10-30T23:12:00.000-08:002006-10-30T23:20:43.006-08:00

lyrics by Over the Rhine...who regularly make me weep and laugh and keep taking the next stepand then weep some moreCHANGES COME, by Over the Rhine"Changes comeTurn my world aroundI have my father's handI have my mother's tongueI look for redemption in everyoneI wanna wear your ringI have a song to singIt ain't over babeIn fact it's just begunChanges comeTurn my world aroundChanges comeBring the

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1162277806371723812006-10-30T22:39:00.000-08:002006-10-30T23:01:29.323-08:00

So I lost it today. And then found something too. Doesn't it always go like that.Tieran and I had a tender morning when he was sick this week, and I was stupid enough to remind him that part of the way good moms take care of their little guys is to keep them bundled up and warm. So he went the rest of the week stripping and taking off his coat and socks and shoes and finding any puddles within a

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1161591011880081662006-10-23T00:52:00.000-07:002006-10-23T01:10:11.890-07:00

I am dragging myself off to bed, but know that if I don't write it now, it will mutate and then fade and be gone forever... So write I must.Tieran's morning was slow and stumbly. (Not a word, I know, but there isn't a better one I can think of right now) He was a bit under the weather, which sadly to say, is kind of nice for us. It generally means he'll slow down a bit, not rage as hard, and

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1161310660151176132006-10-19T19:00:00.000-07:002006-10-19T19:25:41.586-07:00

I'm no photographer, and it's a shame, because I'd give just about anything for some really good pictures(the kind that do justice,) of the amazing ironies I saw in these Redwoods. This picture is taken standing inside what should be the trunk of a redwood probably near 200 feet tall. It was burned through in a fire. Think it died? Nope. It's funny, cause I always refer to the insides of us

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1161193870097807812006-10-18T10:44:00.000-07:002006-10-18T11:36:59.383-07:00

When you wake up one morning and lie there wondering who you are, it helps to have people who have known you forever. When you go through the day wondering when you stopped laughing, or if you ever laughed much, it is especially helpful. When it dawns on you that you are not doing any of the things you thought you would, and that who you essentially are is drastically different than how you

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1161162531055524022006-10-18T02:01:00.000-07:002006-10-18T02:24:49.223-07:00

So I'm going through my writing, and came across this blurb I knew I had to throw on paper a few months back. This blog is my new attempt to chronicle our journey with Tieran, and though we are definitely past this stage now, I figure I should include it for perspective sake.... It actually helps for me to see that it wasn't that long ago he was calling me "Sarah" rather than mom. Just when I

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1161112814588747452006-10-17T12:07:00.000-07:002006-10-17T16:20:08.033-07:00

Last night Jarod pointed out the ironic symbolism in Tieran's decisions regarding what to "take in" literally and figuratively.Recently, while in trouble for something, he was "helping" me sweep the kitchen. He does this with a really big paint brush (cause the broom is too dangerous!) So anyway, he's sweeping up the pile I already swept, into the dustpan. I am on the other side of the kitchen

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1160988259757490682006-10-16T01:14:00.000-07:002006-10-18T11:42:28.370-07:00

When you have an attachment-disordered 4 year old, you cannot possibly read enough books. You keep an ear to the door of all conferences, and new "best practices" of psychology. Our munchkin's therapist sent me a new one, and I am now devouring it. It's called The Jonathon Letters. Emails and letters between a woman who took in an attachment-disordered kiddo and a specialized clinician across

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35872993.post-1160609900192251272006-10-11T16:34:00.000-07:002006-10-16T18:49:06.380-07:00

This walking onand on, thisgoing and coming--this morningshines such lovelylight onall of uswe're home.~Robert Creeley

Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18422549194338681463noreply@blogger.com1