Monday, August 24, 2009

Brooklynn and Harper Turn 2!

My sister and I are lucky enough to have had our second children 1 week apart from eachother. In the spirit of turning 2, my niece Brookie very nicely shared her birthday party with my little Harper (who will be turning two on Sunday). Here are some pics of the event. :)

Sunday, August 23, 2009

I'm taking a stab at writing a book...

Here's the beginning. Let me know what you think. Would you read it based solely on this?




The Child,
Full of Hope

By
Emily Stuart


"The sun has a purpose. The moon has a purpose. The snow has a purpose. Cows have a purpose. You were born for a purpose. You have to find your purpose. Go to school. Learn to read and write. … What is your purpose, your occupation? Find your purpose.…"


Love is the net where hearts are caught like fish.”

- Muhammad Ali


Prologue


Her life started in much the same way as any other. A hot night in Abbadia San Salvatore, Italy, young hormones raging.

“C'mon baby. It'll be ok. Everyone is doing it.”

“Ok, but don't tell anyone about it. I don't want to be the town slut.”

At the age of twelve, what else would people think?

Jump ahead nine months. The tiny, innocent baby had heard the rumblings from outside the womb the whole pregnancy.

“That poor little baby, being born to a thirteen year old mother. How will she ever take care of that poor child?”

“How could her mother let this happen. Only twelve when she got knocked up. Tsk tsk.”

“She's clearly just a rebel, and that baby has no chance of anything better. That's really too bad. If only she'd had parents who cared, maybe this wouldn't have happened...”

Little did they know, the young mother was on her way to LAX, the largest airport in California, USA.

Adoption was the name of the game now. With a picture of the parents-to-be in hand, her mother moved swiftly, so as to not bring much attention to their “little problem”.

“Get out of the car now Diane. It's time to go.”

Her mother helped her carefully, so as to not damage the precious, money making cargo she held in her nearly bursting belly.

“Do you remember what you say to these people when you get there?”

“Of course, mother. We've been through it a thousand times, at least.”

“Repeat it to me. I want to make sure.”

“Thank you so much for taking this burden off of me and my family. You are godsends. You have saved me the hardship of trying to raise a child of my own when I am just a child myself”, she stated in the broken English she had been practicing over the last seven months.

Her mother insisted that the child would be an American, far away from any ties to the “family” the baby would leave behind in their small city in Italy.

Self-preservation had been a lifelong struggle surrounding (but not constricting) the small baby, even before her hapless birth.

“Here's your ticket. There's your terminal. Don't call until the baby is born and gone. Your father and I will wire you the money for a ticket home when you can prove it's all taken care of.”

“Uh, okay. No 'good luck', 'remember your breathing', 'we love you honey?'”

“Of course not! How absurd you can be, little girl! You got yourself into this mess. You're lucky we've gotten you out of it. Goodbye.”

Not only did the young girl feel crushed, but she had a feeling the small baby in her belly felt it too.

Sadly, she did.

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