Happy Birthday, Happy Homecoming, Happy Thanksgiving 2013!

Another year passing makes me feel, down to my bones, the winds of change and time blowing faster and faster.  I see clearly the power of what is possible in 365 days.  And equally clearly how easily I can let those precious, fleeting opportunities slip through my fingers.  With my little daughter growing up quickly into a “fierce” young lady – unwilling to take cr*p from anyone but willing to lend hand to all, I see the power of the woman she will one day become.  I see the power in supporting the women, the girls around the world, should become.  There are girl heroes like Malala who inspire me to try to do more.  And girls, taken from us too soon, who leave my heart heavy wondering what they could have done – like Hana or Marra Freh -- yet amazed at their legacy for ones so young.

I also feel a growing weight of responsibility as a woman, a mother and a person who has benefited from many wonderful opportunities.  I want to raise my girl to be everything she can be while simultaneously helping her navigate the tricky waters she has ahead as a transracial, international adoptee.  Looking at her makes my heart melt – EVERY TIME.  When her black eyes gaze lovingly and says, “Mama” and her tinkling voice then tells me whatever is on her mind, she pierces my soul. And I can see her beautiful depth when I stare into her inky orbs as I tell her all the reasons she is special and why I love her with my whole being.  She is so strong when she stands up for what she believes in and yet so fragile when she is truly frightened. She is my warrior princess.  I see the vast possibilities of the next generation represented in her.   And so, I can envision a better world with more equality and opportunity through education and empowerment. 

I read an article about the key difference between kids who excel at math and those that don’t.  Surprisingly, it is that those who excel believe it can be learned; while those who don’t, believe it is an innate ability.  I want my daughter to believe everything can be learned and anything is possible.  As a grown woman, I still need to repeatedly, remind myself of both those things.  As the passage of another year brings reflection, I look back on the past five with my darling daughter and can hardly remember life before she joined our family.  Our eldest son made a similar remark recently.  Leyla is always annoyed to hear of happenings that pre-dated her arrival.  She too finds it hard to contemplate our family without her there.

Below are a few of my favorite pictures of us over the years.  Watch out world; this little one is going to make her mark!  And I will be supporting and cheering for her on, each step of whatever path she chooses. 

Happy Thanksgiving to all and Happy Homecoming to my beautiful daughter.  Coming home on the day of my birth five year ago made it  indescribably more special .  You changed me for the better in so many ways, and for that I am most thankful, my sweet, funny girl.

 

 

 

Long Overdue Thank You Letter to My Yoga Teacher

My friend sent me a note recently letting me know that my favorite Yoga Studio, Terra Yoga, and a supporter of our event since year one, was going out of business.  I thought, “Surely, this can’t be.”  So I went on-line and confirmed to my great dismay that sadly it was true.  My instructor and the studio owner wrote a deep and thoughtful letter about her reasons and her journey to accept this loss and embrace a new and unexpected path.  To be honest, I haven’t been to the studio for years but for an occasional practice.  Life had a way of filling all the minutes.  And as a working mom, taking 2 hours on the weekend was very challenging. 

I learned of the studio when I first moved to Seattle alone with my two boys.  After battling cancer, I no longer wanted to work out at a gym. I wanted something richer and more fulfilling, a mind and body experience.  I started yoga while still in Chicago and enjoyed the relaxation of my mind which was battered with fear and doubts; it raced without abatement most days and I needed it to stop.  I also enjoyed the physical results on my body which needed gentle healing and to adjust to a new state.  The experience with Carina was at another level entirely.  I have taken her instruction with me.  She taught me some very important lessons I really needed to learn:

First, be kind to myself.  I demand much of my mind and body and am often disappointed in one or both.  Working to accept my limitations while still pushing myself to grow and learn was a revolutionary approach for me.

Second, my life is a journey.  The fact each class is studiously called a practice helps reinforce this message.  Everything I do or think or learn is part of my path.  Embracing the journey helps me to put many things in better perspective and allows me to enjoy and laugh where previously I may have pushed or despaired.

Third, it’s only about me.  I don’t need to compare myself to others, either in the class, or in life.  I find this one harder as I envy those whose practice allows them to do yogic feats that still elude me.  I also look at those in the world who left a positive mark of great significance and wish I could accomplish similar achievements.  But now, I make every effort to view those individuals as inspiration.

Fourth, shortcuts only cheat me.  In the early days, I wanted to do poses my body wasn’t ready for.  I would sacrifice form to achieve something that meant more to me at the time, the appearance of proficiency.  Now, I understand the importance of taking each step so I gain the learning through the development.

Fifth, my mind and body are fully connected.  The more I understand and respect this fact, the more peace I find in my life and in my relationships.  Once I accepted this basic connection, I began to see all the interconnectivity in the world including many connections I discussed here.

 

I remember those early days when the 90 minutes in Carina’s class was the only time where I could quiet my mind and just be.  Laying in the corpse pose at the end of class was a respite I desperately needed.  It was also a wonderful experience I could share with my kids, one of whom joined me on occasion for a class, and another for family yoga.  Now I can achieve a state of peace with focus in many places outside of the studio.  I also practice yoga most days with Carina’s voice, which is a most melodic, beautiful one, in my head.  I encourage the lessons I learned with my children and they all practice yoga with me, when the spirit moves them, too.  I also share the profound effect yoga had on my life with my friends and other family.  Apparently so often, my teenage son laughingly told me, “No matter what the problem, Mom, your answer is always ‘Yoga.’” 

I owe a huge debt of gratitude I don’t know how I adequately begin to repay. And I regret it took this dramatic turn of events for me to take the time to start.

 Thank you, Carina for putting me on a better path with your patience, your teaching and your example.  Thank you for helping me heal and experience peace and joy I was missing.  Thank you for supporting our efforts in Ethiopia even when I was no longer attending your classes regularly; it means more than you know.  And thank you for sharing your most recent struggle and learning as you begin this next phase of your journey.  I needed that reminder very much at the time I read your letter.  So I wish you all the best and look forward to hearing more.  And I hope to practice with you again soon or see you at our next event in December – or better yet, BOTH!  

Happy Fifth Birthday to my little daughter who gave the word "family" a much richer meaning

I am late this this post.  I try to get it published on her actual birthday but time slipped.   At least we managed to keep her party on the day she entered this world and made it a little brighter (pictured with her brother Damian). 

 
We are at Euro Disney celebrating, her gift.  It is special in so many ways. I remember going to Disney in Florida at the same age as my eldest, who is 16, when my little sister was five, same as Leyla. It brings back poignant memories.  Seeing Leyla's suddenly shy deameanor around some classics, who moments earlier made her squeal with delight when she spotted them, was a sweet surprise.
 

At five, Leyla is beginning to show signs of the lady she will become.  She has opinions about fashion, fairness and speaks basic French perfecting rolling her “r”s  -- something I have never managed which greatly amuses her.  She sings and dances to her own music and can make people smile just by entering a room.  She is inclusive and giving as well as stubborn and sassy.  Her brothers joke she has more friends in their grades than they do.  She is thrilled to be at the same school as they are which, other than the fact they are at a small International School now, would never have been possible. 

All the early worries of adoption are gone; although thoughts of its complexity linger.  We know we will journey through uncharted territory at each phase.  But we feel better equipped and know she will help lead us too.  As I contemplated this significant milestone that too many in her birth country don't reach, I heard about two other little girls; each left an indelible impression, as I celebrated with mine. 

First, I was looking at my adoption agencies website at children who are waiting – these are the hardest to place because of health, age or sibling status.  I saw one pre-teen girl with an uncanny resemblance, and thought, "She could be Leyla’s older sister." which was unnerving since we don’t know much about her Ethiopian family.  Leyla snuck up behind me silently on kitten’s toes as she often does and saw me looking at this picture.  She asked, “Is she from Ethiopia?  She looks like me.” I told her, “Yes. She is and she is waiting to find her family.”  Leyla emphatically said, “I have a family!” and wandered off to play. I inquired about the girl and found parents had come forward for her who are equipped to deal with her complicated health issues; my heart soared!  I shared with Leyla that the girl who looked like her found a family and I had asked if we could be in touch.  She replied without hesitation, “Great, maybe we can be friends,” for her so simple; for me so beautiful -- family and friendship.

The second girl was an adorable two year old adopted from Ethiopia.  She escaped from her father for a moment , was struck by a car and tragically killed.  From the photos and postings I could feel the grief like a gaping wound of her family and community who couldn't imagine life without her it in.  I also felt the incredible joy and laughter she had spread in her short life .  I found I could not keep her lovely little face out of my thoughts.  I was taken back to when Leyla was two and recalled how much she changed all of our lives even after just her second trip around the sun.  Now three years later, her influence and reach are even greater.    I look forward to seeing her life unfold, and I hope it is a long one.  But even in this first phase, she has left a huge footprint on our hearts with her tiny feet.  Each day is a gift and one I don't take for granted.

I love reading Leyla stories at night before she goes to bed and then tucking her in.  She often wants to comb my hair while I read aloud.  She also frequently asks me to lie down next to her while she begins to slumber.  She knows I often just fall asleep too right there after particularly exhausting days .  As I was laying next to her recently, her little cartoon character voice, with its high pitch but perfect enunciation, cut through the silence with the sweetest words. “You are the bestest mommy ever.  You are always in my dreams.”

Happy Fifth Birthday my bestest daughter!!  You gave the word "family" a bigger, better meaning for us all!  And you are always in my dreams too.

Indonesia, Australia, The Netherlands, The United States, Ethiopia. What Drives Us Across Continents. Cultures and Generations?

My kids, and my daughter in particular, drive me in many respects.  Her arrival into our lives and hearts opened a window into the inequities in the world that I can’t easily close.  I feel guilty; I feel responsible; I feel moved to act.  I can’t even fully explain it.  I just need to do something. 

When I was getting ready for our Open Hearts Big Dreams event supporting Ethiopia Reads, I reviewed my friend Yadesa’s blog for potential biographical information for the program.  He created another amazing piece we featured in the live auction.  He was an important catalyst in making the event a reality as well as its evolution into something bigger than either of us initially imagined.  I came across an interview after he won the contest where he told how he was robbed his father and older brother early in his life.  He found, through his accomplishment, a way to share it with them and honor them .  I realized, this is likely part of what drives him. 

The African Union Flag flying at an Ethiopia Reads School

When I was visiting my sisters and parents later that same month, my father wanted to make a family announcement. He stepped up to a table as a hush fell over the room. He had packets in front of him meticulously organized. In them, I learned, were photos and descriptions of two medals of Honor posthumously awarded to my grandfather. My father was seven when his father was faced with a choice: stand up for freedom and country, and risk almost certain capture, or escape. He as not a soldier; he was an engineer.  He chose to stand up on condition that his wife and his five children and the families of those he worked with were flown to safety from Indonesia to Australia. My grandfather stayed behind and blew up the radio station where he worked before the arrival of Japanese troupes. I get chill bumps on my arms and tears in my eyes every time I describe it. I can’t imagine what he or my grandmother (who flew with her 5 children on a cargo plane) went through. As he anticipated, he was captured and spent four long years in a Japanese concentration camp. His diaries, written on the back of soldiers’match book covers, detail a harrowing, soul sucking experience.

My grandparents

My father was young. I don’t think he comprehended the full magnitude of the war time events, unlike his mother and two older brothers.  He relayed how he played with parrots and wandered the countryside.  He enjoyed what little boys do when faced with a beautiful country with amazing animals and sights.  However, he often brought up his father as we were growing up.  I recall being shown the journals my grandfather maintained.  They were heartbreaking and also uplifting as he remembered his beloved wife and children as well as chronicled his dark existence and his efforts to survive – both physically and mentally.  

My Oma (grandmother) tooks pictures each year with their children until they were re-united.

When my father retired, he made it his mission to research the details of the period leading up, to as well as those most difficult years.  He interviewed family members and friends as he endeavored to learn.  He scoured archives and little known accounts of that theatre of WWII.  The culmination was a book reflecting his family’s personal journey.  At his eldest brother’s funeral last year, he shared some of this story in his eulogy since this brother had become part father then.  Afterwards, one of my cousins, a career Dutch military man,  shared how the story moved him and requested a copy.  He then submitted it, along with other supporting materials, to the decision makers for recipients of Medals of Honor.

My mother relayed to me that my normally, unemotional , mathematician dad’s eyes filled with tears when he received word that his work had led to this wonderful and well-earned honor being bestowed on my grandfather.  I didn’t get the chance to know my grandfather personally since he died when I was three.  However, I felt like I knew him through my father’s tireless efforts over the years.  Wanting to do fully understand and tell his father's story drove him until he achieved his goal, which was beyond anything he original contemplated.  I think my "Opa" would be proud and I know I am.   What drives us is a powerful thing and connects us across continents, cultures and generations. 

Opa (my dad) enjoying time with three of his grandkids.

Open Hearts Big Dreams -- We do it for her . . . and for them.

We do it for her.  We do it for our amazing daughter.  I didn’t have any meaningful link to Ethiopia before she joined us.  Now it is unimaginable to think our family would not be connected to her birth country.  Last December, we had our second annual event supporting Ethiopia Reads educational and literacy efforts.  The family flew in from Europe, where we now temporarily reside, the day before.  Our second son shows the effects of jet lag at the end of the evening after doing a great job as one of the photographers.  

This year for the first time, Leyla said a few words during the appeal after her father spoke.  Her beautiful little voice, often described as sounding like a cartoon character, was clear as a bell.  Her liquid black eyes looked straight into the sea of faces, and she spoke directly into the microphone, “Hi, my name is Leyla Marie Fasika. Please help us build libraries in Ethiopia . . . and schools.  Thank you very much!”  My eyes filled as I held her.  She had one arm wrapped tightly around my neck but her body was otherwise relaxed.  She was not afraid to speak to a crowd of a few hundred.  She knows she was born in Ethiopia and is proud of that fact.  She knows we are working to help kids there and she is starting to appreciate what that really means.  She even refers to this effort as “her event.”

In the frenzy of making it all happen in the months and weeks leading up, I found little time for reflection and contemplation.  Too often I needed to focus on the act of doing – list making, following up, problem solving – trying not to miss anything.  I volunteer on the side while my a full time job and my roles as wife and mother of three taking up most of my time.  Hearing her speak and play a real part this year was indescribably beautiful.  And it provided me a priceless reminder of the “why.” 

A few weeks earlier, I was working on videos we were to show.  One was to share what we had accomplished the previous year with the funds raised in our first event:

And one was to illustrate what we wanted to make possible this year:  

I found myself with tears streaming down my cheeks each time I reviewed them.  Something about the perfect soundtrack and the joy and resilience of those children against the backdrop of what they were up against broke my heart and inspired my soul simultaneously and inexplicably.  Joy shining through the hardship; hope found despite deprivation; dreams growing out of gaping need.   I have no words to explain it but I could see my daughter in each of their faces.  And their futures, which deserved the opportunity to blossom, were no less precious than hers.

When toward the end of the evening, our guests gave me a standing ovation. I was completely shocked and overwhelmed.  I am a shy, private person by nature and quite comfortable in the background.  To see hundreds of faces from many parts of the Seattle community and beyond standing gave me an inkling I was not alone in feeling moved by what we were accomplishing by coming together. 

A terrific group of supporters and volunteers, some at the event and many more who helped in so many diverse ways, enabled us to again exceed our ambitious goals -- 3X our first time.  In the process, our family and friends and community celebrated being a part of something bigger . . . something global.  And I came away with many new or deeper Ethiopian Ties and a renewed sense of the promise for the future the bright eyes of inquisitive, intelligent youngsters of this East African nation represent. 

Yaddi and I (taken here by my son in front of his amazing painting for this year's event) came up with the event name Open Hearts, BigDreams in 2011. The name continues to be as fitting now as it was when we began.  Thank you to everyone who helped make it a success again.  The standing ovation is for all of you.

As Federick B. Douglass said so well."Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." 

Happy Birthday Happy Home Coming 2012 -- The Globe is Shrinking

Four years ago today, our little Leyla arrived in Seattle to join her two brothers and complete our family.   Many years prior on this same day, I was born.   These two events are forever linked for me and as the years go by it becomes more apparent how appropriate that is. 

I find the passing of a year a time to reflect back – both on the preceding 365 days as well as on the years lived so far.  Now I also reflect back on the years since a little baby girl born in Ethiopia came home to us.  This year I find myself with two overarching thoughts.  First, for me the world is getting smaller and more interconnected each year.  Second, the need I feel to contribute to equalizing opportunity, especially as it relates to children and Ethiopia, gets bigger and more powerful with time.

This year, we accepted an international assignment and now reside in Luxembourg.  Our volunteer efforts for Ethiopia Reads needed to be adjusted to address this geographic change.  Amazingly, with another leap of faith, we were able to make this possible.  And in doing so gained more Ethiopia Ties and the world shrunk a bit.  My colleagues and friends here across Europe supported our efforts where I had not thought to ask before.  I reached out to an Ethiopian supporter living in Dubai who introduced me to another living in Indonesia, the country where my father was born and spent much of his childhood.   As I exchanged information with her and discussed visiting my dad’s birthplace, distances and differences seemed to fall away.  We titled our event Open Hearts Big Dream Last Year because we believe children's dreams should not depend on where they were born. This year the theme is Open Hearts Around the World because so many amazing people hailing from a diverse set of cultures and countries have been part of making it happen.

This summer, watching the Olympics from Greece, where my husband was born, was a special experience.  My daughter is becoming old enough to enjoy and understand the event.  We were all cheering for the American, Greek, Dutch and now Ethiopian athletes.  Our family cultures are well represented in the games.  Leyla loves to run  and has since she learned to walk.  Now she tells us one day she will be an Ethiopian runner.  We hope she does whatever her little heart desires.  Interestingly, she could likely compete as an Ethiopian, an American or a Greek should that be her path.   I feel the world shrinking  beneath me and inter-connections drawing me closer to those far with their warm and welcoming embrace.

Seeing the dreams of those Olympians realized and watching my amazing daughter grow, feeds my desire to be a part of equalizing opportunities for children in her birth country.  I saw two things recently that made the disparity of opportunity as well as the potential in those youth hit home in a way I could not turn away from easily.  The first was a YouTube video of a fifteen year old girl born in the same town as my daughter.  It was titled “Too Young to Wed.” She spoke wistfully of her hopes to become a doctor, absent-mindedly turning the pages of meticulously taken notes from the years she was able to go to school.  At fifteen, she was a married woman with a child to care for now.  She wed at eleven and those dreams evaporated.  So much in her story hit me. I too had dreamt about becoming a doctor as a girl.  I had my chance although I was not able to achieve it.  My eldest is fifteen and thinking about his future.  I can’t imagine him raising a child instead.  My middle child is eleven and marriage at that age is unthinkable to me. 

Then I saw the article of tablet computers dropped in parts of rural Ethiopia.  Within hours, illiterate children had figured out basic functions and within days were using the computers to teach themselves.  There were no instructors and they had never been exposed to electronics before.  The promise in the power of children’s minds they demonstrated, was compelling.  All they needed was for someone to provide them an opportunity to unlock it.  I see that powerful potential every day in my petite, firecracker of a daughter who excitedly started formal school this year.  She comes home most days and tries to teach me the French she is learning.  She wakes up asking with enthusiastic anticipation, “Do I have school today?”  She has friends from Israel, Denmark, France, India, Japan and many countries and cultures diverse from ours. She, in the opportunities she grabs each day with both hands, is learning the world is a small place and completely interconnected.  She is also beginning to be more aware and curious about our efforts.  And one day, she may fully understand she was a catalyst and inspiration for many efforts and connections that brought opportunities to children on the opposite side of the globe.   Below I share some of the my favorite memories over the last four years.

Arrived in Seattle on my birthday

First days in Ethiopia

My chubby toddler already had a sense of style

 





Enjoying her first trip back to Ethiopia

Sunset on a Greek Beach

 

 

 

 

Since it is my birthday, I am going to ask you to indulge me and consider if can help.  Anything makes a difference. 

To give you a sense, $2 equals average pay for 2 days in Ethiopia.   Thank you for considering.  

 

Happy Birthday to me!  Happy Homecoming to Leyla who every time she calls me "Mama" makes my heart sing with joy!

Celebrating our anniversary in Murano, Italy

What is Success?

When I was an awkward teenager, I looked at the models in my fashion magazines and the actresses on television and thought that was what success looked like.  I remember having imaginary conversations with characters from my night time soap operas I watched when I babysat. I thought if I were like them, people would respect me and I would have achieved success.

When I struggled in college, I thought I would pursue this dream a bit more.  I did it for many reasons but one of which was I secretly still desired to be “rich and famous” and have people see I made it.  In my mind's eye, I could see my face gracing the cover of magazines and showing the world I was someone.  My first foreshadowing that this view might be off the mark came when I was working at a modeling agency in Michigan.  I was the assistant to the Director as well as one of their models.  A woman, who at the time to me was old, came in.  She was maybe early to mid-forties.  She has a slightly weathered face but was otherwise lovely.  My boss, a retired model herself, told me a bit of her story.  She was one of the top models in the world during her twenties. She had traveled the globe and was featured on the cover of many well known publications.  However, those days were long behind her.  She was now a single mom struggling valiantly to make ends meet for her daughter and herself and was happy to do any kind of work available.  I played with this new data.  This was not at all how I imagined the years after hitting it big looking like.  I wasn’t ready to accept this as reality.  So I tucked the information away in a neat corner of my brain where I could find it later but it wasn’t staring me in the face each day and pursued modeling in Europe

When I was twenty and returning to the US, I knew my chances of hitting the big time were pretty much gone.  I recall going around to some modeling agencies  in Chicago for representation.  At a prominent one I was told, “At twenty, you are really too old to try to break into a new market.”  Old . . .at twenty – it was a sobering splash of cold wet reality.  I signed with a smaller agency and got work here and there.  I remember going to “cattle calls,” as they were referred to, with lots of beautiful girls.  I saw every bit of my imperfections highlighted by the perfection I saw in others.  I also witnessed the ugliness of what people were willing to do to “make it.” I missed using my intellect which had always been a big part of who I am.  So I returned to school, first part time and then full time.  I gave up on “making it as a model” which was not easy.  In the back of my mind, I reserved the chance to do so as an “older model” when I hit my late thirties.

My definition of success then shifted to professional. Unlike my first stint at college, this time I had experienced life on my own and knew I didn’t want to fail again.  I made school my priority.  I wasn’t always a natural at subjects I was not familiar with.  But I realized I could learn to do almost anything well if I focused on it – assuming it did not involve hand eye coordination but that is another post.  And I used that realization to graduate from college with a summa cum laude degree.  When I was accepted at the University of Chicago Law School, I thought I could now call myself some kind of success.  But when I started in the fall, being in the company of so many highly talented people, I again felt I didn’t quite measure up.  I also wasn’t sure, as with the models I couldn’t compete with, I really wanted to.  I had no burning passion to be a lawyer.  I liked reading, writing, solving problems and helping people.  Where did that leave me?

As I progressed from law school to working at a prestigious international law firm to working in-house,  I wanted to be recognized for professional success.  But I also wanted more. I wanted to be a good wife, mother and friend.  I revised my definition of succeeding to include those other relationships and strove to be a whole person with a balanced life.  This was a comfortable definition for a number of years.  I still found myself vacillating between wanting to be a better mother or wife and friend or wanting more professional success.  But generally I could find a tenuous balance that worked for me.

I can’t put my finger on exactly when that was not good enough.  This need for success to mean more probably germinated when I got the “C” diagnosis late one October 5th.  It may have sprouted when six months later I unceremoniously found myself needing to make sense of the phrase “your position has been eliminated.” This need was watered by looking at my husband whose roles allowed him to have a profound influence in his students and players lives.    Finally, it was fueled to blossom by the sunshine of a wide eyed little girl who, born of another mother, grabbed into my chest and held onto my heart. 

I wanted my life to have purpose.  No more did I long for fame and fortune.  I had nothing to prove to anyone but myself.  I knew I had more to give, more I could do.  I still enjoy professional success and want it to continue.  I still think being a mother is the most important role I have and raising my three amazing children is its own calling.  But I also want to give back in measure that I have been blessed.  I want my kids to see me model "paying it forward" and get involved themselves.  I now use my diligently developed professional network to meet like-minded people and to raise awareness and funds for causes dear to me.

I am beginning to understand this process was part of a natural evolution in my life. In my teens and twenties, I was trying to figure out who I was and success was anchored in that search. In my late twenties and thirties, I was building my family and my career; my view of success embraced those areas of focus. My forties freed me to hold on to family and career but open my arms and heart a little wider to also embrace parts of the world further away. My definition of family and career now include those who I don’t know and pursuits I am not paid for. These children in my daughter’s birth town enjoying a library that exists because of efforts of our friends and family brings joyful, grateful tears to my eyes.

Success for me is no longer a destination but more a lifelong pursuit of the well lived life.  It is reaching the end of my years with minimal regrets and a world that I can say is a little better place because of my efforts and those I may inspire and the achievements of my awe-inspiring children.  Wishing you all much success in your journeys!