November 22, 2013
I’m a Mama Duck, I will admit it. I live in a beautiful pond with lots of other ducks, and oh, how I had dreamed of having a fine row of perfect little ducklings following behind me. Ducklings that look like me, swim like me, quack like me.
So there she was, a tiny, helpless, fragile little thing. Motherless, alone and afraid. I eagerly welcomed her under my wing, thrilled at the opportunity to love and nurture this precious creature. She was the duckling I had dreamed of!
It wasn’t long, however, before I began to realize that this youngster who had been entrusted into my care was, well, different. And in the pond where I live, different just won’t do.
November 18, 2013
(A foster mother's version of "The Hobbit" by J.R.R. Tolkien)
There I was, an average, unremarkable woman, living in a little home in a quiet suburban neighborhood. It was a quiet home that meant comfort and solitude. The days were predictable. Nights were filled with peaceful, uninterrupted slumber. I certainly wasn’t looking for an adventure. I happened to like my life the way it was, thank you very much.
I had come from a long line of middle class families, and people considered us very respectable, not only because most of us were hard-working, upstanding citizens, but because we had never had any adventures or did anything unexpected. This is my story: the story of how an average, unremarkable woman had an adventure, and found herself doing and saying things altogether unexpected.