Tag Archives: life

My Special Needs Mother Hat

18 Feb

“A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong it is until it’s in hot water.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt

I talk a lot about my journey to obtain my special needs mother hat. I don’t know why I use this term. I guess it just gives me a good descriptive picture in my head and explains a major role I play.

To me, this hat looks different than a mother hat. My mother hat fit well the first time I put it on. It was easy to wear, simple, elegant, and light. It was beautiful from the beginning and did not tear easily. When it did, I could take it off at night and stitch up any holes it acquired during the day. My stitching was never loose, came apart or was crooked. It always came back together nicely. It rarely fell off and never seemed heavy. I was proud to wear it and frequently showed it off. I enjoyed this new hat tremendously and was very reluctant to turn it in for my special needs mother hat.

When I got this hat it was WAY too big. It fell off all of the time. Sometimes it just blew right off my head. In the beginning I forgot that I had it and a big gust of wind would come along and POOF! Gone. I would have to go chasing it down the street. Sometimes I threw it to the floor in a moment of rage, frustration, or grief. And sometimes I just tried to leave it on the counter at home. I tried to pretend that I didn’t have it and that it wasn’t sitting there waiting to adorn my head like a 1000lb weight. It was extremely heavy. It had all kinds of straps, buckles, and ties attached to it that I couldn’t figure out. It had random flowers on it with names that I couldn’t pronounce. It was uncomfortable and became worn out looking. Rips and tears began to decorate the sides and no matter how hard I tried to stitch it up, my stitching never fixed the holes. They were loose, crooked and simply came apart by an unexpected tug in the wrong way. The whole hat would just fall apart. I would carry my hat in pieces back home and painstakingly try to put it all back together. At first it seemed destined to be big, ugly, uncomfortable, and prone to making me feel like an outsider. It seemed nobody had a hat that looked like mine.

After I wore it for a while, I began to notice other mothers whose hats looked like mine. They were worn and tattered, but had been repaired with beautiful hand crafted stitching and appeared loved and cherished. These mothers looked at me in my hat and smiled a knowing smile and pointed to their heads. “See. I’m proud of my hat. It may appear complicated and worn out to you, but to me it’s beautiful. Your hat will be beautiful too one day.”

Slowly I began to notice new things about this hat that I hated at first. I was learning to pronounce the names of the flowers on it and figuring out the buckles and straps. It wasn’t so big anymore and no longer blew unexpectedly off my head. It began to fit better as each day I grew a little more confident in my role. Every once in a while I still throw it to the floor, but now my reasons are different. It still gets ripped and torn, but I am learning to sew it back up and now my stitches hold it together. It doesn’t fall apart so easily and my stitches are straighter and stronger. I’ve learned to love each and every rip, tear, crease, and stain on my hat because each one has a story. A moment in time and a memory of where I have been and what I have gone through. It isn’t so uncomfortable now and it doesn’t make me feel like an outsider. Now it makes me feel like part of a group. A group of mothers with special hats and special roles that we love and feel honored to have. Now I’m not ashamed of my hat and I never try to forget it on the counter. I walk out of my house each day with my head held up high. Proud to show off my journey with my special needs mother hat.

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Please Don’t Let Her Arm Fall Off

16 Feb

“Sometimes beautiful things come into our lives out of nowhere. We can’t always understand them, but we have to trust in them. I know you want to question everything, but sometimes it pays to just have a little faith.”
― Lauren Kate, Torment

Fortunately because my two small children were in the car with us that cold day in January it ensured that my husband’s enthusiasm for an adventure took a back seat. We made it to Oli’s surgery appointment unscathed, unstuck and virtually un-traumatized.

It was scary riding with a driver who was unfamiliar driving in the snow on gravel roads in the middle of the desert, but Seth was cautious. We got to the hospital 2 hours late to her appointment. I had gotten a hold of the surgeon when we realized that we were going to be late and she told us to go ahead and come whenever we could.

They prepped Oli for surgery and the nurses whisked my baby girl off to the operating room shortly afterwards. We were assured that Oli was in good hands and were sent to the waiting room.

I had never been the parent of a patient before Oli was born. One time I had to take Kekoa to the ER when he was 4 months old because of a high fever. We were only there long enough to make sure he didn’t have an infection and then left.

This was nothing like that.

I knew they were going to be cutting into my baby, however minor the operation was.

THEY WERE GOING TO CUT INTO MY BABY!!!

I had been involved in lots of surgeries with babies before Oli, but none was my child. My heart went out to all of the parents who had sat in those little plastic chairs before me.The parents that I myself, had sent to the waiting room when I was the nurse on duty the day of their child’s surgery. Many times I spoke the exact same words spoken to me that morning, “She’s in good hands. Everything will be fine.”

Of course there are no guarantees. I knew that. I was terrified.

The few hours it took to perform the operation and get Oli into the recovery area were some of the longest hours of my life. Oli has had a few other surgeries since then and it never gets any easier.

Remember I am a worst-case-scenario girl.

I worry about everything from a complete power failure when my girl is still on the ventilator and unconscious down to worrying that the nurse didn’t properly swab her IV port before injecting medication into it and subsequently she gets a terrible bacterial infection and her arm falls off.

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It’s awful!

Luckily none of those things has ever happened.

I want to trust people taking care of Oli. I really do. Most of me has to or else I would drive myself crazy, but this is my baby girl. I can’t trust them completely. I don’t think any mother ever does.

Moms worry about our children the moment we realize we are having them. It’s not any more difficult, I don’t think, when you have a child with special needs. We are just given more opportunities to worry. And we are given more opportunities to trust people and have a little faith in them. Sometimes they let you down, but most of the time they don’t.

Most of the time my imagination is far worse than reality.

Good thing!! Otherwise my girl would defiantly be missing a few limbs by now.

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An Adventure With Seth

15 Feb

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The morning of Oli’s fundoplication surgery (reflux surgery) I awoke in the darkness. I turn over and glance at the clock.

Uggghhh…4am. We had to be at the hospital by 6:30 and it was an hour drive. I shook Seth awake and then got into the shower. A few minutes after I got in Seth knocked on the door.

“You’re not going to believe this Shannon. There was a snow storm last night.”

“What?” Snow in Las Vegas. Sounds like no big deal right? The first time I saw flurries in the desert I laughed that they would even have the nerve to call the slightly thicker rain drops “snow”. That wasn’t snow. These people had never been to Iowa. I had about the same amount of trust in my husband and his knowledge of snow as I had in the people of Las Vegas. He was from Hawaii.

I knew that it was probably just cold and raining. At most it might look like snow falling from the sky, but would melt once it hit the ground. We were in no danger of missing my daughter’s surgery appointment. I forgot that in order to get to the appointment we had to drive over the “pass”.

Pahrump sat higher than Las Vegas and in order to get there we had to drive over a mountain at 9,700 feet elevation called the pass.

As we left the house I wondered if we really were going to make it. Snow was actually sticking to the ground. I had heard when we moved to Pahrump that the pass occasionally closed when it snowed up there, but that it only happened maybe once a year. Surely it wouldn’t be closed the one day that we absolutely had to get to Vegas. Surely our luck wasn’t that bad.

It was.

As soon as we reached the base of the mountain I could see police lights directing people to turn around and go back.

I looked over at Seth who was driving. “What now? It’s going to take a month at least, to get another surgery appointment.”

“We’re going. I will get her to this appointment.” He says with determination and a look of excitement in his eyes.

Oh no. I’ve seen that look before. That look that comes from a man who loves off-roading and driving through the back desert.

“Are you serious? The gravel roads are going to be bad. I think we should just call and cancel.”

“Nope. Don’t worry. I’ll get us there. No problem.”

I am very worried.

Seth likes a good adventure and his adventures usually end up with us being stuck somewhere. I have been on many of these “adventures” with him. I have been stuck in the desert overnight, in the mud, with nothing to drink but cheap beer and coyotes circling us looking at my little dog like a quick and easy meal. I have been stuck 5 miles from the lake, with a flat tire and no jack, no one around for miles, for hours in 110 degree heat, with nothing to drink but cheap beer. Don’t worry. We always had beer.

These are just a few examples. Others include motorcycle trips in freezing weather and extreme heat when I have been totally convinced I was going to die.

I know Seth’s idea of an adventure.

This could end badly.

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Getting Rid Of The Reflux

14 Feb

“While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about.”

― Angela Schwindt

Finally when Oli was 7 months old we made the decision to surgically fix her GI reflux.

I could no longer watch her struggle to keep her food down. Despite thickening her formula, a strict regimen of reflux medication and eating baby food, the reflux was not improving.

We had to wait several months before making this decision because she didn’t fit into her GI doctors normal category of surgical patients. She was still gaining weight, growing, was at that time still sleeping, and was not screaming most hours of the day. The exact opposite of most of his patients.

He kept putting off the idea of surgical intervention until one day when I brought Oli in for her monthly check up.

“How is she doing?” He asks quietly. He was a tall, gentle, soft spoken man with an awkward personality.

“Well not to good. This cannot be normal.” I tell him. Frustrated with her lack of response to his treatments, my goal today is to show him how miserable it was for her. I laid Oli face down on the crisp, white exam paper.

“Now just watch.” I say as I encourage Oli to lift her head. This was an ongoing struggle for her because of her lack of visual motivation,. But also because every time she exerted any abdominal force whatever was in her stomach seemed to become pressurized and shot out her nose. As he is looking down at Oli she performs right on cue. A thick stream of chunky old milk, tinted green from her lunch comes out her nose.

“This happens every single time I put her on her tummy. You have to do something.”

“Yes okay. I guess it’s time to look into surgery.” He relents.

“Great. I know a pediatric general surgeon who I’m comfortable with. I’d like him to perform the surgery because I know he won’t put in a G-tube unless she absolutely needs it. I don’t think she needs one and he agrees.”

A few weeks later Oli had the surgery. She did not need the G-tube. I was happy that I had found a doctor willing to listen to me and not just put one in, as was the general practice.

One week after the surgery she began sitting up and was finally comfortable lying on her tummy.

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10 Reasons To Give Up Newborn Hell

13 Feb

I know some mothers get really sad when they realize they are done having babies. I just want to give you some things to look forward to when you give up Newborn Hell.

1. Sleep. Oh sweet, sweet sleep. I think I forgot that word was in my vocabulary when I had babies.

2. Little purses. No more 50 lb diaper bags packed with 400 of your baby’s things and the tiniest wallet you can find crammed into the little front zipper.

3. Clean shirts. Good bye booger, throw up and drool stains!

4. Cute bras. No more nursing bras. Dear God! Could someone please make a cute nursing bra?

5. No more leaky boobs. You can now sit in the same room with another baby without checking to make sure your nursing pads haven’t shifted positions notifying everyone that you are the milk machine.

6. No more carrying enormous car seats everywhere. It was a fabulous day in my house when I sold my last child’s baby car seat. Why did I feel the need to leave her in the seat, carry it a mile through the parking lot, into the store or doctor’s office, only to lift her out and carry her on my hip and then the seat in my other hand? Why? I did though…every…single…time…

7. You can have sex again…like maybe even longer than 5 minutes. I don’t know about you, but every little sound on that baby monitor when my husband and I were…you know…. Instantly killed my mood. Oh, and the leaky boob thing didn’t help either.

8. Hot showers. You may now actually wait for the shower to heat up and stay in it long enough to get ALL of the soap out of your hair.

9. You get your living room back. Say good bye to the giant swing, exersaucer, play pen, floor play mats and bouncy seat that now dominate your living space.

10. If you’re lucky…very lucky, you may even get your sanity back. Months and months of crying, pooping, spitting up, not leaving the house and children’s music will take a toll on ones psyche. This is not a guarantee however. I am still looking for mine.

By the way…I guess I should mention that none of these actually apply to me except for the bras and the non leaky boobs because I still have Oli. The baby equipment in my house has now just been replaced with therapy equipment. That may be why I am continuing to search for my sanity;) But the bright side is I no longer have to tote a baby along for the ride!

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5 Ways That Motherhood Has Changed Me

8 Feb

1. I can’t stand silence.

I used to revel in the silence. Now if no one is crying, giggling, arguing, singing or asking me a thousand questions I feel like the apocalypse may have happened and I was left behind.
I also can’t stand it because I know what it means. . .someone is coloring on the walls, making hair and dresses out of the toilet paper, or gluing my new earrings to paper.

2. I cook

No, I don’t cook well. But I do cook. Before I had kids cooking consisted of pouring a bowl of cereal and adding milk. Now I am like a mad scientist. You can find me in the kitchen whipping up concoctions, smoke billowing from burning pots and pans and children begging me for McDonalds. (They just haven’t developed their pallets yet to appreciate my cooking.)

3. Drool no longer bothers me.

I seriously had a major hang up about drool when I was pregnant with my first child. Thick, drippy, smelly, liquid constantly hanging from a baby’s mouth was one of my phobias. Gross. I never thought I’d get used to it. Now I don’t even think about wiping my kid’s mouths with my shirt, pants, hands, arm, or the nearest toy or baby blanket if it suits me. Sometimes I’m sneaky and wipe one of my kid’s mouths on the back of my other kid’s shirt. Excellent reason to have multiple children. You never run out of clothing surfaces to wipe faces on.

4. I don’t sleep.

Ok I do sleep, but I definitely don’t sleep like I used to. I used to close my eyes and be completely comatose until my alarm went off the next morning. Now I am on night time mommy watch 24/7. I hear a cough, sneeze, or fart in the night and I am suddenly the world’s fastest, sneakiest spy. I creep into their room, find out which one made the sound, decipher if it needs further investigation and then escape like Houdini before I am spotted by the enemy.

5. I think yoga pants and pajamas should be a strictly enforced dress code for stay at home moms.

Before I had kids I wouldn’t have been caught dead without my hair brushed, make up on and a properly thought out wardrobe. Now I think. . .Why do I have to get dressed to go to the grocery store? Why do I need to put on my “good jeans” (you know. . .the ones that don’t make my ass look like a deflated saggy pillow) to go sit in a circle with 15 other toddlers, singing The Wheels on the bus, coloring happy faces and trying to keep my kid from gluing the picture to the table? No my good jeans are reserved for the times when even my pallet is too underdeveloped to appreciate my cooking and we need to go to out to eat. I mean really out to eat. Like going to McDonalds and forgoing the drive through to sit in the exceptionally fun play room. I mean Playscape. . .yes, my jeans must be worn to the Playscape. If for no other reason than to provide a thicker barrier between my knees and the pee soaked tunnels my kids ask me to crawl through.

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What about me mom?

7 Feb

“A sister is God’s way of proving that He doesn’t want us to walk alone.” -Anonymous

Apparently I have seriously offended one little person in my house by not writing about her yet. When I picked Kekoa up from school yesterday I excitedly told him that I was able to tell a story about him on a website.

“What’s the story about mommy?”

“I just told people what an amazing person you are and how much you love your sister, Oli.”

At this point I hear a little voice pipe up from the back seat.

My 2 year old Ginger, is not about to be left out.

“Me too mom! You wrote a story about me too!”

She is far to grown up and sophisticated to use silly words like ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’. We are mom and dad and sometimes, we are Shannon and Seth.

“Not yet Ginger. I haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet.”

“Awwww….I want a story.”

So now I find myself needing to write about Ginger. Although it in no way follows the normal sequence of Oli’s story, I have to tell you about my little princess. She is not about to be left out, let alone not be the center of attention.

This is Ginger.

Ahhhhh….Ginger. Where do I even begin?

Ginger was born when Oli was 2 months away from being 3 years old. I thought that it would be easy to have another baby at this point because Oli was getting a little bit older.

I was wrong.

To describe Ginger as being a difficult baby really doesn’t accurately portray the first 5 months of her life. I had no idea what I was in for when she was born.

She was a terrible infant. She cried all the time. And I do mean ALL THE TIME. Literally. If she wasn’t eating (which she always did) and she wasn’t sleeping (which she never did) she was crying.

Oli had a really hard time when she was born. She is very sensitive to loud noises and Ginger screamed like she was in a special baby crying contest and was intent on winning first prize. I’m sure my neighbors were convinced that I was somehow torturing my newborn.

We found out when she was 1 year old and stopped nursing that she was allergic to milk. She would break out with a rash all over her face every time I gave it to her.(I’m sure she was sensitive to breast milk too.)

Yeah. . .that would have been good to know when she was a baby.

Oli really wanted nothing to do with her. Every time I would try to put Ginger in Oli’s lap or even next to her, she would push her away immediately. I couldn’t blame her. Sometimes even I couldn’t handle her screaming anymore. But by the time Ginger was 5 months old she was much better.

I couldn’t convince Oli to like her though. I’m sure she had no idea what this little loud thing was. She’d never been around a baby before. So, one minute it was just her and Kekoa and life made sense. She had routines and structure and plenty of mommy time. The next minute she had erratic routines, no structure and mommy time usually meant sitting with me while I had a wiggly little body attached to my boob. It took Oli about 18 months to let Ginger get near her and now she loves her. But that was only because of how Ginger approached and treated her.

The personality differences between my oldest and youngest children are striking. They are polar opposites.

Where Kekoa is quiet and sensitive, Ginger is loud and bossy. Kekoa wants to help other people and never strives to be the center of attention. Ginger just wants everyone to cater to her and will do whatever it takes to make sure that someone is watching her. She is constantly singing, dancing, and performing. And if what she is doing is not immediately grabbing your attention she will get in your face and absolutely demand it. And that is exactly how she approaches Oli.

She just grabs her by the hand and pulls.

“Oli! Come play with me!”

(Oli has a lot of trouble standing up by herself.)

“Ginger, you can’t just pull on Oli. You’re not strong enough to help her get up.”

She will not be detered.

“Yes I am mom. See. Look at my muscles!

Come on Oli! Stand up. Let’s go.”

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She has never ever treated Oli like she is any different from anybody else. I would like to explain this away by her age. She just doesn’t understand yet. (She will be 3 in March.) I don’t think that’s it though. Only because I have always watched how Kekoa interacts with Oli.

Kekoa is more reserved with her and always has been. He is concerned that things are done properly with Oli and he is always cognisant of her visual impairment and her mental age. He has been like that since she was born. He doesn’t ever treat her like she is less than, but he is aware that there are things that she just can’t do or needs help with. I frequently hear him tell Ginger,

“You have to put the toys in her hands Ginger. She can’t see them when you just throw them at her! Put them in her hands!”

Kekoa wants to teach Oli things and makes sure that she gets what she needs.

Ginger wants Oli to pay attention to her. Ginger just wants to make sure that they are friends.

I really love this about her. I don’t have a sister so I know nothing about the special bonds of sisterhood.

I see it in my girls though. Despite their differences I see that bond.

Oli is so lucky to have two people who will always stand by her side. One who will make sure that no harm ever comes to her and the other who will make sure that no one ever leaves her out, pity’s her, or treats her differently.

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You’re probably not a special needs parent if….

2 Feb

1. You have money.

2. You drive a small car.

3. You drive a nice car.

4. You don’t know what IEP stands for.

5. You don’t have a small panic attack, cringe, or cry when you hear the word IEP.

6. You go out to eat at restaurants and stay longer than 20 minutes.

7. Going out to eat does not mean going through the drive through at McDonalds.

8. You regularly enjoy meals without someone spitting a mouthful of chewed mush all over your shirt and then clapping and laughing. This is not done by your baby.

9. Your purse doesn’t weigh 5,000lbs and include things like emergency medication syringes, extra-large diapers, special snacks, multiple packs of boogie wipes, or weird toys.

10. Your wallet isn’t bursting with business cards from doctors, specialists, therapy places, schools, and support groups.

11. You never get emails titled “Sale! Feeding chair only 1 million dollars (regularly priced at 5 million)”

12. You don’t schedule your day based on what kind of mood your child is in.

13. You can go shopping with your children and never end up back in the car crying.

14. You’ve probably never been bitten, scratched, spit on pooped on, peed on, or thrown up on all in one day. Unless you’re a nurse.

15. Poop on the walls is DEFINITLY an emergency.

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Why would He do this to me?

1 Feb

“We love the things we love for what they are.”

― Robert Frost

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I really should have put this picture at the beginning of my story. This is Kekoa and me in the background. Yes, I was about to cry when it was taken. The picture accurately emphasizes and portrays everything that is me. When I look at it I see someone who looks absolutely terrified of the reality that has just come out of her body. Why God would choose to give someone like this a special needs child is beyond me.

I mean look at me.

I was a wreck and he was fine.

When we got home from the hospital my husband loaded the pictures from the delivery onto the computer. He pulled up this one and burst out laughing. “Look at your face! You look like you are convinced that the nurse is really a child predator and is about to run off with your baby.”

I came over and looked down at the computer screen. Yep. That is exactly what I was thinking. “Don’t laugh. I just love him so much.” I try to explain very near the brink of tears. How can he not understand? I mean this little person just came OUT OF MY BODY! I made this little guy and he is perfect. It all just became so real. When they’re in your body it’s just a faint idea. Especially when it’s your first. Once they actually come out it’s a whole new ball game.

I think I look the way I do here for a couple of reasons.

First of all, I was totally mortified by the whole child bearing experience. The gush of body fluids, squishy stuff and baby from my body was beyond embarrassing.

How would my husband ever look at me the same?

Second, I really hadn’t given the whole idea of baby = with you the rest of your life, a sufficient amount of contemplation. I just wanted a baby. But once I looked into his eyes and felt a kind of love that I had never experienced before, I knew that I was in trouble. My heart felt like it was bursting with love and breaking with fear all at the same time and either way I looked at it I was in danger of literally loving this little guy to death.

Once the nurse placed him on my chest, cleaned him off, and then took him away to the warmer to wrap him up and snap this picture I was totally and completely smitten.

I also started feeling other things that I had never felt before. A fierce protection of my little boy that was almost crushing when the nurse took him from my arms.

In the picture I am looking at the nurse like “OMG you are totally going to break him. I do not trust you at all. Give him back. Give him back before I cry.”

In what world does it make sense for Life to give this kind of mom a special needs child? I couldn’t handle the thought of raising this little guy, who was completely normal.

Can you imagine the picture of me after I found out that Oli was blind?

Or maybe this picture explains completely why I was given a special needs child…

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My booger awards.

30 Jan

“Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels better right now.”

― Veronica Roth, Divergent

So since I’ve recently been entered into the top 25 blog contestant on Circle of Moms (for my other blog. I am in the process of transferring all of the content from there to here.) I have been reading some of the top blogs. Seriously, there is a reason why the number one blog on there has like 8 million votes. It is hilarious!! I have absolutely no chance when it comes to these women and their humor.

But, I still really appreciate everyone who has voted for me. Keep voting!!! You never know, I could get 8 million votes too 🙂 Plus, I just like the thought of winning something other than the booger off my 2 year olds finger. Seriously…she presents it to me like an award. “Here mommy! Look what I have for you!” She hands it to me like it’s one of her prized possessions.

These mom blogs are about how funny it is raising kids. How, ultimately, you do get a little crazy and find yourself doing things that you never thought you’d do. Like responding “Thank you” when someone hands you a booger.

I find it interesting that there are not many funny blogs about raising a special needs child. Oh, they’re out there I’m sure and if you know of one please list it in the comments below or on facebook because I would love to read it.

I wonder if it is because no one wants to associate humor with special needs.

There is nothing funny about a child or an adult that has a disability.

And it’s really not funny in the beginning when you can’t even seem to drag yourself out of bed in the morning because the very thought of the weight now on your shoulders seems like it will crush you.

I don’t think I really truly laughed until about a year ago. I was so caught up in all that I couldn’t do and all that she wouldn’t do that I forgot to laugh and ultimately I forgot to live.

Now I see that those thoughts and sorrow were slowly killing me and if I kept on the path that I was on I was going to die a slow and agonizing death.

Now I see that I just took it all for granted and was so deeply entrenched in self pity that I couldn’t appreciate the wonderful life that I had been given.

Now I see that it is possible to move past all of those things and learn to live again and subsequently learn to laugh again.

I’ve missed that.

I’ve missed being able to laugh at myself.

It really can be funny.

Having children in and of itself is a funny journey, but having a child with special needs has it’s own unique humor. One of my friends on facebook, Jill, posts about the funny things her 6 year old daughter says.

Ella has anophthalmia and makes jokes about her blindness and prosthetic eyes. Her mom posts stories about the humor in their life. Like her whole family panicking in a power outage at night, but little Ella remaining calm and leading her younger brother to the bathroom in the darkness grumbling under her breath that she “doesn’t see what the big deal is?” I love stories like that!! (Jill, I hope you don’t mind me using you and Ella as an example.)

Yes, it can be sad sometimes, but it can also be hilarious and crazy in a good way.

Sometimes it’s okay to laugh and it’s okay to talk about the funny parts. I’m glad I realize that now and I’m glad that I remembered what it’s like to be funny.

Really all that I want to accomplish with this blog is to help the me’s from 5 years ago out there in the world stumbling along in pain trying to figure this whole mess out. If I can reach just one person who knows what I’m talking about and make them feel just a little bit less alone, then I have done the job that I set out to do.

Oh…and somehow writing about my craziness in all it’s glory amuses me.

If you want to share my blog and you feel that it may reach someone and help them, please share it. Or if you just like it and want to share it, please do.

It’s not about the amount of followers I get, or how many likes I get on Facebook or winning any awards (although all of those things are very nice and I do really appreciate them) (Vote for me!:)

It’s just about telling my story, healing through telling it, and maybe helping somebody else.

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