I have had chronic bronchitis – according to my mother – pretty much all of my life. Of course, I don’t remember coughing so hard as a baby that my mom gave me whiskey to try to soothe me. Though, that probably explains my current love of a good dive bar.

I do remember having this hacking cough as a kid. I remember codeine syrup that made me vomit, being sent to the hallway at school, and eventually just being sent home because I was disrupting the class. I was absent 45 days one year.

I remember weekly allergy shots that did nothing, my mom putting me on mega-doses of vitamin C (which did help the cough a little, but it also meant mega-hours of sitting on the toilet…you’re welcome), and I remember hovering at the kitchen table with a towel over my head while I breathed in a steamy concoction of rosemary, sage and thyme. I should have thrown in parsley for good measure. Simon and Garfunkel are so disappointed in me.

As an adult, I do a lot of visiting my pulmonologist, ingesting steroids in the form of pills and inhalers, struggling through workouts, and complaining about Ohio winters. Damp, cold weather makes the condition worse and if it doesn’t rain or snow today, it will be the first FIVE-day period here without measurable precipitation since October. I hate winter with a passion because of the cold, but mostly because I feel miserable for months.

And, I hear a lot of, “You’re sick? AGAIN?” which makes me feel a lot like that little kid who got sent to the hallway. You don’t get, “How are you doing?” because you’re always doing the same. I’m always coughing. I’m always tired and when it gets to be March and I get another flare-up, I’m really depressed. I cried after watching “Parenthood” last night; not because of the aspergers or divorce storylines, but because the characters were all so happy and healthy. Jerks.

My mom still worries about me non-stop and my son told me yesterday, “I’m going to pray really hard for you” but I can’t help but feel like one of these days I’m just going to lose it, pack up the car, and force my family to move to Arizona.

Because, even though peri-menopause and desert heat don’t mix, I’m getting really, really tired of sitting in the hall.

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Since my son was born in 2002, I have had a lot of bad days.  Watching him get taken to surgery nine times, seeing catheters shoved into places that boys shouldn’t have catheters shoved, watching him get stuck for IV’s so many times that I’ve lost track and seeing him almost die twice will tend to make every day feel like a Monday.

There have been so many struggles that parents of a typical child can’t even imagine.  And before someone comes along and tells me how fortunate I am that my son can walk and talk, I will say that I know we are lucky.  I have spent enough time around children in the hospital to know that things could be horrifically worse.

But, there have been struggles.  It took 13 months before tube-feeding wasn’t an ever-looming threat and it was 18 months before he took his first step.  That was after weekly physical and occupational therapy appointments and more genetics tests than even the geneticists knew existed.

He is almost nine and he vomited while eating just yesterday.  He can’t button his own pants.  We found out last week that he needs hearing aides.

As a parent, you fight through these situations.  You modify his surroundings, you buy him velcro shoes, you cut his bites into little pieces.  You, quite simply, adapt.

But, there are certain challenges where there is no fix.

My son is not only medically different from his peers, but also physically, emotionally, behaviorally and socially.  He is tiny, quirky and the most unique individual I have ever known.  Most adults “get him”.  Most kids, don’t.

For the past six weeks, my son has been enrolled in a basketball clinic at his school.  This was more of a social exercise than an athletic one, as my almost nine year old weighs only 43 pounds.

Over the last month, my boy learned to dribble and bounce-pass and he learned to play one heck of a man-to-man defense.  He had fun. He tried his best.

He has no idea that I sat in the stands and cried this afternoon, because I watched every kid on the court look right through him when it came time to pass a teammate the ball.  My husband knew I was crying, as he sat detaching himself from the situation, but I told him that it was making me sad to watch and he replied, “I know.  It’s awful.”

I can’t fault the boys.  They’re young and they wanted to win.  They were smart enough to know that my son couldn’t make a basket.  If he was on the other side of the ball as a typical child, then he would have probably done the same thing.

But, he wasn’t on the other side of the ball and he is not a typical child.  I watched him holding his hands in the air, waiting for a pass, for over an hour.  He got a chance to dribble twice, when one of the parent volunteers TOLD the boys to pass it to him.  He loved those few, fleeting seconds.  I could see the pride in his face.

As a parent, you want your child to shine, not be ignored.  You want the world to see what you see; that inside the quirky kid is a funny, smart, gentle soul.  Okay, he’s obstinate too, but everyone does see that.

It is so hard to have a child like mine, but it is also very special.  It is a joy to see him succeed and to go places I never thought possible.  To me, he is a gigantic force in the universe.

But, to the boys on the basketball court, he is but a speck.

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I started blogging roughly three-and-a-half years ago.  I didn’t plan on having it take me anywhere.  I didn’t know that I would end up loving it so much that it would become my passion, or that blogging would lead me to conferences and Twitter, which would lead to my new job.

My whole life has come full circle, right here for the world to see.

Okay, so maybe the world doesn’t read my blog, but I’m pretty sure my Aunt Shirley does.  Sometimes.  In fact, the 30 or so hits I used to get each week have grown into thousands.  I don’t know where you people came from, but I’m glad you did.

I love it here.  It is my home.  And, much to my husband’s chagrin, I like to redecorate. 

Out of all of the celebrities I have met through blogging, like her…

Top Chef’s Padma Lakshmi.  Couldn’t the pretty have been shared a little?  Not fair.

…and this fella…

The center of our solar system, also known as the Jimmy Dean sun.

…there are none whom I consider to be more inspiring than this lady here.

a)  Don’t look at my hair  b)  I told you not to look!  c)  Nice glow in the dark necklace, Momo

That woman next to me is Ree Drummond, also known as The Pioneer Woman.  Also, I am in no way comparing Ree to the Jimmy Dean sun.  Though she can make a room brighter just by walking in.  Just sayin’.

Ree is one of the most popular, female bloggers in the world.  She is an amazing photographer, mother and author (of a cookbook, a romance story and a children’s book…how well rounded can someone be?).  To top it off, she’s about as down to earth as a person can get.  I want to be Ree when I grow up.

Now, I don’t take a lot of advice about what to do with my blog.  I follow the advertising guidelines of my publishing network (Hi, BlogHerads!), but that’s about it.  This is my hangout for crying out loud.  Stay off my lawn!

But, when the intelligent and successful Ree Drummond tells you that you should “change things up”, you should listen.  She wasn’t talking to me, specifically, but rather to her audience in her “Ten Important Things I’ve Learned About Blogging” section.

A couple of years ago I did change things up when I requested a custom blog design from Courtney of Judith Shakes Design.  She took a mish-mash of my ideas and made this page exactly the way I wanted.  It was a dramatic and brilliant alteration for which I am not responsible.  Dang it.

Now the time has come, once again, to “change things up”.  I’m eventually leaving this platform and going where there is more to offer.  I’m getting a new custom theme, custom icons, a new twitter background, new page templates, miscellaneous graphics, all of my posts transferred and SO much more.

Courtney at Judith Shakes Design is doing ALL of it.

Courtney is about eighty shades of smart and I am not.  I want professional results, so I’m letting a professional handle it.  I’m taking Ree’s advice and running with it, but I’m letting someone else do all of the exercise.  Wait…I am smart!

I didn’t plan on this blog taking me anywhere, but it did, and I don’t want the same scenery for my entire journey.  I’ll create the experience, but Courtney will be my travel guide so I don’t get lost along the way.

And, if YOU book space on the Judith Shakes Design calendar for a design project of at least $300, Courtney will give you $50 off with the code – MOMO4EVER.

You.  Are.  Welcome.

If you’re a blogger, come and join me.  Let’s go places we never thought possible.  Life is too short to just stand still.

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I am not going to lie; I like nice things. However, I pride myself on being a bargain shopper through e-bay, Craigslist and various discount stores. I have bought a room-sized area rug for $200.00, Pottery Barn lamps for $2.50 each (from Pottery Barn) and have no qualms about buying designer clothes at thrift stores. I like nice things, but I like to be cheap about it.

Unfortunately, when my husband and I bought our house in 1998 it was in sore need of rehab. There were yellow plastic tiles on all sides of the kitchen, including the ceiling. All of the bathrooms had linoleum, the foundation needed jacked up and there were trees growing through the patio cement.

We were both working full-time at good jobs and were plugging along on the renovations slowly, when I found out I was pregnant. Suddenly, we were rushed…and decidedly less wealthy…because I would soon be staying home with a new baby. We didn’t even have the money for discount items. We had to buy clearance discount. It wasn’t pretty, people.

I made many, many decisions on the fly as well. I picked out wallpaper because it was in stock, not because I liked it. I bought carpeting off of a 5″ x 5″ sample at a bargain outlet. I made a lot of mistakes. Times one thousand.

This may just be the worst of them. This is the boob light that hangs on my bedroom ceiling.

We have other boob lights in the house, but I see this one every morning when I wake. It stares at me whenever I lie in bed and despite searching e-bay and Craigslist and every other site I can for a chandelier to hang in its place, I have not yet been successful. In 12 years.

I hate this light. From the bottom of my bosom.

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