Sometimes when you have so much to say, you find it difficult to say anything at all. That’s where I find myself right now.

I can’t comment on the events in Boston. I still can’t even talk about Sandy Hook. I’m tense every time I let my daughter go to the movies, or drop my kids off at school, or get on an airplane, or now…stand on the sideline of a foot race. These events make a person with anxiety want to stock up on plastic, duct tape, and canned goods and never leave their house again.

I can’t talk about my son right now either; at least not without crying. As if he hasn’t had enough challenges with his body, now we are dealing with challenges of the mind. He gets his OCD and anxiety from me, but he gets his defiance from his dad. Hi, honey! The difference is that my husband is only defiant with me and my son is defiant with authority.

Right now we are lost, floundering in waiting lists, county funding, new doctors, and a teaching staff who has completely lost their patience. I’m sad. I’m angry and hurt by the entire situation. And, I’ve been let down on so many levels and honestly, I don’t feel that I can bear that any more. I wish I could go back in time and put my advocating and fundraising to use elsewhere. Though, let’s be honest, if I had a time-machine I would first go to 1988 and get my skinny body back.

Tonight, I sat here sobbing for the sixth hour straight, with a throbbing headache, wondering why God has chosen this path for me. This week has been heartbreaking.

And that’s when, on cue, the toilet upstairs started overflowing and leaked right through the kitchen ceiling. Because nothing quite says, “Up yours! This week isn’t over yet!” like john water in your fruit basket.

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This week has been anxiety-ridden for me. There has been a lot of teeth-grinding, cuticle-picking, and ingestion of guacamole. I haven’t slept well either. I woke up every morning before 4:00am and when I did sleep, my dreams were filled with disastrous circumstances involving guns, seedy neighborhoods, and baby poop.

One night this week, I dreamed that my son and I were running away from a crazed man and we hightailed it down the alley where Bruce Wayne’s parents were killed and ended up hiding under the porch of a house that was supported by concrete blocks. We hid there, me with a loaded gun in my hand (a revolver of all things…like I was in some kind of Wild West movie, because anyone who knows me realizes I would clearly pick a 9mm) (I digress), we heard the man approaching and as is typical, we must have been about to die because I woke up.

The next day, when I was wide awake, I dropped my daughter off at her softball game while my son and I ventured off in search of food. Not in the hunter/gatherer sort of way, but the drive-thru kind of way. With Siri directing me, I followed turn after turn until we found ourselves in a part of town called North Hilltop, which is just west of a neighborhood called The Bottoms. It looks a lot like this, but without the police car and cute blue house:

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The Hilltop recently had a fella going from house to house who the media dubbed, “The Hilltop Creeper” and I was driving through the side streets thinking about my dream when I passed a porch supported by concrete blocks and I realized, just hours earlier, I had foreseen my own death. But, instead of a revolver, I was armed with a veggie burger from Burger King which wasn’t going to hurt anybody, unless “anybody” is my large intestines.

Obviously, we made it out alive with only minimal damage to my already whacked-out psyche and abdomen. This proves that dreams don’t always come true and I’m really glad because the baby poop dream was pretty disgusting.

It also proves that I’m glad this week is over. My Friday involves yoga pants, a blanket, working from my couch, and possibly Whoopie Pies, which is to say it’s not all that different from any other day, except the Friday part. Either way, I’m happy about it.

I hope you enjoy your weekend as much as I plan to enjoy mine. Sweet dreams, people. Sweet dreams.

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I have a thing for woman-owned shops. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman, maybe it’s because I like to shop and women-owned boutiques are more my taste, or maybe it’s because I saw my sister’s husband leave her; a single-mom who had to raise four boys under the age of ten on her own. Then, maybe I watched as she scraped and struggled through that life-changing event all her way to a successful business. Maybe.

KyKy’s Treasures is a mother and daughter team who began by making simple, beaded bracelets and selling them at their yearly garage sale. They loved doing it so much that they decided to sell them online too. Not only are they woman-owned, they are woman-and-daughter-owned. That’s a bonus woman, right there…

(Read more…)

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My 14 year old daughter came into this world 10 weeks early as a 2 lb. 9 oz. preemie; she was on a respirator, aspirated her first bottle of breastmilk, had a cyst in her brain, and spent 5 weeks in the hospital. It was kind of a bumpy start.

When she was 3 years old, her little brother was born. He, too, was a preemie and although he weighed a whole pound more than his big sister, he was very sick. The first few years of his life threw our family into an upheaval that only a family with medical problems can understand. Constant doctor visits, hospital stays, therapy, illnesses, and surgeries are not an easy thing for a young child to comprehend. Little brothers are supposed to be picked-upon, not danced around, gently, being careful not to knock out his IV.

But, through it all, our daughter has found a way to be a typical child…and so much more. Since she was in kindergarten she has played sports; lots of them. She’s been in school musicals, served at church, volunteered for charities, been a tech assistant, lab assistant, and been on the Honor Roll more times than her father and I combined.

You know how sometimes things just fall into place without you making much effort? That’s what happened here. I’ve never had to push her and I’m pretty sure if I had put her at the curb when she was 2 years old, she would have raised herself.

But, now? Now I’m pushing. Much like when a coach sees natural talent in an athlete and trains them for greatness, I’m doing the same thing…with my daughter’s brain.

She is smart. She’s wicked smart. She got the highest scores you could get on standardized tests for math and language. And, after taking a scholar search test, she placed in one of the top spots of her incoming freshman class. She was awarded a partial scholarship and an invitation to test at the next level. I’ve never been in the top 10 of anything in my life. Y’all, I AM PROUD.

So, yes, I’m pushing. If she doesn’t get past this next round that’s okay…REALLY. I don’t want her to feel pressure, but I don’t want her to waste what she has either. She can be anything she wants to be and having the freedom to choose her path is just the kind of empowerment I wish for her. Not everyone can decide between being an entrepreneur or an astrophysicist. Maybe she’ll be both

Do I know what I’m doing? No. Do I have any experience? No. Am I going to do my best to make sure she recognizes the strength she has? Yes.

We don’t know what the future holds, but I am certain of a few things; my daughter is amazing, I have never been more proud and, clearly, no man will ever be good enough for her.

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