Next Life NO Kids I made a #MOMMITMENT to end mom wars 300

Taking care of other people as though your life depends on it….That is the commitment that we all make to our kids. Some moms make that commitment by being the crafty, hair did, stylish, got their shit together moms. Others rock the hell out of the yoga pants, snot covered t-shirts, crock pot meals, and consistent tardiness to dance class. Either way, we put our children first so that they can enjoy the things in life they dream about. We all do it out of an undying love; turned on like a light switch one day, that can never be flipped off. The fact that we as mothers would wish to judge and throw shame at one another makes me sad. We are all trying to do the same thing – raise humans.

My pledge is very simple. I vow to cast no “Mom” judgment. Moms are people, and people make decisions and choices. I may not agree with the choices or understand them, but I can still be kind, tolerant, loving, and gracious. I can listen when the days are long, and the laundry never ends. I can listen to rants and sympathize, because I was once in that exact same spot.

I pledge not to make snarky comments in my head when that crafty, Pinterest Mom brings in homemade cupcakes with hand-carved candy statues on top. I will try to just sit back and think about the time she took to make such a beautiful gesture for her child. I will write about my life and struggles so that you can know that we are all going through a very similar journey. I will try my best to make you laugh.

We are all trying to raise future teachers, lawyers, congressmen, small business owners, NBA stars, and (against all odds) astronauts. So, I will stand alongside you, I will not pick up a stone. Being a mom is hard enough; there is no need to endure a meteor shower.






Have you ever been out with friends and seen the “What did you say to me” head turn? It’s that moment when as a parent you heard exactly what the child said, but you can’t actually process that they said it. I have noticed that my children tend to say a lot of things and sometimes I am unsure of what the exact meaning is. Therefore,  I have complied a list of terms and what they really mean. Please read below and save for your records in case you end up in the middle of a conversation with a crazy-ass child that seems to be babbling Yiddish.

Terms and their meanings:

I didn’t do it.: This means that the child did in fact do it, but they believe that you did not see them do it. They will defend their innocence to the death. You can show them streaming footage of the event in question and they will most likely still claim that they had no part in said activity. I myself have confronted my child with concrete evidence that they did in fact break a lamp, and yet she stood firm and tall, lying straight through her pearly white teeth.

Dad said I could.: This gem states that the child waited until “Dad” was on the couch napping to ask if they could get the glue, glitter, scissors, and yarn down from the craft bin to style the dogs hair. They obviously had permission from their father to complete the DIY project, so what is the actual problem? The dog seems satisfied and now you don’t have to take it to the groomers.

Why is your belly still fat?: Clear and to the point, this child is stating that you had that last baby over four years ago and it is time to get real and figure your shit out. On a side note, you have permission to slap the kid when they imply that you are pregnant when they damn well know you are not, however make sure it is your kid and not your kid’s friend.

You can’t make me!: This feisty child is challenging you to a duel of sorts. They are testing you to see if you will in fact, make them do whatever it is that you want them to do. They will wait you out, so be cautious and know your time restraints before going to battle.  I have sat with my kid for over 2 hours at the dinner table over a few green beans, and I don’t have a DVR so I missed American Idol. Shit got real after that.

NO!: Silly, silly little one.  This response is pretty specific. This child is asking, no dare I say demanding a series of spanking, time-outs, and other activities that follow when you tell your Mom no. My children are well aware of my specific sharp, head turn to the left. The daggers that shoot from my eyes like Indiana Jones zooming through the temple of doom. No good will ever come from this response. “No” is a four letter word in my house.

You’re the worst Mom ever!: This child is telling you the exact opposite. If you have gotten them this mad, your most likely the best Mom ever because you stood your ground. This is music to my ears! If they had done their homework and emptied the dishwasher, they could be playing video games right now instead of scooping dog shit up in the front yard.

I promise!: Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, believe this one. I have never once seen an actual promise take root in my house. Children are sneaky, shifty, lie-baggers, and they are not to be trusted. They will promise you something in one hand, and take a hot steamy crap in the other. Watch out and be vigilant. My favorite is, “If you read me one more story I will go to bed.” That child must think I was born yesterday. My children do not sleep, they are powered by pure evil. I’m pretty sure if they get a combined 20 minutes of sleep throughout the night, they can stay awake for an uninterrupted 7 days.

So I leave you with a simple yet detailed list of terms that you may come across as you are parenting your little love muffin. I wish you luck in all of your conversations with your children, so you are never left wondering, “What did you say?”





go the f

This weekend I had many thoughts running through my mind. If you are a parent I can pretty much guarantee that you have also had these very same thoughts. I did not share my thoughts with my children, although if we are being honest, I wanted to. Below are a few of the thoughts that entered my brain.

Why are you still talking?

Are you seriously this annoying?

Do you really think the noodles belong in your hair?

Why do you smell so bad?

What is that all over your face?

When is the last time you brushed your teeth?

Do I have to do everything for you?

Do you train to be this loud and obnoxious?

Why do you hate me?

Will you ever finish all of your food?

Am I positive these kids are mine?

Would they notice if I left?

Why do they hate each other so much?

While getting the kids ready for bed last night I was thinking about the Adam Mansbach book, “Go the F to sleep. If you haven’t read it, I urge you to do so. It is what ever parent deals with almost every night. Each night my kids act as if they have never heard of bed time before. They cock their head to the side and give me that confused look, as if I am speaking in Chinese. So after this weekend I employ Adam Mansbach to write a few more books. Below are some topics I would like him to explore.

Perspective Titles:

Shut the F up kid (Great gift for any child in your life that refuses to shut up. I’m not sure how my kids are alive, they never stop to take a breath .)

Do your F-ing homework (Perfect for the kid who needs to be buckled into the chair at the dining room table or else they will disappear like Houdini.)

Clean your F-ing room (For the child with no organizational skills and more match-box cars on the floor then Toys R Us has in their inventory.)

Hug your F-ing siblings (For the siblings that truly can’t stand each other but at some point need to figure out that they only get one family, so sorry your totally screwed.)

Be F-ing Nice ( For that boy or girl that always has something awful to say. Book included Tabasco Sauce for their filthy mouth.)

Take an F-ing Shower (Sweet and delicate way to tell your children that only farm animals should smell that way.)

Perhaps the “F” series as I will be calling it, will dramatically change my life. It may answer all of my prayers, or at least it will give me a laugh before I try to stick my head in the oven after I attempt to put my kids to bed for the 900th time that night.




I have recently discovered my new favorite game. If you are easily offended please do not play it, or keep reading this post for that matter. It is a terrible game. The makers of this game are awful people, and I truly hope to work for them some day. This game is down right ghastly. The game that I am so in love with is Cards Against Humanity. The premise of the game is simple. There are two types of cards, white cards and black cards. One player will flip a black card and it will pose a question. For example, “The story of how I lost my virginity?” Now all of the remaining players will pick from their hand of white cards to answer the question that the black card poses. So when this card was played the other night, in my hand I held the following white cards; Bitch slap, Cheating in the Special Olympics, Crystal Meth, Black People, and Sean Penn. With so many options to play, it was hard to answer, but I went with Crystal Meth. I did in fact win the point with that card.

This game however got me thinking. What if I made a game for all my Mom friends? We could call it “Cards Against My Sanity.”

It would look a little like this:

Cards Against My Sanity

Options for the Black Question Cards:

Why is Mommy Crying?

What is that sticky mess on the floor?

What is that smell?

Why are you screaming?

Who hid the remote?

Is that a turd or……?

While at the Grocery Store with the kids_____ and ______ happened.

The School called and said________.

My husband wants me to _________.

Why God Why?

What is in your pocket?

Did you do Your Homework?

Options for the White Cards:



Maple Syrup

Ran out of Xanax

Pile of steamy dog shit

He hit me again

She hit me again

I didn’t do it

I hate you

I peed my pants

Is it bedtime yet

I need a drink

Crystal Meth

Suck, rub, tug, repeat

So let’s look at what a round of card play would look like:

While at the Grocery store “I Peed my Pants” and “Urine” happened.

Why is Mommy Crying? “Ran out of Xanax”

My Husband wants me to “Suck, rub, tug, repeat.”

What’s that smell could be answered with several cards like….Urine, Feces, even Crystal Meth.

It seems like a winner to me. So if you have anything to do with the production of Cards Against Humanity, please give me a call. I think we have a real money maker on our hands here.





Before you get your panties all squished in a bunch, read through this article and I bet you might just agree with me. I have three children, and all three have at one time or another acted like miniature terrorists. The similarities are astonishing.

1. The element of surprise. Terrorists love the element of surprise. It keeps you on your toes. The “not knowing” has a tendency to put people on edge. Toddlers also love the element of surprise. I never know when my four-year old will have a level 7 drop to the floor melt down. Things can be going great and all of the sudden…BOOM! You’re in the middle of the cereal aisle and he is spitting and kicking and holding onto your leg for dear life….Surprise.

2. They rule with fear. Fear tactics are an age-old trick to keep people scared and the terrorist in control. My toddler also enjoys fear tactics. I have heard him talking with my daughter and it goes something like this… “If you don’t give back my truck, I’m going to pull your hair.” For fear of her Rapunzel hair being pulled, my daughter usually throws his truck right back at him and runs screaming.

3. They disguise their faces.Terrorists wear mask most of the time to keep their identity secret. My toddler loves wearing masks. Just last week we went to lunch and he wore his entire Spider Man costume. He owns several masks and capes. He like to keep his options open.

4. Demands..Demands…Demands. Terrorists usually have a list of demands that they require. It could be money, land, political asylum. Toddlers are no different. They have constant demands pouring from their mouths. “I’m hungry. I want that toy. I want to watch TV. Buy me candy.” The demands never seem to end.

5. Napoleon complex. Terrorists usually suffer from this personality disorder. They are power-hungry and have a tendency to find like-minded people who try to rise up to combat their enemies. My toddler may only be two foot tall, but he will stare you down and growl at you as though he is the biggest German Sheppard at the pound. It’s as though he has no idea that I can pick him up and throw him like a shot put.

6. Shrouded in Secrecy. Terrorists are constantly devising plans and methods for their upcoming attacks. Toddlers are guilty of this as well. I can’t tell you how many times I have walked up to my four-year old and asked what he was doing. His response is always the same, “Nothing, I didn’t do it.” Do what I asked. “Nothing, I didn’t touch it.” Touch what I ask. This can go on for hours.

7. Skillful Negotiators. Terrorists are very skilled at the art of negotiation. They know what they want and have the ability to manipulate the situation until they get it. My toddler will negotiate bedtime for hours. By the time we finish the negotiation, it 11:30 and I have passed out while he is still watching TV.

8. Psychological Torture Tactics. Terrorists are taught from day one to know their enemy inside and out. They are taught to know what their enemy fears and use that to get into their head and cause destruction. Once again, toddlers are no different. My toddler will ask the same question over and over and over and over again. No matter how many times I answer it, he will ask again. He isn’t really interested in the answer. He is secretly wearing me down until I can no longer take it, and then boom….He will ask for something he wants, knowing that I am so tired of his voice that I will give in and let him have it.

9. Occupying. This terrorist tactic includes the terrorists going into a territory and taking over the area making it unlivable for the people. My son will invade my bed, my living-room, my office, my porch, my kitchen, until I find that I have no livable space in the home left to call my own. Last week alone I sat on a pound of glitter on the couch, stepped on a train, sat on a bat-mobile, tripped over his shoes, picked up a half eaten piece of fruit from the floor, and flushed the toilet for him 37 times.

10. Social Media. Terrorism will only work if there is an audience. If no one knows, then no one cares. Toddlers have this one down pat. Take a look at your Facebook feed, Twitter feed, Instagram. They have completely taken over. We all post pictures of our kids acting cute, singing, dancing, playing. They are everywhere. Children are secretly attempting a mass Coup d’etat as we speak. Do not be naive. We are not in control.

So in closing, be careful. Sleep with one eye open. Watch your children like a hawk. Be cautious with their demands and learn to hold your ground. I myself have finally decided that I am a dictator and I will not be bullied into any type of negotiations. Check back with me in about 20 minutes to see if I have changed my position.





In July I was diagnosed with an esophageal tumor that sat on top of the opening to my stomach. It was a rough summer to say the least. So let me rewind tell you what happened in the summer of 2014. I have had heart burn as long as I can remember. As a child I remember telling my Mom that my heart hurt. I always seemed to have a stomach ache after I ate. I started medication for the heartburn at 18 and pretty much stayed medicated on and off for 15 years. This past summer it got way worse. I couldn’t sleep, eat, I was nauseated, and it became hard to swallow my food. I finally made an appointment with a specialist in June. He took one look at me and said “You are young and healthy. I am sure you are fine. We can increase your dosage if you like.” I wasn’t really satisfied with that. I asked for a scope so we could see what was going on. He complied, although he said it would be expensive and a waste of time.

I went in the next week for a scope. Let me just say that I totally get why Michael Jackson was hooked on Propofol. It was the best sleep I had in at least 8 years. I counted to three and I was out. It was glorious. When I woke up I was moved into a waiting room where the doctor met me and my husband. He said that they found a lump in my esophagus, but wasn’t worried. He needed to run a few tests and do another scope. He was in and out of the room in under three minutes. I looked at my husband and we both got up and walked to the car. I wasn’t sure what to think. First thing you think when you hear lump is of course the “C” word. No one wants to say it out loud, like if you say it you will be curse with it. So we went home and sat on the couch. I sat quiet for a few minutes and then decided that I needed to cut the lawn.

I jumped on my trusty riding mower and put in my ear-buds. I cut grass for about three hours. I just drove around basically cutting dirt. I began to think about what would happen if I did in fact have the “C” word. My honest to God first thought was “Who will my husband marry?” He would need to find someone very quickly. It was not going to be easy. We would need to start looking right away. When I got off the mower I asked him to sit down so we could talk. I opened my laptop and went to I said that I wanted to take a look at what was out there so we could be prepared for my departure. I held his hand and said “Honey, you are bald and have three kids. We need to start looking.” He looked at me and told me to calm down and shut up. I explained that I needed to make sure he and the kids would be taken care of when I started to walk towards the light. He did not find any of this humorous, which was not my intent, but I had to laugh. Let’s be honest, the people seems to be relatively successful, it can’t hurt to look.

The next week I went in for the second procedure. Once again I had the best 20 minute nap. I woke up in recovery to my husband holing my hand. I asked where the doctor was and he said he had left. I asked what he found and my husband said “it’s a tumor, but the doctor said not to worry.” So I sat up and asked when the doctor was coming back so I could ask any of the nine million questions I had. My husband said he wasn’t coming back but that he would call us later. I said a few very un-lady like words about him and got dressed. What kind of doctor lets the husband tell the wife that she has a tumor? What an Ass-Hat.

So once again we went home and I got on my riding mower. The grass didn’t need to be cut, but I got on anyway and rode around for about two hours. My husband stopped me mid-mow and said the doctor was on the phone. I jumped off and got on the phone. We had a quick conversation about the tumor. He stated that he did not believe it was cancer, but he doesn’t really deal with this type of procedure. He said I could wait about six months, and then do another scope and re-evaluate. Why on earth would I want to keep a tumor in my esophagus that was blocking the opening to my stomach? I am 34 years old. I have three kids, a balding husband, and way too much shit to do. I need to know if I have cancer so I can find my husband a wife.

Once again I sat that night with my husband and we talked about the tumor and what kind of wife he would like if I were to kick the bucket. I asked “I know you are drawn to blondes, but is that a sticking point?” He laughed, but stated he was firm on her being blonde. We then sat there and I cried for about an hour. It was the hardest thing we had ever talked about. So I of course deflected and continued to discuss his new wife. She would have big breasts, blonde hair, a sweet ass, and if possible a background in gymnastics. She would need to be tidy and a good cook, as well as patient with the kids. I soon realized that my replacement was nothing like me, but that was probably for the best.

About two weeks later I found myself in an oncologist’s office. He had reviewed my file and started talking about the next step. I assumed that I would have some type of laparoscopic surgery to remove the tumor and go about my business. It was not that simple. The doctor informed me that he would need to cut me from belly button to sternum. He needed to remove my esophagus so he could take the tumor out. The tumor was wrapped around the base of my esophagus, basically crushing it. The good news was this guy was brand new to town and I was like his third patient. Wait what?? Yep, I was literally the third person in our town to go under the knife with him.

My husband and I sat and looked at each other trying to figure out the best time to do the surgery since it was the beginning of the school year, and we would need to coordinate the kids. My husband asked if we could do the surgery in a few months so we could get help with the kids. The doctor said, “You need to do this within the month, you have four weeks to set up the surgery.” Holy crap. Four weeks was not enough time to get sorted. My head was reeling. I was not ready to be a fillet-o-fish. I still wear a bikini to the pool for crying out loud. Not only did I have a tumor, but now I must have a huge scar down my stomach. Yes, I know this was vain and I shouldn’t care, but I did.

We set the surgery date and spent the next month gearing up for the surgery and five-day hospital stay. My family was amazing. I spent most of that time telling my husband that if it was cancer we would be fine and I would find him a suitable replacement. He was a good sport, for some reason thinking about finding him someone made me feel better. I know it sounds strange, but I thought that if I had to go, I wanted him and the kids to have someone.

The morning of the surgery we walked in and I was whisked upstairs to the surgical floor. I kindly asked the nurse to administer something for my nerves. I was quietly thinking that if I pulled out the IV and ran, I could head for Mexico and act like this had never happened. Within a minute of whatever the nurse gave me, I was calm and apparently quite talkative. I told the anesthesiologist that I beat my kids with a flip-flop and he was next if he screwed up. I kissed my husband goodbye and to be honest I don’t remember going under.

I woke up and saw my husband, told him I loved him and asked the question that I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer to. He replied, “You’re OK, it’s not cancer.” I was elated. It was the best news a mother of three could ever receive. I passed back out. The next time I woke up I realized I had a tube stuck in my throat and I became automatically pissed. I was in a ton of pain and I could swallow. The next five days were tough. I am allergic to pain medications, so I recuperated from major surgery with liquid Tylenol.

So the summer of 2014 was one for the books. It taught me a lot about myself. I never would have guessed that my major concern when faced with my own mortality was that I needed to find a wife for my husband. I thought I would have been more concerned with what I was going to miss. I figured that if I was sick and going to expire, I can’t actually miss it. The best thing I could do would be to make sure my family was OK when I left. I am happy I didn’t have to find a wife for my husband. No, I am thrilled that I didn’t have to do that. But I am grateful for the experience. There is no time like the present. So soak it up and enjoy; fillet-o-fish scar and all.


friday mom

Katy Perry’s got nothing on a Mom’s Friday night.

There’s a child in my bed

Might be urine by my head

Diapers all over the room

Is that glitter, get the broom

I smell like a barnyard

Husband passed out on flash cards

Barbie’s naked on the floor

What’s this sticky mess on the door

Pictures of my kids

Ended up online

I’m a Mom

Oh Well

It’s a whacked out life

But I signed up I’m the wife


Last Friday night

Yeah, we put the kids to bed

All the screaming hurt my head

No one slept I should have fled

Last Friday night

Yeah, we spanked all of the kids

Got ticked, lost all my e-bay bids

So I had a glass of wine

Last Friday night

Kids came streaking through the room

Chased them with the wooden spoon

Then had some more wine

Last Friday night

Yeah I think I broke the law

DCF no need to call

I just tripped over a doll

This Friday night

Do it all again

This Friday night

Fill my glass again

Here’s to plenty more Friday nights like this one :)



Divorce is a part of life. I have many divorced friends. Over the past 12 years I have seen at least half of my married friends relationships end in divorce. Divorce is sad, causes a lot of pain, and is a very difficult process. I am not jealous of any of that portion of the divorce. I am however jealous of the happy, after the fact divorced friends of mine who share custody of their children. I am in no way jealous of divorced full-custody parents who have to go it alone. Those people are saints. I am going to be honest and tell you why.

I have several friends who are divorced with children. I see them on Facebook, posting pictures at a bar on a Wednesday night, or at our house, a “School Night.” I’m sure you have friends like this as well. They look happy, relaxed, with a drink in hand. And that smile, where did they get that smile. I know, maybe it’s from being out on a week night, “School Night” and not paying for a babysitter. You hear them talking about where they will be vacationing, or what fun activity they will be doing that weekend. Posting pics of their rested faces after a long uninterrupted 8 hours of sleep. Yeah, I’m jealous. I said it. I know I shouldn’t say it, but I did.

I recently called up one of my friends and asked if she and the kids wanted to get together for the day. She said no, she didn’t have the kids that weekend. So I asked what she was going to do. Her reply, “I’m not sure, probably read a book, take a nap, drink some wine.” I wanted to jump through the phone and strangle her with the imaginary phone cord. I know that jealousy is wrong. I Get It! I really do, but I was jealous. I spent the rest of that weekend running from place to place with everyone crying about the task at hand. One of my blessing had a bathroom blow out and I spent the rest of the day carting around their undies in a zip-lock bag. Side not, I only kept the undies because they were Elsa Frozen panties, and thus her favorite. I came home with the intent to read and fell asleep on the couch before I could open the book.

I am even more jealous of my re-married friends. They have it the best. Come on….They have found love once again and still get to send their kids to their Dads for the weekend. Now they have quiet quality time with the love of your life, and no one bombarding their bathroom while they are mid-poop, or perhaps having some Mommy-Daddy time. It sounds like heaven. The best of both worlds. I am sure some of you who read this will be appalled at my opinion on divorce. I get that it sounds terrible that I am jealous of a divorced family. Please understand that I am simply jealous of the shared custody portion, I am not an evil person who wishes anyone ill will.

I decided that I would talk to my husband about my jealously issues. I sat him down to discuss an arrangement that I though might both benefit us. Below is a transcript of our dialogue.

Me: So I think we need to talk.

Husband: About What?

Me: I was wondering if you would move back in with your parents?

Husband: What? Why?

Me: Well, I think it would be great if we could both get some time to ourselves and have a chance to decompress.

Husband: You want a divorce?

Me: No. I want the benefits of a divorce without getting the divorce.

Husband: What?

Me: You know, like me dropping the kids to you for a three-day stretch so I can go get stuff done, or just relax.

Husband: Are you insane? Why would I leave her to go live with my parents?

Me: Well, your Mom will cook for you and help you with the kids. I am pretty sure this is a Win-Win. Plus, when you drop the kids to me you can golf for three days straight.

Husband: Why would I do that. I can golf three days straight now If I want to.

Me: Ugggggh. WTF

So needless to say my husband was not on board with the pseudo-divorce. I myself thought it was an excellent idea. My honest divorced friends tell me all the time that it is a blessing at times to have some freedom and time to themselves. They do however have to deal with the ex. I would not do so well with that part of divorce. I have a hard enough time navigating a happy marriage.

Divorce is not something to joke about, but I must say that there is something to that shared custody arrangement. I will continue to work on a solution with my husband. Perhaps we should hire an Au Pair, although I have seen some disastrous ending to that on Dateline NBC. She would probably be blonde, early 20’s, thin….. OK, next idea.  Maybe we should buy the house next door and swap the kids mid-week. However I am sure that would back fire and I would have two houses to clean, two meals to cook, and two mortgage payments. I guess I will keep brainstorming, and try to contain my ill-logical jealousy.

cropped-images.jpgI am officially 9 months away from 35. I have been happily and unhappily married for 11 years. I have three beautiful, healthy, often ill-behaved kids. I have a super cool dog. I have really great friends. What a journey. With the ringing in of the new year, and all of the resolutions and positive vibes being splashed all over Facebook and twitter it made me realize… I finally know who I am. Whew…. I thought I would never get here. With that being said, I wanted to start the new year with a recap of how I got here.

I have known my husband for almost 20 years. He can be my worst enemy at times, and then my fiercest supporter. He is my best friend, and the one person who can annoy me the most on the planet. He is a keeper. He is a pain in the ass. He is not going to change. I have tried. I have failed. I was stupid for attempting. He is perfect just the way he is. Marriage is the hardest thing I have ever been involved in, parenting being the closest runner-up in the Universe. I love him more than he will ever know. Moving on…..

So here’s to the hardest job I have ever had, parenting. I was an awful pregnant person. I was put on bed-rest with all three of my blessings. I was medicated, hospitalized, and a complete nervous wreck each time. Having these three kids has defined me as a person and made me realize what is most important. I made a conscious decision to have 2 out of 3 of my kids. Third baby was a special surprise that remarkably changed my life. It is a struggle every day. Some days I am on fire and just killing it. Others, I am afraid the bagger at Publix will call DCF due to a flip-flop beating in aisle 7. I am who I am because of my experiences as a wife and parent.

All of my children are very different. They have huge hearts, and fiery tempers. My oldest is a LEGO, Minecraft obsessed 8 year-old. My daughter wants to be 25 and dresses like she is in a Hollywood film everyday. My youngest is super sweet and has special needs. My kids have made me realize what things in life are really important.

My youngest was my easiest labor. He basically fell out. At about 6 months old I realized he wasn’t crawling. At a year he wasn’t walking. At 14 months my MIL finally said out loud, “I think you need to take him to the doctor.” I knew there was something wrong, but didn’t want to acknowledge it. Once you say it out loud it has the tendency to become real.

I knew he was behind the curve compared to my other kids, but he was also the baby. I finally went into my pediatrician and had a conversation about my fears. It was the hardest conversation I had ever had. My doctor examined my son and then said a few words that I will never forget. “Worst case scenario is Cerebral Palsy, best case it’s nothing.” I don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. I pretty much checked out and starred into space for the next 10 minutes. After that we spent the next month at various orthopedic, neurologist, and other specialist until we finally found out on the day after Thanksgiving that he did in fact have brain damage. For someone who has a compulsive need to fix everything, this was a hard truth. I had a meltdown for about a month.

It has been three years since his diagnosis. He is the picture of heath. He has a bit of a limp on his left side. Some issues with his leg and arm, but overall a rambunctious crazy four-year old. His battles seem to be behavior and temperament problems, as well as inability to hold his urine. I hit the lottery in terms of having a kid with CP. With that being said, my heart breaks for everyone who has a child with disabilities and special needs. It’s easy to say you understand, it’s another thing to take the journey. I wouldn’t change it. Like I said before, it has helped shape me.

Why am I writing about this? Well, it’s 2015 and I wanted to share a bit about me as we venture into this new year together. All of this has shaped me, it’s where I came from. I am an outspoken person. I sometimes don’t make it out of my pajamas. I cry at animal shelter commercials. I laugh at inappropriate things. I like to exercise, then eat chocolate. I DIY. I spank. I buy super cute, yet trampy outfits and shoes for my daughter. I put sprite in my wine. I wouldn’t know class if it sat on my head. My uniform is a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. I will do anything for my family and friends. If you don’t think you have figured out who you are yet, I am here to tell you it’s OK. You will be just fine. You are super awesome. Everyday will be a battle. Every day will almost always contain a win and a loss. You will survive. Remember to laugh everyday. I m positive that laughing has helped me maintain my sanity. My goal this year is to make you laugh to help keep your sanity. Here’s to staying focused on what matters in 2015! Leave me a comment on what you want to see happen in 2015. I would love to know :)