Category Archives: Big Piece of Cake

Links I Love 11/14/11

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Here are some of my favorites from the past week:
 
Projects with paint chips.
 
Why the Muppets need to host the Oscars (via Minky Moo).
 
Tips for crafting with kids. #1 on my list would be don’t use anything involving the word “adhesive” – but this list is pretty good too.
 
I love brave writing like this and this.  
 
On craving motherhood (and a super fun chocolate party). 
 
Peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat! Alternatively titled “This will haunt your dreams.” I’m sorry – I can’t help it. It’s like that VHS tape from The Ring. It just has to be passed on…
 
 
I totally think Stimey can change the world. And I’m going to help her. What about you?
 
Thanksgiving dinner for everyone!
 
Be back tomorrow with a story from that chocolate party…

Living the Dream

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While I was pregnant with my first child—my special needs child, Oliver—I had this little thing I would do every night before going to sleep. It wasn’t exactly a prayer, or even some intentional form of magical thinking…but I would reflect on everything that I wanted for my baby. It was more of a list than a litany, but it still had that rote quality of repetition.

I would add to my list now and again, but for the most part, it didn’t change. I hoped that he’d be kind and generous, funny and handsome. I also wanted him to be earnest, self confident, intelligent, creative. And happy. I dreamed all of this for him and more. Because that is what we do as we sit in the waiting room outside our future as parents. We dream.

And when he was finally born, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect baby. At nine pounds, he was chubby and healthy. And I was terribly offended by the nurses’ exclamations of “Oh, he’s a BIG boy.” There is nothing big about nine pounds. He was tiny and precious, and it was my job to shield him from the dangerous world.

During those early months of taking quiet walks outside and letting him sleep in my arms, this level of protection seemed entirely possible. It’s a brief moment in parenthood that we often forget to treasure as we learn how to function on next to no sleep. It’s the first and last time that we will ever truly be able to stand between our child and…everything. It’s a simple “just you and me” time when the rest of the world disappears. A sweet symbiosis.

Oliver was a very typical baby.

Of course, he had his challenges. Like not sleeping though the night until…EVER. O.K., that’s not true. He got better after the first year, but let me tell you—I can name most of my wrinkles: “Oliver, April 5, 2005,” “Oliver, April 6, 2005,” “Oliver, April 7, 2005….” And he did go through that annoying Daddy’s Boy phase when he preferred my husband to me. Such betrayal. But all in all, he gave me every reason to be a very smug mommy. A few minor details aside, he was everything I dreamed about.

So when did we notice that something was “different?” It’s hard to say since it was all so wrapped up in the craziness of a surprise pregnancy that ended up being twins born 18 months after I had Oliver. Like any “normal” 18-month old, he wasn’t thrilled about two tiny creatures intruding on our perfectly lovely little family of three.

I use the word “creatures” because I got the impression that this is how Oliver viewed them. Even my healthy 5.5-pound twins were pretty scrawny looking. They certainly didn’t resemble any baby Oliver had ever seen before. In fact, I think I can pinpoint the moment when he realized exactly what was going on with these new “pets” of ours. I was changing a six-day-old George’s diaper when I caught Oliver staring intensely at this activity that he must have observed at least ten times a day at daycare. And it was like I knew what he was thinking: “Is that a BABY?!”

I couldn’t blame him, really. I, myself told people that taking care of the twins sometimes felt like playing with Barbies. And that with their little C-section legs curled up all “knee to chin,” it was “like changing kittens.” A very different experience from my chubby first born.

Then time passed. We all survived. Adapted. Became a family. And in the midst of all of that, we discovered that Oliver was not going to be the average, everyday big brother.

Some of my family members were shocked by how our friendly and engaging little guy had suddenly become so closed off and threatened by new people, places and experiences. And as he approached age two, it was obvious that he was not speaking nearly as much as other toddlers his age. People started talking to me about having Oliver tested.

The truth is, all of that really could have been chalked up to the major upheaval in his previously peaceful little life (did I mention that we moved to a new house three weeks before the twins were born?) And I have never been one to obsess over timelines.

I didn’t want to be that competitive mom, pushing her kids to be the best at everything. So his speech wasn’t progressing as quickly as other toddlers I knew…my brother didn’t talk until he was two!

But as Oliver’s second birthday approached and he had months of time to get used to his younger brother and sister, it seemed more possible to me that this might not just be a reaction to change.

Something was wrong. Or wasn’t right. Or wasn’t normal. Or wasn’t “typical”—the PC term that I would soon learn to use when discussing the differences between my child and others. So we had him tested.

It took years before we finally had a handle on what is going on with Oliver.

We got him into a full-time special needs preschool program through our county. We found him a neurologist. Then we consulted a pediatric psychologist who gave him an Autism Spectrum diagnosis (PDD-NOS or Pervasive Developmental Disorder – Not Otherwise Specified), something pivotal to getting him as many services and therapies as possible through the public school system. We sent him to occupational therapy (speech wasn’t covered by our insurance since it wasn’t “restorative”) and enrolled him in a social skills group. That last one ended up being a huge waste of time and money, but I did make a wonderful friend in one of the other mothers there. I like to say that I paid $2,000 for her.

We learned more and more about our son through trial and error. And the only thing I found perfectly clear was that Oliver wasn’t like other kids. My friend, the $2,000 one, has a PDD-NOS boy herself and jokes that it means, “There is something wrong with your child…but we don’t know what is wrong with him.” It’s very frustrating. And so much more common in special needs kids than one would expect. There isn’t a finite label or diagnosis for everything.

Like all other parents in this position, we tried a lot of things, and we learned to accept that there are no easy answers, no single set of directions to follow. We were muddling through like everyone else. Looking for anything that would help Oliver learn how to speak in more than three-word sentences, answering only “yes” or “no” while the other four-year olds were asking “Why?”

And during that time, we were raising a handsome, quirky, delayed boy who was still everything to me that he was as a newborn. Perfect. Mine to protect.

He deserved more than the necessary search for answers and helpful therapies. He had so much to offer us just the way he was. So much to teach. I doubt that there is ANY parent of a special needs child who doesn’t claim to be a kinder, more tolerant person now.

Oliver taught me to take my dismissal of hard and fast developmental timelines to a whole new level. I celebrated every milestone and triumph, and didn’t immediately move on to anticipate the next one. I started living more in the moment and appreciating each day as it came to me.

I watched him play with his younger siblings and enjoy their companionship. It was clear that he thought they were the best friends to be found. He never pushed them aside to follow the older kids in the neighborhood.

He was (and still is) so true to himself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him express concern over other children not approving of his preferred games and activities. At age six, he still loves Thomas Trains. If other six-year olds think trains are for babies? Fine, more trains for him. As much as he may want to be part of the group, he won’t sell out. But even more importantly, he doesn’t judge anyone else for their own preferred pastimes.

And when Oliver actually does say or do something intentionally funny? It’s like he knows. He looks at me and it’s so clear that he gets it. That he’s different and that it’s O.K. Even kind of great. And we have a moment of looking at the world through the same eyes. And laughing about…all of it. I love that.

These kids know so much more than we realize. By operating on a different frequency than others, they often catch things that the rest don’t. So many times, I’ve been smiling and laughing, and Oliver will look at me with obvious anxiety over the sadness or worry or anger that I’m feeling underneath it all. I’m a pretty good actress if I need to be. But he sees through me. He knows.

One of the greatest gifts I have ever been given is Oliver’s ability to talk to me; to have real conversations. Through a combination of auditory processing therapy and sensory integration therapy (two alternative approaches that we’ve discovered over the past couple of years), Oliver has started really talking. In full sentences. In conversations initiated by HIM.

This may not sound like much, but for us, it is monumental. To be able to talk to your child about their thoughts, feelings, wonder about the world…is basic to building a mature relationship with them. So to hear Oliver express why he’s angry or frustrated is like a miracle. It doesn’t matter if his “feelings” conversations aren’t exactly complex, because for the first time ever, they’re clear.

I love Oliver. He looks at the world in a way that no one else does. He marches to the beat of his own drummer.

It’s so easy to get mired down in the testing and therapies and worries of your special needs child. And to a certain extent you should. It’s your job. But there is also so much opportunity for pure, visceral enjoyment of them.

When I had my baby, I wanted everything for him. And now, six years later, I see that it is he who is giving everything to me. He is every single one of the dreams that I had for him.

He’s handsome and funny, kind and generous. He’s intelligent, self-confident and creative. And so earnest in how much he enjoys his life. He is happy.

I will always try to help him have the best life possible. I’ll dream more for him than could ever be possible. Because that’s what parents do. But I’ll never worry about whether he can realize all of my dreams for him. Because he already has.

Originally posted on Health News HERE.

Links I Love 11/7/11

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Still trying to get this new site fixed up…those blank pages are giving me the fish eye…

But in the meantime – here are some great reads (and stuff) from the past week!

Autistic speakers have so much to teach us.
 
 
The big sister everyone wishes they had (found via Issa on Twitter – we need to tweet our favorite links more often)
 
A husband’s Holiday Planning Guide.
 
When the school system can fail you (special needs kids are on a WIDE spectrum). Look for some great advice in the comments.
 
Best group Halloween costumes. 
 
I want one of these laptop skins! Which one would you pick?
 
In honor of the “holiday special.”
 
That’s it for now. Tune in next – dare I say it? – MONDAY for more links! (Now it will for sure be a Thursday…)

Forever Changed

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My first baby was born at 41 weeks. He apparently had no desire to leave such warm, cozy accommodations—with 24-hour room service, no less! And while I couldn’t really blame him, it seemed an eviction notice was in order.

So early one spring morning, we picked up the bag that had been sitting by the door for weeks, and left for the hospital. I would be induced and, if all went as planned, we would be new parents by the end of the day. My mother and aunt had come to stay with us, and later told me that as they watched me lumber to the car with my husband Chris’ support, they looked at each other and said, “Their lives will never be the same again…”

Everyone knows that having children changes your life forever. Priorities are reevaluated, careers are modified to decrease office hours or just put on hold entirely, and vacations become more complicated than enjoyable…. In general, every decision is made with your child’s best interests in mind. It’s no longer all about you. But I have of yet to meet anyone who would want their old life back.

And, of course, there are the fantasies that we all try to sell ourselves and each other like, “It will be easier once they don’t need constant supervision,” “I can go back to work when they’re all in school,” or my personal favorite, “We can start traveling again when they’re older.”

Now that my “babies” are becoming kids, I have a slightly more realistic view….

Yes, it is a whole new world of closing the bathroom door when I take a shower. And personal space and time for myself are actually making their way back into the daily rotation, but decreasing the once constant supervision of my children has its price: I’m also losing that tight control on their immediate safety.

Once they started walking down stairs unassisted, it became possible—and even expected—that they may fall now and again. I never knew how bad that fall might be, and their independence grows by the minute.

By allowing them to cross our neighborhood streets without holding my hand, I’ve taken yet another step toward something that could never in a million years be considered easy. Nonstop supervision of babies and toddlers may be exhausting, but watching them grow up and make their own decisions—both good and bad—is terrifying. The loss of control is anything but “easy.” I can’t even think about what this will be like when they’re teenagers…

Luckily, the teen years are still a way off, but school days are already in full swing. Next year, my twins will start kindergarten and finally, all three of my children will be in school full-time, five days a week. This would seem like the obvious time to return to a “paying” job, right? I always thought so, but it’s not nearly as simple in action than in theory. Oliver’s first year in elementary school provided a first-hand reminder of the fact that school hours and vacation days do not exactly match up with those offered to full time office employees.

Most people leave work at 5:00 p.m., but Oliver’s school bus drops him off a couple of hours before the typical work day comes to a close. Some parents I know are able to work flex hours, but commute distance and overtime hours may also play a role. And I could go on about sick days, federal holidays and summer vacation….

But the point is that “going back to work” will never be the same as when you left; even if you were a working parent for a while. I was, but back then, I could drop my children at daycare as early as 7:00 a.m. and pick them up at 6:00 p.m. And it was year-round. School starts sometime after 8:00 a.m. and ends around 3:00 p.m. And there are over ten weeks of the year that school is closed for vacation. There is no getting around the need for additional childcare. And it comes as no surprise that so many primary caregivers find part-time jobs or work that they can do from home.

I could never consider every angle of the kids in school/working parents/required childcare love triangle in a paragraph or two. Each family figures out what works best for them and there are unlimited factors. For my own family, commute, daycare expenses, special needs therapies, schedule availability, and work travel all play a role in why I’m currently a stay-at-home mom. And figuring out how to segue back into the workforce in the next couple of years will be challenging.

One of the things I miss most about my career before kids is the travel. I was a conference planner and had the opportunity to visit beach resorts, historic cities and even international destinations. I loved it.

But once I brought that first baby home, the fun travel sounded more like torture. How does one separate from the love of their life for several days, let alone a week? I quickly found a job that didn’t involve any nights away from home.

Personal travel was still an option, and as long as I had my baby with me, I didn’t mind leaving home. But as that little baby grew older, became mobile, and needed his own seat on an airplane, everything changed.

At one time, my carry-on bag held books, magazines, and possibly a little pillow for napping. But now I pack snacks and coloring books. Mini-DVD players can be a lifesaver, but they tend to take up 80 percent of your purse space. Napping on flights has become a thing of the past (unless you are my husband). Instead, I spend hours searching for Thomas Trains under seats and escorting small people to the bathroom. And once we arrive at our destination, the real fun begins.

Remember relaxing vacations spent reading by the pool, dining at romantic restaurants, and sleeping in? Yeah, me too. But just barely.

Those memories are slowly fading into legend. Needless to say, it’s rare that I even open a book on our family vacations. Restaurants must be “kid friendly,” and there is no snooze button on the three living alarm clocks that wake me up early no matter where we are.

Any kind of travel requires months of planning, mental preparation, and saved pennies (FIVE seats on a flight!). It’s not that our vacations aren’t fun, but we put more thought into the enjoyment of our children than our own.

But like every other parent I’ve ever met, I don’t regret any of it.

I’ll happily go on economical family road trips and catch the sunrise instead of sleeping in. And I’m confident that I’ll eventually find a great career that I would never have discovered without the schedule limitations that my children have created.

For the loss of every previous luxury, I’ve gained invaluable family time…memories…learning experiences.

I’ll admit that I don’t love the worry that goes hand in hand with each day’s incremental loosening of apron strings. But again, there is a trade off. Watching people you created grow up and find their own way is an incredible gift.

I have my share of anxiety about the unknown future, but I also have plenty of hope. And I try to focus on that.

We waited until our early thirties to start a family, and I’m glad that we had that time before. But as much as I enjoyed my life before becoming a mother, I honestly feel like I’m living the one I was meant to have now.

Originally posted on Health News HERE.

A Guest Post and Links AND Happy Halloween!

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On Saturday, Varda of The Squashed Bologna (a.k.a. @squashedmom) asked me to contribute to her Special Needs Siblings Saturday (SNSS) feature. This was more than an honor, and let me tell you – if you ever do guest post for Varda, she will make you feel like a celebrity in her introduction. Talk about VIP treatment!

Please come visit me there and leave a comment so she knows I have friends. And click on the button below to see more SNSS posts.

SNSS

Thanks so much Varda!

I also found a number of links to share this week. Hope you enjoy them:

In Support of Anna! (Have you written something? Let me know.)
Utilizing the Power of Social Media
Tweet for Margaret
For Jack: Will You Help Us #LiftMargaret? (Also on Chicago Now)
Online Community Rallies for a Girl Who Lost Brother

So I’m not the only one who thinks being sick in bed sounds kind of great…
Silence of the Lambs masks for kids!
We all have different parenting styles – so why sweat (judge) the small stuff?
Too funny: “faking anger” with your kids to make a point (and yes – I totally do this)
Feeling sentimental about mess – I should try this…
A great reminder to be as intrusive as you want about what your kids are doing online.
Want to feature a home project or decor job? Tips for taking better room “interiors” pictures for your blog.

FINALLY – it’s Halloween today. And in spite of Saturday’s snow and the current toe-numbing temperature outside, we are very excited!

Have a fabulous night of fake gore and Disney princesses!

(Want to comment? Click the cake in the top left corner of this post – or just click HERE.)

Dynamic Family Dynamics

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1/17/14

This post was originally published on The Squashed Bologna in October 2011. I came across the link and decided to retroactively publish it here too. Hard to believe that was over two years ago…

Dynamic Family Dynamics

Often when asked about the level of chaos and drama in my house, I’ll say that “I have a special needs child, an explosive child and a girl.” That pretty much sums it up.

But let me backtrack a bit.

I have three children – Oliver, my six year old, and George and Eleanor, my five year old twins. And just in case you’re wondering – no, that age difference was not planned. Nor was the two-for-one pregnancy. But no matter how dramatic and chaotic it may be, I never lose sight of how lucky I am to have these three entirely unique people in my life – to be able to watch them grow.

Like any other parent, I once looked into my children’s newborn faces and dreamed about their futures. I imagined them as happy and healthy kids. So close in age, they would be friends. They would grow up together and then go on to attend college, find careers… have families.

I always knew that they were really just on loan to me. I would raise them, but they would eventually leave to find their own way in the world. And I looked forward to watching it all unfold.

We had some basic expectations for the roles they would play, of course. Oliver would be the big brother, and look out for his not-that-much younger siblings. Eleanor would be a daddy’s girl because they all are in my husband’s extended family. George would be the middle child – even though he is only a minute older than his sister – and as a loud and demanding infant, he seemed destined to be a handful.

And some of this ended up being true. Eleanor is a shameless daddy’s girl and George has taken the term “handful” to a whole new level. But Oliver is not your average, everyday big brother. He is my special needs child.

The twins were born when he was 18 months old. And around that time, it was becoming obvious that he was different from other toddlers. His speech wasn’t developing with the lightning speed that I witnessed in other kids. He wasn’t as social and trusting. He was more interested in throwing blocks in than he was in using them to build towers.

Years later, after special needs preschool and various therapies, Oliver is sweet, handsome boy with severe sensory processing disorders. He also has an Autism Spectrum label: PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder – not otherwise specified).

The behaviors and challenges that qualify him for a Spectrum label are primarily noticeable in his communication and language skills, but he also has some more subtle problems with motor skills. We’ve been lucky to find a couple of alternative therapies that have been nothing short of magic as far as I’m concerned. And Oliver is always making progress – moving forward. But it’s never fast enough for him to catch up to, let alone keep up with, his peers.

And it’s not just other kids his age anymore. Oliver is now officially behind the skill levels of his siblings. Over time, George and Eleanor have become my barometer for what Oliver will hopefully learn how to do.

People are confused by our oldest son because he “looks normal.” But they haven’t witnessed Oliver’s daily struggles with things that have come so naturally to his brother and sister. Like sustaining conversation, understanding the rules in games and making friends. They don’t understand why it’s George who plays light sabers with the older boys across the street while Oliver plays with Thomas trains in the dirt. It should be the other way around, right?

They also have no idea how incredibly painful this is to watch.

For all of my love for them as individuals – all of my gratitude for their health and happiness – it breaks my heart to see my oldest fade into the background while his younger brother and sister become such stars. To see the babies of the family take over so many of the older sibling roles that should have been Oliver’s, by right.

And I know that sounds petty and unfair – to expect that the oldest would automatically be the front man for the band…the leader of the pack. But that’s the typical family dynamic, right? And didn’t I expect to have a “typical” family? Didn’t we all?

So my husband and I have had to put aside some of our new parent dreams and expectations for our children – our family. It was hard. And sometimes I still feel a little sad. I worry.

I worry about the near future when the twins start asking questions about why they can do things that their big brother can’t. So far, they haven’t. They don’t compare our family to others. It seems normal to them that George is the one who complains about Oliver messing up his…whatever it is he’s doing (remember – George is my explosive child, and there’s always a crisis). Or for Eleanor to act as spokesperson for her big brother when people ask him questions he’s not yet developmentally capable of answering.

But as we become less insular and spend more time with the rest of the world at large, it’s inevitable that my two younger children will wonder why we’re different from other families.

To be perfectly honest, I’ve avoided thinking about this for a long time. On some level, I’ve been wishing that Oliver would just become “normal enough.” That therapies and IEP reports aside, the kids in our neighborhood – and George and Eleanor – would see him as just another kid. Maybe a little goofy or quirky sometimes – but not so much that he couldn’t fly under the radar.

Then maybe someday when Oliver would be capable of engaging in a complex discussion, we could all talk about his personal challenges. Together as a family – with Oliver participating in this conversation about him.

It shouldn’t matter, I know. But I just really hate the idea of talking about Oliver to his siblings before I can talk to HIM about everything. I would feel like a betrayal. Like it was now me denying him his right to be the older brother.

I may have to do that someday – but I’m not ready. Not yet.

In a way – these ideas are entirely new for our family. We haven’t had to think about them.

So I don’t have personal stories to tell about how our children work around the special needs that make Oliver different from other six year olds. As of yet, the twins don’t really recognize that Oliver is different. He’s just Oliver. And I’m selfishly holding on to that as long as possible with no plan for the future.

Until now, I guess. Until I began writing this and reading about the experiences of other families with “special needs siblings.”

I’ve written numerous posts about Oliver’s special needs on my own blog, but this is the first time that I’ve actually addressed the issue of how those special needs affect his relationships with his siblings. And because I’ve always taken the Scarlett O’Hara approach of dealing with what I have to today, and leaving the rest for tomorrow – I’m now in uncharted waters.

I love the idea of Oliver being the big brother an taking care of his little brother and sister. But for now, and possibly for a long time (possibly forever) that’s not going to be our reality. In a couple of years it may be the younger brother and sister standing between Oliver and bullies on the playground. It’s still too soon to tell – but not so far off that I can’t imagine that possible future.

Will they stand up for Oliver? I think Eleanor would. As a girl, she has an innate maternal side. She seeks to nurture in a way that her brothers just don’t. But George? I don’t know about George.

He is so full of enthusiasm for life, that he doesn’t always notice other people as he races to grab the brass ring. He means well – but he’s a scrapper. He may unwittingly trample Oliver in his efforts to follow the older boys with their war games and skateboard ramps. I just don’t know.

But I do know that this is going to be painful at times… and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified by the uncertain future. That I didn’t wonder how many more of my dreams that future will will steal from me.

But I find great comfort in the fact that some of my dreams are already coming true. My children are happy and healthy. They are friends. They are growing up together. They may or may not all go to college, but each one of them can find a purpose in life – something they can consider their career.

Probably the most important dream I have for them is family. The families I once imagined for them included marriage and children. And right now I have no reason to doubt that this is possible for them. For all of them.

My dream of them all having their own families might actually come true. And it might not. But it doesn’t matter because whether they get married or not – have children or not – they will always have each other.

They will always be a family.

Links I Love 10/24/11

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Again on a Monday! Maybe the trick to having a weekly feature successfully post on a specific day is to NOT label it “Monday Links.” Either way – here they are:

These supportive posts from “Beliebers” warm my heart (have you written yours?)

Family history first hand.
 
A beautiful ferris wheel.
 
You never have to lose your creativity!
 
Remembering a grandmother (the second grandmother-related Just Write post on this list!) 
 
 
Now THAT’S diversity.
 
And if I already thought MY daughter’s Barbies looked whorish…
 
PPD or just depression? What do labels matter, really?
 
Doesn’t everyone have a top ten for pet peeves about their spouse? Top 20?
 
I made this Kahlua cake and it was AMAZING.

I Have Mommy Brain…or Some Kind of “Brain”

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There was a time when I felt pretty confident in my ability to remember important appointments, birthdays, anniversaries…trash day…. But since having children I find that if I don’t write something on my calendar, it may not find its way onto my radar until days later (if at all).

A lot of women call this “mommy brain.” It usually starts during pregnancy, and from what I can tell, it continues throughout a mother’s life until it becomes re-labeled as “senility.” Either way—it provides a great excuse for allowing a frozen pizza to burn to a crisp while you take a shower.

That sounds ridiculous, of course. I mean, why would you take a shower when you know you have something in the oven? Well, it makes complete sense if you consider a string of events leading to the blackened pizza. Here is how it could go down:

You pull a pizza out of the freezer for your children’s lunch and then put it in the oven. You think that during the 12-minute cook time, you can put in a load of laundry.

After switching on the washer, you realize that you still have 10 minutes to complete another quick chore. So you sit down in front of the computer instead. You already did something productive like laundry, why tidy up the living room when it would be much more enjoyable to check your e-mail?

As you are reading through messages, you see that Old Navy is having a sale. This reminds you that your daughter really needs some new fall clothes.

Noting that you still have five minutes before you need to check the pizza, you decide to run upstairs and take inventory of the long-sleeve shirts and pants that are currently in her drawers.

On the way up the stairs, you step on something sharp, causing you to scream in pain and then almost fall. This launches the Diet Coke you were holding into the step on eye level, where it bounces and then sprays all over the carpet and you.

Then you say some bad words.

Then you decide to banish Legos from the house, as you limp up the remaining stairs to retrieve the carpet cleaner.

After applying said cleaner to the Diet Coke stains on the carpet, you go back upstairs to change clothes.

As you pull your shirt over your head you realize that you also have Diet Coke in your hair. Remembering that you have to work at the preschool after lunch, you jump in the shower to wash your hair.

[downstairs a timer buzzes]

Throwing on clean clothes and then pulling your wet hair into a hasty pony tail, you race downstairs to make lunch.

And THEN you remember the pizza. But only because you can smell it burning.

Then you say some more bad words.

Then you make peanut butter sandwiches.

Then you do the fall clothes inventory in your daughter’s room and get back on the computer to make the Old Navy purchases.

Only then do you see that the e-mail was from last week and the sale is now over.

The End….

This little scene may or may not have actually happened to me, but it definitely COULD happen to me since I have mommy brain.

And it’s obvious to me that this condition has very little to do with hormones or exploding brain cells. It’s a result of trying to do too many things at once.

It may start as a chemical reaction in the brain during pregnancy…but once the baby is out—and especially when the baby grows into a school age child—there is very little reason to assume any biological origin.

Further proof of this is that fathers suffer from the same affliction. Stay-at-home dads leave backpacks on the front steps, only to find them the following morning, soaked through by an evening rain storm. Working dads make Saturday morning grocery runs with their children and completely forget to buy the first (and most important) item on the list. ALL dads forget to pick their dirty socks up off the floor.

O.K., I just made that last one up. Not all dads share my husband’s forgetfulness when it comes to picking dirty clothes up off the floor… And the true origin of that quirk starts with the letters L – A, and ends with the letters, Z – Y.

In truth, my husband isn’t just lazy. He makes plenty of stupid mistakes due to feeling overloaded by responsibility. Just this morning as I lamented the fact that I was going to have to find an appliance repair service for our washing machine, which stopped working, he made a sheepish confession. Actually, it started as, “Great news! I fixed the washing machine!” And right as I was getting ready to congratulate him and apologize for years of teasing him for not being “handy,” he told me the truth. Yesterday he decided to try to fix the leaky faucet in the laundry room. And fiddling with two faucets directly above the sink seemed to do the trick. Unfortunately, it also turned off the water.

With all of the weekend chaos, he needed to hear me whine about the broken washing machine five times before actually making the connection.

But back to mommy brain. Maybe we should call it parent brain. Clearly it’s not uterus-related.

And I like the idea of sharing the burden of this dumb-assery with my husband. We are in this together after all…

I also like having a logical reason for why I sometimes find myself standing in the bathroom holding a Barbie doll.

I have yet to figure that one out…

Originally posted on Health News HERE.

Links I Love

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I’ve decided not to label these posts “Monday Links” anymore. First, because I so rarely get my act together and post them on Monday and second, because of the implication that I post them EVERY Monday. So let’s go with nebulous: Links I Love.

And here they are – some links from the past month:

Help this family show their grieving daughter that good things can still happen.

I need to start living this quote.

I wish more people blogged like this…I wish I did.

This is an old one – from August – but I still think about it every day…

A true commentary on how “authentic” we are with our children

What is your Mt. Everest?

One of the best Project Runway recaps ever.

Also love these (are you reading them?)

Heartbreaking story of not liking a much loved sibling

I’m in love with these cabanas!

When grownups need to act their age (two stories about “hurt feelings”):

Insightful and inspiring thoughts on the Autism community.

How to make sure your kids are bad sleepers.

If it’s possible for hair to have fun – this is what it looks like.

Expect more of these every once in a while – but not on a Monday. Or maybe on a Monday. Who knows? I certainly don’t.

Mission Possible? (Alternatively Titled: Bieber Fever for Fortysomethings)

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UPDATE below if you’ve already read this!

I have to confess – I saw pictures of Justin Bieber in US Weekly magazine long before I ever heard any of his music. And the only opinion I’ve ever had on his fame is that people are CRAY-CRAY with all of that hate/death to Bieber stuff. He’s just a kid! So weird…

But lately I’ve been thinking a lot about JB.

I read this post last Friday on An Inch of Gray, and for the very first time wished that I had some Justin Bieber connections. Did you read that post? No? Do that now, then come back.

After reading that, I did something that took very little effort. I sent a few tweets to my small list of followers.

I’m going to be very honest. That was all I had planned to do. I generally assume that I’m not important enough to ask for special favors. From anyone really. I just thought I’d put it out there and someone else might make something happen.

And I’m going to be even more honest. I never really believed that anything would come of it. Because I don’t believe in magic. I don’t believe in miracles. I say I do – and I want to – but in the darkest places of my heart, I’m a pessimist. I don’t believe that the impossible can happen. It can’t right?  Isn’t that what “impossible” means?

But then I kept reading the comments about people e-mailing Ellen and tweeting Usher. I saw people talking about it on Twitter. I saw FaceBook posts. So I thought I’d make one more weak gesture and e-mailed a list of friends and contacts that Anna and I share. I asked them to check out her post if they hadn’t already seen it – and to work every contact they might have (since Anna and I know some well connected people…)

And strangely enough, they weren’t nearly as pessimistic about the idea as I was. They were excited (actually using words like “exciting“). They really thought Justin Bieber reaching out to Margaret was possible.

This humbled me. I was ashamed to have made such a passive effort to help. To assume defeat before even trying.

And as a just punishment, one of the Project Bieber enthusiasts (Loukia) sent me an e-mail address for Eric Alper, someone she knows in “the industry.” Like she expected ME to make something happen. I don’t think I’ve ever made anything happen in my entire life – life happens TO me.

This had me reeling. But what could I do? I sent him an e-mail. Here is what I wrote:

Hi Eric!

Thank you so much for forwarding your e-mail.

I’ve never actually tried to get in touch with a pop star on behalf of a ten year old girl before…so I’m not sure where to start… But here is a brief overview:

I made a dear friend through blogging over the past few years named Anna Donaldson. On September 8th, she lost her twelve year old son, Jack in the DC area floods. Here is a link to the Washington Post article.

While Anna’s blog was semi-anonymous and had a small following, the media coverage (and social media coverage: blog posts and tweets linking the story to her blog) more or less outed her. This ended up being an unexpected blessing in that her family found great comfort in the outpouring of supportive comments and e-mails.

The main thing that has been keeping Anna and her husband alive over the past few weeks though, is their daughter Margaret. They want to do everything they can to help her through this horrible time and ensure a happy future for her.

I think they have every reason to expect that this is possible since Margaret has amazing strength of character. She’s a fighter. And at only ten years old, she’s managed to make her parents laugh every day – when all they really want to do is cry. Anna has shared a couple of these moments on her blog. And today she posted a picture of a list Margaret wrote for her father to take to the store. As you can see, she jokingly mentioned Justin Bieber.

But it made a lot of us think. Why not ask? Who knows – maybe if someone knew someone who knew someone… Maybe he really would do something to acknowledge Margaret and give her something to feel happy about during the absolute worst month of her life. It would be something for her to hold onto – proof that good things happen too. And while no celebrity in the world could possibly make up for this terrible loss, it’s the unexpected moments of happiness that get them through the day. My guess is that any attention from Justin Bieber could get Margaret through the week…

She’s an extraordinary little girl. But she’s also just a little girl grieving the loss of her brother and best friend. She has plenty of spunk and the resilience of youth. But she is getting through this one day at a time, just like her parents.

I’d like to help. And if that means writing fan mail to Justin Bieber (I mean – I’m almost 40!) I’ll do it. I’ll follow up on any lead and e-mail any stranger – including you!

So thank you for taking the time to listen and help if you can. If you can’t – I understand. I have no idea who knows who in this industry. But I so appreciate your willingness to listen.

Hope to hear from you soon,

-Kate Coveny Hood

Eric was lovely about it. He replied right away and was both kind and honest. He said he would make sure that JB’s management and PR people would read my message, but “what happens after that is magic really.”

Oh. Magic.

So this is where I typically call it a day. I don’t believe in magic, right? But here’s the thing – the fact that this e-mail exchange actually happened felt pretty extraordinary to me.

The fact that a friend e-mailed me to say she has a famous Twitter friend who might be able to help.

The fact that another friend has connections to a babysitter as well as other possible contacts.

The fact that a non-blogging friend commented on my FaceBook post that she has a friend who knows Justin Bieber and will talk to him.

The fact that people are doing things. They’re making things happen. It feels maybe just a little magical to me.

So I’m not giving up. Instead, I’m writing this. And not because I think it’s enough (it’s not) – but it’s a start. Someone who reads it might know someone who knows someone…

And even if that’s not you – you can still help. You can talk about it. Maybe if enough voices are out there…

So here is what everyone who reads this should do:

1. Follow @JBLiftMargaret (J and M’s Auntie: hoping to lift up Margaret. Her big brother died on Sept 8 in VA flooding. She’d love to meet Justin Bieber! Please help bring her a smile!! http://tinyurl.com/3bvr762)

2. Tell all of your Twitter contacts to do the same.
3. Tweet about it.
4. RT any other tweets you see about it

(okay – you get the idea…they need more followers)

5. Do whatever you can to get the word out on FaceBook. I’m somewhat FB challenged – so you will have to ask others for specific advice on this…
6. Blog about it (why not? I did)
7. E-mail Ellen (I haven’t done that yet – but I will in a minute)
8. E-mail everyone you know. You never know who they know…
9. Anything else? Please leave suggestions in comments.

The reason I included the text of that e-mail I wrote above is that I’m now considering it an open letter to everyone who might possibly be able to help. A “Dear Sir or Madam.” Like a letter to the universe (blogosphere?)

I still feel the limitations of “impossible”…I don’t believe in magic or miracles. But I do believe in people. And I believe in you. Us. We. And there’s a lot of possibility there.

I also believe in Margaret. For her sake alone I’ll try to believe that nothing about this is impossible. So if you have any magic up your sleeve, please help. Add your voice. And you never know – maybe we really can make a difference.

UPDATE: Anna actually posted more about the Twitter effort – it includes great info on the accounts (JB, his mom, his manger, etc.) that you should be tweeting! Check it out HERE.