A Day in December

You hear about it, you read about it and instinctually you know about it, because you did it. People joke about it at parties, friends pat you on the back as they blow out their birthday candles and family members say things like: “Just you wait…”

Teenagers. You know it's going to happen but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach and believe.

I know my mouth is moving, but the words that are coming out, are not what I really want to say. I feel like the Mom puppet. With big bulging eyes, dangling feet and some seriously noticeable frown lines. With someone’s arm up my ass.

“Sneak 2 bags of chips” comes out sounding more like “Did you pack any fruit in your lunch?” (Hey, at least I make them pack their own lunches)

“Wear just a t-shirt to school today, you’ll be fine” automatically edits to “Please don’t forget your jacket, it’s freezing out.”

“What ever I own, is yours for the taking whenever you need it” sounds as if I just yelled “Where the hell is my flat iron!”

As I mentioned in one of my earlier blogs, being a teenager trapped in adult’s body, with all of the perspective of looking in the rear view mirror, sucks…big time. Especially when your kids are now...well, YOU.

As of this moment, I now have two teenaged children, and one of them is of the girl variety. And the switch just got flipped. Boys from the outside world have infiltrated the system. And I can tell you, I don’t think it’s going to be pretty. I hope we all come out intact. We are all in defensive mode. Even the dog. God. Help.Us.

I had a dream last night that my daughter had a rotating system of boys coming in and out of my house, all of whom insisted that I make them a home-cooked meal. The worst part was I actually did it, chained to the stove as she interviewed each one in the living room as my husband sat in the corner complaining about each of the boys’ responses to my daughter’s questions. Mocking them. She kept turning to her father, wide-eyed, saying “Dad, don’t you have work to do in your office?!”

I awoke with sweat on my brow, caused more from the company my daughter was keeping and only a smidge from the heat that was coming from the oven.

My almost 16 year old son is now in Driver’s Ed. I went to the mandatory parent meeting on Tuesday night.

1 in 28 will get in an accident. 1 in 100 will die.

I have never been so scared in all my life. Would it be bad to just tell him “No, sorry, you can’t get your driver’s license until you are out of college, besides I can drive you wherever it is you need to go.”  OR “What do you mean, dating?...well I am sure I can be very quiet in the front seat and keep my eyes closed the whole time.”

No. Yes. That would be bad.

Me taking an anti-anxiety medication of some kind at this point, something I have joked about since the day he was born, is becoming more and more of a reality. I can’t even drive with him in the car. I have now scared the crap out of him. He thinks he is a bad driver. He just might be. I am a basket case.

What is a basket case anyway? It’s the only word that comes to mind and fits perfectly without me really knowing what it is I am actually calling myself. Wait, I’m looking it up…

“the term 'basket case' was first used to reference a soldier who has lost both arms and legs and therefore needed to be carried in a basket.”

Wow. Well, I don’t qualify. And maybe I won’t use that term anymore to describe myself. But mentally and emotionally, I may, in fact, be seriously short on arms and legs.

Last night, my son and I had a conversation about what I will call “The Art of the Dodge”. “The Art of the Dodge” takes place when someone likes you, and you don’t like them in THAT kind of way. It's the act of 'dodging' part that is unacceptable to me. If you don’t like someone in that kind of way, then say it nicely, compassionately. Be careful of the other person’s feelings. Don't ignore them after they have made their feelings known to you. Apparently, the “Art of the Dodge” is alive and well in my son’s High School and is even an option on the curriculum freshmen year. Joking aside, we agreed that dodging is wimpy.

I was a wimp. Why would I expect for him not to be a wimp like me? The teenager in me says “Dude, run away! Don't talk to her! Don’t even look at her! ”, but unfortunately it comes out sounding like “Hunny, be honest and just tell her the truth. Just be careful of her feelings. Express how much you would like to stay friends. That you value her friendship.”

As soon as it came out, all I could think of was “Mom…you are SO lame.” With my own eye roll even. Whatevs.

A few nights ago, everything was eerily quiet at home. The house was empty. I couldn't even think of the last time that had happened. My husband was working, my daughter was at a distant basketball game, my son at play rehearsal. I sat on the couch and stared at the Christmas tree until the lights blurred together.  I have wanted this. To NOT be needed for long enough to just sit and BE.

Within minutes, I was bored. And lonely. And sorry.

In a few years there will be more of that. You see, I am on the flip side. Just far enough past temper tantrums, sticky fingerprints and t-ball games and inching closer to proms, last football games and moving boxes.

And it happens quickly. Fast enough that I can cry at the drop of a hat and need to be asked to be needed. Just needed. Pathetically, my teenaged self just cringed and shook her head.

Last night after a mother daughter exchange that ended in abruptly with me asserting “…because I asked you to!” as I ran out the door, I called my daughter from the road with regret in my heart and requested an ‘11 year old hug’ from her for when I returned. “What do you mean?” she said.  I could tell she had a smile on her face, even though she was slightly aggravated with me. “You know, remember the ones you used to sit on my lap to give me? You would wrap both of your arms around me and bury your head in my neck and you would squeeze me tight?”

I just loved the smell of her. To her it was a funny ‘squeeze Mom as I hard as I can hug’ but for me, I would take her in completely. Her fragrant hair on my shoulder. Her eyelashes on my cheek. My heart would bust wide open. I really needed one of those. And, later, when I got home, I got the 13 year old version. Almost the same exact hug. Except, now she pulls away first.

Good enough. I’ll take it.

‘The Light At The End Of The Tunnel’. ‘More Free Time’. ‘More Me Time’. ‘More Time For My Husband And Myself To Be A Couple Again’.All of these, titles to books I could have written by now, if I had the time and energy. They certainly would each be on the best seller list. Especially to the 'Mom of two toddlers' that also still lives inside of me.

But the truth is, now I just want more of them. More time with them. One more trip to Plimouth Plantation with my daughter’s first grade class or another go around as the “Team Mom” of my son’s football team. One more Christmas with homemade gifts, a picture frame, a nutcracker from wood shop, a paper ornament adorning the tree.

I can’t help but think of all of the sweet things that have come before now and all of the wonderful things that whiz by at lightening speed that once seemed in slow motion. I know there is so much more to come. How blessed I am to be a part of their lives.

I shut my keyboard. The warmth of my old winter coat protects me from the biting, forthcoming winter wind. I hurry off to an errand, fumble for my car keys, the lights all blur together again and the snow begins to fall from the sky.

For Some Reason, I Can't Find a Title For This One

**Names have been changed. Parental discretion is advised, major truck driver mouth to follow…

It’s been about 8 months since it happened, so I think I can talk about it now.

Parked at the pharmacy, waiting for my prescription to be filled to combat a raging sinus infection, my head back against the head rest in my car, I opened my eyes and looked down in response to my ring tone and picked up quickly as I noticed the call was coming from my daughter’s middle school. Isn’t it funny, the little pulse that goes through your body when you see your kids’ school is trying to contact you? Your mind always goes to places that it shouldn’t go. In like a millisecond, you catastrophize everything in the blink of an eye and then some thread of common sense kicks in enough for you to answer the phone in a normal voice instead of shrilling: “What’s wrong??!!” Except this time, something was wrong.

Me: “Hello?”

School Receptionist: “Hi, is this Lily’s mom?”

Me: “Yes.”

School Receptionist: “Hi, we were just calling to check and see why Lily is absent from school today?”

Me: “She’s not absent, she got on the bus this morning. She is there.” Done, believe it or not, in a calm, normal voice.

School Receptionist: “Well, she is marked absent.”

Me: “Well she shouldn’t be. As I just said, she got on the bus this morning.”

School Receptionist: silence

Me: Silence…it feels as if I have no voice, I can’t use it. It’s gone for a few seconds and then I muster: “Hello?…I just told you that she should be there, go find her…now.”

All of a sudden, every organ in my body started to ache and felt like they were being rung out with very strong hands.  I had never really been aware of exactly where my organs were inside of me. Because of this incident, I am now very aware of were my pancreas is.

School Receptionist: “Okay, please hold and I will check.” In a very nervous voice.

I hold. Yeah, I hold. I start to shake, cry and think all kinds of awful stuff. My baby…where is she? Where the hell is she? It feels like forever as I sit on hold. After what seems like a miserable eternity, the receptionist gets back on the phone.

School Receptionist: “I checked with the student teacher in Lily’s classroom and he confirmed that she is marked absent. But her class is outside at PE right now and they are checking to see if she is out there. I am going to place you back on hold, I will be back to you as soon as I get word.” She says reassuringly.

Me: “Somebody better fucking find her.”

School Receptionist: “What?”

Me: “You heard me.”

Hold music.

Me: Well, lets just say, everything hurt. My heart, my brain, my soul, my entire being. Fear became palpable, I could taste it. ‘Shaking’ does not even begin to describe the state of what my body was now doing. It took almost 3 minutes for the receptionsist to come back on the phone.

School Receptionist: “We have found her. She was marked absent by accident. She is on her way to the office so that you can speak to her.”

Me (yup, unfortunately, it’s my turn): “Who is the dumbass, mother fucker that fucked this up?” Heart pounding in my chest wildly.

School Receptionist: “I am so sorry, WE are so sorry. I can assure you this just doesn’t happen. We all feel terrible.”

Me: “It just did. Me too, I feel terrible, too. I have just been to the brink of mother insanity and fucking back, so I understand feeling fucking terrible. Is Lily there yet?”

School Receptionist: “I will put her on as soon as she gets here.”

Hold music.

Lily: “Hi Mom!”

Fake calm voice, turned on.

Me: “Hi baby! Well it looks like they thought you weren’t at school today, that’s why you are talking to me in the middle of gym class.”

Lily: “I know, crazy huh?!” she said giggling in the cutest way ever.

Me: “Crazy is right! (fake chuckle). Well, I am glad you are doing okay, my dear. You can go back to class now. Have a good day babe.”

Lily: “Ok, see you when I get home. Bye, Mom, love you.”

Me; “I love you, too. By Lil.”

I would say that was it, but this happened on the same day as Parent Teacher Conferences. Yup.

5:00 pm and I walk in to the classroom and both of Lily’s team teachers are finishing up with the parents before me. I decide to stroll through the hallway and check out all of the art work and projects and start recounting my choice of words earlier in the day, yet again, feeling 90% sure of myself and 10% embarrassed.

As Mr. Dwyer and Mrs. Vincent finish up and say goodbye, they wave me to come in and Mr. Dwyer sticks out his head to greet me and says in a very serious and somber tone “I am the mother fucker that wants to take responsibility for what happened today.”

We all laughed. I did, however, still kinda think he was a mother fucker, though.

I apologized for my choice in words and both of them hugged me and told me how warranted it all was and that they would have done and acted the same, if they were in my position. My. Dwyer explained that he had to be at an early morning meeting, and his student teacher took attendance that day. He had mistakenly marked Lily absent in place of another student. But, Mr. Dwyer wanted to claim responsibility, as it was his classroom. He is, literally, one of the best teachers either one of my kids have ever had.

It could have happened to anyone. People make mistakes. I make plenty. I assured him that he was forgiven, with a couple of choice recommendations about new student teachers taking attendance in the lead teacher’s absence. As in, don’t do it again.

But, nothing can ever match the sound of my child’s voice on the phone that day. The wave of, for lack of a better word, relief, was overwhelming.

My baby girl was there. Thank God.

I Thought I Would Let Today Pass Without Weighing In. But...Nope

I read a lot of opinion pieces. I love blogs and editorials. I believe in our freedom of speech, BIG TIME. The written word turns me on and off and around and inside out. I love to hear what goes through other peoples’ minds. I love to hear how other's deal with life. Everyday life, thoughts, sentences, opinions and just words in relation to our big spinning world, really intrigue me.

We all have opinions and beliefs that drive us. I am Pro Choice. I am a woman. To me, all skin colors and cultures are beautiful. I wholeheartedly believe that your pursuit of happiness means that you get to marry whomever you choose.

As a parent, I have tried to teach my children the value of hard work, taking responsibility for their actions and the importance of treating people kindly, compassionately and fairly.

As a woman, I have hopefully taught my daughter how much her voice matters.  I hope I have equally relayed to my son, how important women are. I have always wanted to paint a fair, accurate and loving picture to my kids. I feel that I have, and I will continue to do so.

What I can not do is allow the country I love to hemorrhage. Just as if it were a parent that I love and want to protect in a very primal way, as I watch the lifeblood gush out of it, I will grab the first cloth (yes, even an unsanitary one) to stop the bleeding.

It’s not about race, sex, special needs, gay marriage, abortions or anything else.

It’s about the bleeding. Bleeding that will eventually drain the life out of the country that I call mine and love to the core. Without the fiscal soundness of this institution that we call ‘home’, who you marry, what’s between your legs, and what choices you make are going to suffer greatly at the wheel of what I will choose to call ‘crippling debt and weakness’. Have you ever experienced that? It is a killer. A killer of love, marriage, childhood, and compassion (to name just a few).

If you think anything else about me because of the way that I choose to vote for our President, than you are making inappropriate excuses. Those that want to justify their own vote by calling me a bigot, a racist, a woman hater…than you don’t know me. And you have no right judging and assuming who I or WE are. It surprises me (I guess) that some extremists (and some, not so extreme) have resorted to name calling and hurling awful accusations, based on a presidential vote. How sad.

Really, really sad.

And please don’t tell me to ‘vote my conscience’. Blech. Really? If that were the case, I’d skip the voting booth and get drunk. Stinking drunk.

Those that choose to use hateful words to describe those that cast an opposing vote, are contradicting everything that this country was founded on. We are lucky and blessed to be citizens of a country that was founded on democracy.

Just in case anyone has forgotten, the definition of democracy is: “a form of government in which all eligible citizens have an equal say in the decisions that affect their lives.”

(Side note: I need a form of ID to cash my check at freaking Market Basket. Why shouldn’t I need to present one when I vote for our President?) I love digression.

When the results of today’s election are shared with all of us, INCESSANTLY, we must accept what we paid for, what we bought into, what we have earned. And live with it, with dignity and grace and class.

No matter how it goes today, whomever our President is for the next 4 years, if you don’t feel the need to support our democratic process, than perhaps you should go to a place where a democracy does not exist. Live in democraticlessness (not a word – made it up). I bet you miss us.

So, may God bless, you, me, our children, our military, our people and…for sure, God bless the President of the United States of America.

2012...OVER and OUT

I’ve never been so sick of anything in my life. I will elect to take on a month long flu, a canker sore and a yeast infection, all at the same time, just to have it over with.

Please, please election…BE OVER.

Let me get to the inside of that cramped, well constructed voters booth, with that beautiful red white and blue curtain sewn by somebody’s grandma, before I SCREAM.

Quickly…let me vote for the lesser of two evils, let me get to that crisp November day were I get to cast my vote AGAINST somebody instead of  FOR somebody.

The worst part for me, is not listening to the candidates, but the public reaction to them. We could go around and around forever. Our tongues falling out of our mouths, shriveled, dehydrated.

In a nutshell, they are both wrong. They both lie. It is Hollywood folks. Not real politics any more. Running for office used to be a pain in the ass, not a privilege for the wealthy.

Designer dresses, the ‘right tie’, prescreened questions, millions of dollars wasted on advertising. These are not campaigns. They are public and privately funded scripted documentaries of two men, with large, stroke thirsty egos, who have more money than the rest of us.

The casualities of these types of performances are visible in all of us. We slowly want to choke the life out of each other. We, as human beings, have become less and less tolerant of each others beliefs, feelings and needs because how on earth could someone not have the same views as our own?!

As a registered independent, I have to say, I hear the most shocking side of this coming from the Liberal community. Insinuating that someone is literally unintelligent, dumb, because they would check a Republican box is devastating to me. To hear someone say, if you vote a certain way, then you have no right reaping benefits from the opposing side is simply ridiculous. We ALL reap benefits from each political party. That is what we have here in America. It’s called a Democracy. The more that we exhibit less tolerance for the other side, the quicker we wind up in the shitter. So smarten up.

In addition, associating conservatism with racism or sexism, is dangerous. Not all people who chose to vote republican are old, white, intolerant men. If you think this, you are ignorant.  

On the other side, Conservatives need to advance their views on social topics and it’s time to really, really, truly separate church and state. It is unconstitutional to deny anyone the right to marry. Go ahead, argue it with me nicely. It is simply unconstitutional. I don’t care what your religious beliefs are. This is not church. Reactions and interpretations to religious beliefs are responsible for more of the hatred in this world than any other belief system. And please, please never tell me again that a single mother, two mothers, or two fathers can not raise a loving, intelligent, caring and responsible child into adulthood.

When I was a young mother, like a lot of young mothers, I became an at home sales representative. Pampered Chef, Bath and Body Works, Tastefully Simple, etc. became a monthly entry on my calendar for attending at home parties with my friends. As a representative selling home goods and wares, every year during the month of October, we would give away starter kits (normally it cost $99) to those who were interested in becoming at home sales reps like myself. We would have a serious increase in the amount of those joining us, because of the free starter kits, but those women would have the lowest success rate. That was because they had no monetary investment in their “business” so it was easy to walk away from. Sometimes a hand out is not the answer.

Our government has to stop the hand out. Welfare is great when it works. But when it is abused, it hurts everyone.

I have worked in the healthcare field now for over 15 years. I am still to this day astounded by the number of people who present proof of state or federal aid to pay for their visit after watching them park a luxury vehicle in the parking lot and walk in holding (with their perfectly manicured nails) a venti cup of Starbucks, the kids passing their time in the waiting room playing around with their very own iphones. You would think I would get used to it. But I don’t.

That is a broken system.

I have stood in line at the grocery store and at convenient stores and watched many patrons pay for alcohol and cigarettes with a card that our taxes pay for. Broken.

When you experience financial hard ship, what do you do? Keep spending? Bail out your friends? Send donations to other countries? No, you tighten your purse strings, stop eating out, shut off the cable, no more coffee at the drive through. If you don’t bother, than you can’t cry about it. And the last thing I as the person in financial hardship should expect, is for others to bail me out. Learning and working through hardship creates strength, innovation, perseverance. 

Those that are born into situations that are not on equal ground with the ‘rest of us’, deserve the tools to help succeed. Proactive tools, not just reactive tools. Help others to help themselves. Stop supplying and start teaching. Stop the act of teaching and learning  to rely on the supply (hmm, that rhymes).

For those of us fed up by all of the back and forth and not embedded in one party or the other that will probably never serve us to the fullest, get motivated. Change comes from within the soul of a person who is frustrated with their surroundings, do we really want to pigeon hole ourselves into only believing one set of principles or the other. How narrow minded. Make change happen, don’t just wish for it.

And more importantly, what about friendship? Does anyone out there really want to insult or hurt a friend because their views on politics are not in line with their own? There is a reason that many of us don’t like to talk politics and religion with our friends. Or even strangers. Don’t hurt the people who are your lifeblood over something so insignificant as a candidate for President. Instead of badmouthing, log off of your computer world and get out there and hold a sign for your favorite candidate, bake some cookies, or go for a long walk.

So come on November 6^th 2012, let’s get here and be done.

 Just in time for the world to end.

The Journey of Will...So Far.

**By no means does anything written in this blog insinuate that medication is a wrong choice for any child or adult. In fact, I have witnessed many amazing occasions where medications have worked wonders for people. I am not clinically trained in any medical field. I am just a Mom who will always be an advocate for my kids. The needs of every child are very individualized and vary from person to person. This is just one story.


"He was kicked out of preschool today." My husband looked up at me as he twirled his spaghetti on his fork, wide eyed. He scoped out my face for any indication of a smirk or any trace at all that I was joking with him and when he realized I was not kidding, said with half a laugh "What did he do?"

He knew about our son's preschool teacher's repeated concerns about how our son "Will" (I'll call him) was relating to the other kids around him. Mrs. Carpenter had pulled me aside at pick up on more than one occasion. "Will has trouble if he is not first. He has to be first in line. First to sit down in reading circle. First to get his snack. First for just about everything." I knew this already. The first day of preschool, he actually melted down right on the school black top because other children had beat him there and he would not be the first one in the classroom. I sat with him crying on my lap as he reduced himself to a small puddle. I soothed him and held him as the other parents and preschoolers stared at us as they filed in with the excitement and nervousness that is the first day of preschool. After what I felt was a suitable time, I told my son that it was time to get up, dry is eyes and get ready for school. He could not always be first. He was angry at this, but I explained that it was not possible to always be first. That he had to get used to second, third, fourth and last when it came to his peers.

This was an integrated preschool. Done by lottery. I loved the idea. My son would be going to school with a mixed classroom of children his age, some of whom were not 'mainstream'. Blindness, severe autism, cerebral palsy. I thought that this would be a great experience. I wanted him to know that everyone is different. Everyone has challenges and individual needs in their learning process and in life and I was hoping he would develop a keen sense of this. What I failed to recognize is that my son would indeed be special needs.

The day that I got the phone call that Will had to leave preschool and never come back, I had picked him up amidst a frenzy in the classroom. A boy, "Josh", that had had a meltdown and thrown a bin of Lego's all over the floor, was sitting off to the side, rocking back and forth and smacking his own head with the palm of his hand as his aide picked up all of the Lego's and put them back. I found out later that this was the fourth time in a 3 hour period that this had happened. At 3 1/2 years old, shortly after the second Lego incident with Josh flailing and throwing Lego's, my son had decided that he did not want to sit next to Josh in reading circle. He announced this out loud. In his little mind it was probably for self preservation for fear of being beamed off the head with a Lego or a fist. But this was unacceptable.Very hard to explain to a small child. I felt terrible for Josh.

Mrs. Carpenter called and regretfully informed me that Will was not welcome back. I asked her if she thought that maybe my Will, had special needs of his own due to his inability to understand some social queues. Her response will forever stay with me. "Probably, but we have reached the special needs quota in this classroom." I have never forgotten the tone in her voice. Very flat and cold.

A close friend of mine, who had twin boys the same age as Will, and who were also in the same preschool class, wrote me a letter a few days after Will was asked to leave preschool. Her and I had coffee every Friday and playgroup with a gaggle of kids and their Moms, but felt I needed a letter for some reason. It's basic message was that I needed to seek out direction from my pediatrician, because in her opinion (she is a nurse) Will may have ADHD and that my parenting style was not going to work on him. Our Friday coffee thing ended shortly thereafter.

I scheduled an appointment with my son's pediatrician, who I love and trust with every cell in my body. He and Will got along great. They joked and laughed at every appointment. They had this funny repore, Will giggling through any visit he had with Dr. O'Neil whether it be sick or well. I told Dr. O'Neil what had been going on and my concerns about some of the things that we had been noticing. I gave him the example of one day when Will asked me if he could see a box of 1000 toothpicks that was up in the cupboard, which he had asked about before. There were 4 different colors of toothpicks in the box, red, blue, green and yellow. Part of me wanted to say 'No' again, but this time, I was curious why he was so drawn to them. I joked internally that he secretly wanted to impale his sister with them while we all slept. Will responded with "Because I want to put them in order." I let him sit at the kitchen table while I prepared breakfast. I told him he could absolutely not stick them in himself, his sister, the dog, me or anything else and he giggled and said "Why would I do that?" For the next I-don't-know-how-many hours, Will sat with all the patience and precision in the world as he lined up, in a perfectly straight line, and by color, all of the toothpicks on the kitchen table.

Dr. O'Neil looked at me with all the care in his face that I needed and put my concerns to rest with this: "Lisa, he just marches to the beat of his own drummer, that's all."

In first grade, things kicked up again. Everyday that I went to pick up Will at the end of school, his lovely teacher, Mrs. Cunningham, would have appeared to me to run what I will call a 'mental marathon'. Hair disheveled from trying to pull it out, tired eyes, lacking in spirit. I knew that look was from Will. As she confirmed I was right, my concerns came back again that Will was floundering. "He can't focus, Lisa. He challenges me on everything. It's a long day." He was all I knew. My first child, my heart, my boy.

So, we decided to have him tested. And the short of it was, we found out that he fell on the Asperger's spectrum.

Following this news, I made an appointment with one of the top specialist in New England for Asperger's. We waited 3 months for the appointment. On the day of the appointment, we walked in, Dr. Specialist observed Will for 5 minutes, asked me some questions, and then in a heavy Austrian accent said "No, he does not have Asperger's Syndrome. He is a spirited child."

So, I grabbed onto all of the information on how to best raise a 'spirited child'. I read books, took parenting classes, asked a lot of questions. Some of it I believed, some I did not. I filtered through what felt best.

Side note: When Will was born in the mid to late 1990's, I worked for a pediatrician. I saw a huge influx of kids coming into the office with parental complaints about behavior issues. ADHD diagnoses were on the serious rise along with other hyperactivity disorders. Medication was regularly being prescribed. Through comments made by the doctor's and nurses' that I worked with, I devised that while many of the kids with the diagnosis were warranted, there was a large percentage of parents that wanted their children medicated despite the doctors urging that this was not necessary. ADHD had become a catch phrase that a kid with behavior issues or the inability to focus was tagged with. Some not suitably so. Some really did need it. Again, I am not a doctor. Just an observation.

In Elementary school Will was challenged. He had trouble reading. His spelling was horrific. Will's grandfather is dyslexic and I believe my husband went undiagnosed, so I knew what was coming. He was coded in Reading Comprehension and given an IEP (Individual Education Plan). He also was taken out of the classroom each day to meet with a specialist and a small group of his peers to help with his social interaction. At every IEP meeting that I had, every teacher, specialist, and counselor repeated their concerns over Will's inability to stay on task. In one meeting in particular, his reading specialist got angry at my refusal to seek out our options for medication for Will. I had the utmost respect for everyone that my son came in contact with. They were all incredible! She knew that she could push me on this topic and I was fine with her expressing her level of concern. I explained my position and feelings about Will to her like this. "He is all I know. I like his personality the way it is. Challenging does not equal a problem for me. I don't want to dull him. He is who he is. I will not medicate to make things easy. I think he can stay on task and focus if he is interested (toothpicks) in something. Will has to be taught through all of us how learn, that's all. Sorry if it's not easy guys."

He was not tortured, he was oblivious and having the time of his life. He really was. He was unfazed. As he grew older, his meltdowns had stopped and we noticed that things just kind of rolled off his back. He had learned to persevere, because my husband and I had taught him the value of that. He was enrolled as a student of Tae Kwon Do, and that had done wonders for him. We knew competitive sports were not a good idea for Will, but a sport that challenged the individual would be right up his alley. He would eventually earn a second degree black belt. So I knew Will could focus if he was interested.

In sixth grade, Will was taken off of his IEP. He is not an avid reader and never will be, but he can read well. He is a poor speller. He will struggle with foreign language, as it is hard for a him to understand words that he does not have in his arsenal already and how they relate to one another. Sometimes he is quirky. Awkward maybe. I notice that when I use sarcasm he somtimes really studies my face for a few extra seconds before he reacts.

On the other hand, he is an honors student. Today Will is a sophomore in high school with a busy schedule. A linebacker on the Junior Varsity Football Team. His coach pulled me a side recently and told me that Will has the biggest heart in a young person that he has ever seen. He's not the most skillful football player, but he is a team player. Will is an actor. He has been in 12 plays and can memorize a script or song in no time. By the time one of the plays opens, he knows everyone else's part, too. He hugs me almost everyday. I bug him like a mother does, and we dance with each other in the typical teenager and parent hoe down, but he is never disrespectful. Sometimes I think he is more mature than me. He is a leader and one hell of a salesman. I refuse to play Monopoly with him as he is vicious. If he acts like a know-it-all, I still put him in his place. The last time we had to ground him, was in 6th grade. He is sweet, caring and a great conversationalist. He has many friends, yet has no need for the typical clique safety net. He will go to a play that his fellow theater friends are in and sit in the theater by himself. He does not care what others think about him as he seems very comfortable with who he is.

Sometimes I wonder if Will would be a better, even more comfortable version of himself if he was medicated. Would things not have been such a struggle if we had tried it. I think part of him is the struggle. He learned to cope and adjust. We learned so much from taking a different path. I would assume any path would have been a learning experience. Will is exactly who he should be and I couldn't be prouder of him.

Store 24

Lately, I am learning a lot at a very rapid pace. Not my usual. I can feel myself opening up more to letting things in like never before. Maybe I am evolving (written with a smirk on my face). Here's what I learned in the last 24 hours:

When you try to leave your house, by yourself, for a full day away from home, your children and husband may in fact, welcome your absence.

As you drive to a far off destination (78 miles, 1.5 hours away), the same people that welcomed your absence will now call multiple times with questions about sleepovers, cooking times and gruesome finds in the bathroom. Must put cell phone on silent.

If you ignore the fact that your windshield washer fluid is low, your vehicle will incessantly remind you with a very loud BEEP and a message in text that scrolls across your dash in perfect view while you drive, every 5 minutes or so. Just enough to be irritating, but not enough for you to stop and fill up your windshield washer fluid.

Hair does not perform well in the rain, no matter how many expensive styling products you use.

Reconnecting with an old friend is so comfy. Not the type of friend who treats you like their Plan B, but the kind that values who you are, simply because you are who you are. Good, Bad, Ugly. They don't pretend to be something they are not. And they do not expect you to.

Cancer sucks. It really, really does. If you have been blessed to know someone who has survived it, tell them what a magnificent miracle they are. If you know someone (even remotely) that is going through it, even a small gesture is incredibly monumental. If you have lost someone to it, then find laughter, joy and warmth in keeping their memory alive. This is not new to me in the last 24 hours, but the ways in which people sometimes deal with Cancer continue to amaze me. Make it something that you are aware of.

Cappucchino makes me FEEL Italian. And it's heavenly.

Talk to a child that isn't yours. They are funny, intelligent, honest and interesting. Make a memory with them. Look at them. Take them in.

Food  is awesome. Fattening food. Stop beating yourself up about it. Tell a fat girl she looks great. Wrap your arms around your husbands spare tire and tell him you love every inch of him and mean it. Don't look in the mirror and pick out the lumps and bumps that tell society you had a piece of cheesecake, just exercise your heart, mind and lungs, eat in moderation, and celebrate the fact that you have food to eat.

You really can pick family for yourself. I have love for a man who is not my husband, not related by DNA, but feels like he should be. He is my brother, whether it says so on paper or not.

Alcoholics are wounded people. In some ways we are all wounded people, walking around dripping in insecurities, loss, shame and regret. Recovering alcoholics are wounded people who have found their strength and power. We should all exercise our inherent strength and power. Use what your Mama gave you.

Crying is purposeful, especially when done in the company of a good and trusted friend. Hurting for someone else is the reason why we have not all killed each other off yet.

Do not rely on texting to make plans. Period. What happened to talking? Actually talking. For the first time yesterday I realized how much I hate the fact that a great percentage of us don't really talk anymore. Our friend list may be increasing in number but our true friendships are suffering. If we continue on down this technological path as it seems we are destined to, it may be quite possible that we will be virtually raising our children in 20 years. Face timing with teachers, holding birthday parties via Skype, disciplining on twitter #You'reGounded.

Say what you feel but be kind. Honesty is still the best policy. Don't mince words. Don't puree them either. Diluting them is OK. But with clear fluid.

Don't say 'No' and mean 'Yes'. It bugs me.

Friendship can come from the strangest places. This blog, a friend in common, a single word or gesture. Friendships are not always obvious. They can not always be explained. But knowing that they will always be there, is truly one of the most comforting things on the planet.

Surprise parties rock. I want one some day before I die. I just hope people show up.

Laughter is really the best medicine. So is being goofy with someone who doesn't care if you are beyond goofy. Quirky even. Maybe aloof. Quite possibly even awkward. And they still laugh with you. Those are the types of people you remember forever.

Reminder: The best type of advice given, is the type of advice that is asked for. Repeat 100 times daily. This one is for me only. I break this rule all the time.

An inner glow creates an outer one. Happy 40th Birthday Shannon. You are the definition of glow.

So much can be lost in translation.The only regret I have about the last 24 hours is something that got lost in translation. But I will fix it. I can fix things much better these days. I have finally figured out how to get out of my own way.  For I will go to the end of the earth for you. You matter to me. You know who you are.

I do not like the words 'special needs'. How about we replace it with 'personalized needs'?

White turtlenecks do not look good on anybody. Sorry.

My body temperature is changing. Not just changing, it's kind of changing in an epic, global warming kind of way. Glaciers melting, oceans rising, migration patterns changing. That type of change. Oh Goody.

Ultimately, my day was full. It was a live life to the fullest type of day. I didn't go sky diving or feed a village, it just felt full of such a wide range of emotions. And I actually felt them all. Sometimes I feel numb. Mom armor. But not now. It's as if the numbness is wearing off. I am past the pins and needles stage. Some parts of me are waking up for the first time.

A wise person once told me that "The most freeing feeling is when you live life as you see fit and stop caring about what others think of you."

I'm getting there.

I care about the ones I love and how they feel about me, but I can not control their feelings. Only you can control your feelings. Others do not make you feel a certain way, you do.

So this is my rambling, nonsensical (it's really a word), self-realizing, jumble of a recollection of how the last 1440 minutes went. Each day matters. Each surprise party missed is a lost opportunity to be surprised. Each person has light, the ability to glow. Every minute spent soaking it in, should make you realize that your life is precious. That others want to be with you, cry with you, laugh with you, even lose things in the translation with you, should make you feel blessed. Blessed that we have the opportunity to drink, eat, heal, bleed, make memories, open presents...be present.

Take this next 24 and make it memorable. Not just for you.

The World's Smallest Violin

'Writer's Block' is an understatement.

It's more like 'Adreneline Block' or 'Caffeine Absorption Block' or 'I Can't Process Anything That Requires More Than One Brain Cell Block' or 'My Electricity Got Shut Off Yesterday, Not Because I Don't Have Enough Money In My Account, But Because If It's Not On Auto Debit, I Can't Remember To Pay It On Time"...Block.

Seriously, yesterday, my electricity got shut off. According to my husband, the control over our finances that I currently have and have had for almost two decades, will be transferred to him in 3...2...1...

I try, I really do. But let's add it all up. Next month my youngest child turns 13 years old. That's enough. There is only so much a woman in her forties can take. Blog Over.

And then there is this....

I had to fire someone two weeks ago. She was a new hire and was not working out, so I let her go. I manage a very successful dental practice and today, amazingly, I had to call the police on a patient that was acting inappropriately. I am putting in a bunch of extra hours, as I should, due to a very important member of our team being out on maternity leave. The words 'maternity leave' sound so blissful. Just the same as the words 'all expenses paid trip to Bora Bora'. They sound identical to me.

Today I missed my daughter's field hockey game. The first one ever. EVER. I have never missed a game, play, dance recital, etc., that either one of my kids have participated in...ever. I am heart broken. And there will be more that I will not be able to be present at. It's just the beginning. This next month I will be scarce. Dinner either comes from a box, a restaurant or a friend's house.

The world that spins and the daily events that swirl around it, have caught up with me. I am losing. I ache, I sweat, and if I sneeze or laugh hard enough, I will certainly wet my pants. The furrow in between my once sparkling blue eyes has made me into the questioning, crotchety and yucky assed witch that I knew I would speed up to one day. And I have officially caught up with her and we have meshed into one.

I hate politics, politicians, political parties, political ads, political facebook posts, political bullying and polls, as well as poll booths, toll booths and Polly Pockets. I hardly ever use the word 'hate' but I have grown more accustomed to it rolling off my tongue and yesterday I had the audacity to correct the grammar of the punk working the register at Rite Aid.

I am helping plan my 25th High School Reunion, which is unnatural, as my mindset detests anything that insinuates that I didn't just recently became legal.

My children love me, but need me less and less. The air in my house is distinctly laced with all the teen spirit that can possibly hang on a molecule. I am closer than ever to the cold shoulder, opinions of their friends trumping mine, a sedan, a medication list, a bucket list, bunions, and the early bird special.

Today, I am not me. I am the worst version of myself.  I don't write this on such a day to have anyone in particular feel sorry for me, I just write it because 'it is what it is'. My favorite saying these days. "It is what it is". That saying drives my husband crazy (perhaps why I like it so much).

All of what I include here, does not have one ounce of air of complaining attached to it. I swear. I write it to be honest. I don't write misleading blurbs to force you to read between the lines, or facebook one lined posts that draw you into ambiguity. Today it's plain and simple. Those that know me best know that I would rather poke fun at myself why I am feeling this way ,than actually be serious about it, but unfortunately you (the reader) can not hear me snickering. It's not a full on laugh, just a snicker. Or maybe a quiet cackle.

I could very well be the old lady that yells at you for cutting through her yard. Two days ago I actually went the speed limit on my way to work. My thoughts wander to decaf. And night cream. And wondering where I can buy plastic to cover my furniture.

The point of this is, today I decided to relinquish what I deep down have held precious and dear to me for many, many years. I am coming face to face with my own hard nosed, rough edged approach that I aim at people that seem weak and instead of shooting them right between the eyes with my direct nature, I have decided to join them. To become one with the white flag. The towel. The quitter that I once pitied. I am trying on negativity. I am just in the dressing room and I really don't like the way my ass looks in it, so I won't have it on much longer, trust me.

I have decided after the week that I have experienced laced with hell fire, that I am one of the lucky ones. I will not morph into the the dingy broad. Hide behind my mostly black and neutral wardrobe. Or watch the Antiques Roadshow Marathon until I fall asleep on the couch.

No. I won't. I will not.

I will spin around in a huge about face and thank my friend Sarah for reminding me that writing is important to me and others, and thank Jess, a blogger that I have recently found, for her inspiration. She reminded me that it doesn't all have to make sense grammatically. Typos are fun. Run on sentences rock. Life is not always easy. Weakness is not failure. And questioning yourself and sharing your thoughts (and, yes, feelings. Blech.) can usually bring people together in ways that you could have never imagined. So out it goes into the universe. Off somewhere into cyber space. Go create your own black hole somewhere.

I have decided that the heart of me is resilient and can exorcise myself simply with a rough massage from a girl named Mandy and a pretty color for my toes. Something in the purple family.

Writer's Block be gone.