Lola's First Birthday

My baby girl turns one year old on Tuesday.

Where has this last year gone?

Beats me. But we had a party today and I, for one, think first birthdays are kind of big deal. I mean I'm sure some people think what's the big deal? But it's a first for my little girl so it's a big deal to me.

What I didn't know is how stressful it is to plan a December birthday. Why is it so stressful? Because my brain is constantly flip flopping between birthday, Christmas, birthday, Christmas.

We finally had her birthday party today and it went great. I've been planning her birthday party outfit for about a month so here it is...

We served breakfast for lunch with a menu of chocolate and regular pancakes, sausages, and bacon. Of course we also had to have cake! Lola's smash cake (the smaller one you see in the picture below) was strawberry flavored. The main cake was Chocolate fudge with chocolate chips and peanut butter frosting. Daddy made these cakes, as always, and did a great job! The main cake was four layers high!

Yes, those are Funyons. At kids' parties (and adults for that matter) I think there should be Funyons and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. Why? Because they are ridiculous. And they're always gone by the end of the party so I know everyone likes 'em.

Lola also got her first jumping castle. I think she liked it!

She ate about half her smash cake and was really just wondering why everyone was singing to her.

And they meet...her first baby doll and stroller set, that is. She was in love. She couldn't see any other gift after that. She pushed and pushed that stroller until she was ready to go to bed.

We had a lot of good friends and family that made the party even better! And Lola kept her whole ensemble on the ENTIRE time. That's is amazing. But the princess was happy through the entire party so I was happy since the whole point was to celebrate this little creature that has brought so much joy and happiness into our family.

Happy Birthday, Lola!

All Souls

In Tucson we have a handful of parades. We have the annual Parade of Lights, which is the politically correct name for the Christmas Parade. We have a Veterans Day Parade, which will take place tomorrow. We have a rodeo parade, yes, a rodeo parade. The last weekend in February the rodeo comes to town and festivities ensue. And we have a St. Paddy's Day parade.

But there's one parade that is very unique to this region of our great country. It's called the All Souls Procession and it. is. AWESOME.

The All Souls Process is Tucson's take on Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead. This day is meant for honoring those who have passed on and celebrating their life.

The people of Tucson get together and wear makeup resembling skeletons. Families bring their children, their pets, their friends. People make floats, dress up, walk on stilts, sometimes hold up signs protesting for a cause, and everyone is welcome to join in and walk in the parade. It's almost like an extended Halloween. Or so it appears.

There is a deeper meaning to this holiday that I didn't even realize. Participants in this parade are actually honoring those who've passed on. People carry pictures of their loved ones in memory. And among the drums and dancing and skeleton makeup there are actually people using this parade as a healing to celebrate and remember the lives that have touched them.

We were so lucky to have witnessed this parade. It's annual but I haven't gone in years. After this year's experience, and having come so close to the other side of the meaning of this parade, I have a deeper appreciation that goes further than beating drums and dancing skeletons.

But it is a beautifully creative parade. I got some pics. They aren't that great, but you get an idea of what I'm talking about.

Throughout the crowd, whether in the parade or not, people paint their faces in white with black stripes to resemble skeletons. If you look closely at the picture below you can see one of these skeletons looking at a text. Hey, skeletons text, too, alright!

Stilt People

The globe with the Breast Cancer Awareness ribbon is actually a float, as is the taller sign to the right.

I was actually trying to take a picture of the large puppet of a man's head in the background. But the camera really focused on the women in front of me with the crazy hat. Yes, that's a big hat on her.



A lady from the parade with my Aunt Pam.

See you next year!

You think I'm obsessed with pumpkin?

I don't know what it is about this fall. I have never in my life been as obsessed with pumpkin flavored things as I am right now. It's now kind of like a scavenger hunt of pumpkin-ness. If I hear that there is a new pumpkin pie milkshake, pumpkin latte, or pumpkin flavored Doritos (not really, but you get the point), I actually get really excited.

I don't know where this came from at all. Normally, by the time Thanksgiving rolls around, I have my yearly dozen or so pieces of pumpkin pie and then that's it. It's a brief relationship. But this year it's turned into a fully blown obsession!

So, this is my list of pumpkin flavored goodies that I keep talking about so much that my loved ones are about to actually throw a real pumpkin at me.

That which started the love affair....

The Jamba Juice Pumpkin Smash was found on a trip to Gamestop with Gabe. We agreed to split one and that was such a mistake. It was so good and I don't even have words. It tastes like a pumpkin pie in liquid form. Doesn't sound all that appetizing? It was, we both agreed.

Then I found out that McDonald's has a new pumpkin pie (just like the classic apple pie, but with a pumpkin filling) and a pumpkin pie shake. Both good, but the pumpkin pie shake is just a little bit gooder.

Dairy Queen has a pumpkin pie shake that's really good, too. And they now have mini-blizzard sizes so I don't feel so I can trick myself into thinking it's really not that bad.

Oooh, I also made my first batch of Pumpkin Bread that WASN'T from a box. (Gasp!) It's the recipe from the Better Homes and Garden cookbook (Also available here.). I added chocolate chips which made the whole loaf disappear before my very eyes. I don't know how it happened! All I can say is that the recipe makes two loafs and both were gone within a couple days.

We had pumpkin pancakes from IHOP and homemade pumpkin Belgian Waffles the next day.

So do you think it's an obsession?

Oh, there's more...

My Pumpkin Cake Donuts are back and I have waited an entire year for these things to surface! You think I'm kidding but I'm not. My last four visits to Fry's (Kroger), I've scoured the bakery for these suckers and finally they appeared this week. I resisted the first day, but the second trip to the store got me!

I also had the pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks. It's okay but I had it iced, which was a bad idea. And I was still pissed from having to pay over $4 for the damn thing. So it wasn't as enjoyable as it maybe could have been.

I'm making a pumpkin cream cheese dip on Sunday for Halloween that I found on the back of the pumpkin puree can. I'm serving it with graham crackers, apple slices, and ginger snaps.

And then I found pumpkin pie Pop Tarts.

It's pretty much elevated from an obsession to a sickness.

The Gym

There is something about the hum of treadmills that I've come to appreciate recently.

I'm a gym member. Not only am I a gym member, I'm a practicing gym member.

It's one hour, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays where I don't have to think about anything else but what I am doing right at that moment.

There's sweat involved and running and, for the record, I always hated running when I was growing up. I couldn't understand why people would choose to run for fun. Bleh.

But now I get it.

And you know, I really don't want to go to the gym. Well, I didn't at first.

I just really needed to stop feeling so blah. I wanted to feel better so we joined and there is something about paying gym fees every month that makes you want to get your money's worth. At least for me.

I wanted to feel better. And word around town is that exercise makes you feel better. I didn't buy it at first. Really, chocolate cake and home made chocolate chip cookies - 9 of them if you want to get specific - make me feel better. Not exercise. That makes me tired. And I have to find a sitter. And I want to take a nap, the baby was up last night, and...I'm really good at making excuses.

But I made myself and I hate to admit it but the rumors were true! I started feeling better. I feel so much better that I'm starting to look forward to going to the gym. It's my time. And it's between me, the treadmill, the zumba class, my IPOD, and the closed caption appearing on today's episode of Dr. Phil that floats above the said treadmill.

There's also something about the more exercise I get, the more health conscious I become, and the less crap I eat. I love food. I mean I loooove food. Not for emotional reasons, not because I'm bored, just because it tastes so heavenly, most of it. And pregnancy was heaven for me because it was my ticket to eat whatever I wanted without feeling bad even though the books say not to. Who cares about those books? When in a woman's life does she get to eat like that again?

So my problem was that I had to stop eating like I was pregnant. Not in portions of food but more in portions of sugar. I'm a sugar addict and my loved ones know this about me. I could never completely give it up but as I exercise more and feel a little better in my jeans, it makes me want to maybe not eat cookies at midnight.

Going to the gym makes me feel accomplished. No matter if the house is clean or my kids have been sufficiently coddled and entertained, I went to the gym...I accomplished something.

So here's to hoping for many more trips to the gym, easier fitting jeans, fewer cookies, and accomplishments.

Minivan

I've crossed over.

I've given in.

I'm the owner of a minivan.

I fought it for a while. Until I had two kids. And then I had a kid with special needs. And then I had another kid. And then there was no room for my kids' friends or my kids' legs or my kids for that matter.

So it had to happen.

We purchased the said minivan today and I am really, strangely excited about it.

It's basic, no bells and whistles unless you count automatic sliding doors as a bell or a whistle. But no DVD players, leather seats, wood grain, none of that nonsense. (Although if it were up to me I probably would have chosen an SUV with bells and whistles and DVD players that was crap under the hood and barely made it out of the dealership parking lot just because I like shiny things.)

I really don't consider myself a minivan type of girl, but my son and his special needs stroller say otherwise.

But back to my recent purchase...I drove it home today, actually kind of giddy about the whole thing. I drove my giddy butt to McDonald's for a snack size Reece's Peanut Butter Cup McFlurry and as I was leaving the parking lot to go grocery shopping I saw her.

A mom, young, skinny, with big boobs and a tiny waste. She was with her kids, climbing into an SUV. Bitch.

I wasn't so giddy anymore with my McFlurry and my minivan and my 15 pounds I still have from Lola.

I'm pretty sure I put on an extra five years and a few extra scowl lines on my face due to that little encounter.

But it's all good. I've traded my shiny things for practicality and more leg room.

I am mom, I own a minivan, hear me roar.

The Mommy Thing

I've come to realize that I'm really not interested in leaving my kids...at all...not even for an hour.

I mean I do. I'm going to the gym now, three times a week, for an hour each time. And I have to leave Lola for about an hour and a half when I take Christian to HBOT. But then I don't like leaving again. Oh yeah, and I go grocery shopping alone, but rarely. Everyone knows it's just easier to go alone anyway.

I'm quite content with hanging around the house with my kids and baking stuff or folding stuff or playing with the kids on the floor...and stuff.

What has become of me?

I hear things about "Lady's Night Out." I've heard of "Time Away From The Kids." In theory, it sounds great. But in reality I'm just not interested. Or I think I'm interested and then when it comes time to show my cards, I almost always fold.

Is it because the prospect of finding a babysitter, getting kids ready, meds lined up and dispersed, and bedtimes in order seems too daunting a task that the end result of getting some time away from the kids is just not worth it?

Is it because I've turned into a recluse, a hermit crab of sorts who wants nothing to do with the outside world?

Is it because I have so many appointments to be at during the week that if I have time at home just doing absolutely nothing I'll take it?

Is it because I just really love being with my family that much that I'm not interested in anything that doesn't include them?

I'll go with d) a little bit of all of the above.

What is the deal? I fear I might loose the outside world but I really don't care. I don't feel guilty for not doing things away from my children, I feel guilty for not caring that I feel this way.

I just want to hug and kiss Lola and watch to see if she just might take the plunge and crawl for the first time. Ya know, she's been on all fours, she's rocked back and forth, but she always flattens like a pancake at the last second.

I want to hold Christian or feed him something new, maybe stretch him out a little, put him on the yoga ball, sing songs to him, play rough with him.

I want to go to Dairy Queen with Gabe and get Blizzards because it's just too hot not to have one.

I want to watch TV with Manny and Gabe and laugh at stupid shows like Wipe Out.

I don't have any desire to do anything else right now and at this time in my life, at this very point, that's just how it is.

For the first time in my life, I am 100% a stay at home mom, and while I've understood at times why stay at home moms become alcoholics, I absolutely LOVE it!

But don't tell anyone. For some reason I feel like I'm supposed to be going out of my mind and chomping at the bit to get the hell out of this house. And I'm not going to lie, some days I am that person. I perform my obligatory complaining to Manny about how hard it was all day but the truth is I really love doing the Mommy/Wife thing.

Monsoon

It's getting monsoonal up in here.

The monsoons bring rain to Tucson every year.

Every summer it gets so hot. Hotter and hotter until you just can't stand it anymore. Tucsonans can handle it. We're part sun. But May bring the first bouts of high temperatures. Then June comes and puts us over 100.

Then July...oh, July. That's what finally breaks us. It's too hot to leave the house. It's too hot to swim! It's lazy hot. It's the hot that makes you want to take three naps during the day and go to bed early. It's the kind of hot that preheats water coming out of the faucet.

And just when you think it can't get any hotter. Just when you are seriously considering becoming a citizen of Alaska. Just when you've suffered your last day of stifling, egg fryin' on a sidewalk temperatures.

It rains.

First it threatens for a few weeks. We see dark and ominous clouds promising showers. They hover, but never really produce. They whine, but never really cry. But they're there. Those clouds remind us that something is coming to wash away the heat. You can always trust those clouds and that they will release one day.

And then it happens. The sky turns black and a monsoonal, hurricane, flood emerges from the sky. It's really quite a show. We watch the streets from our windows and observe rain falling horizontally and large trees falling over as if they never had roots and rivers forming in the streets.

This rain that everyone waits for comes and riles everyone up. It washes away the heat and steam and sometimes leaves a little chaos behind. But it always leaves a sort of peace that we can trust that there will be rain, there will be chaos, and sometimes downright destruction. With that comes peace and a cleansing of sorts. New life pops up and people excitedly come out of hiding to enjoy the rainy smells and the cooler temperatures the rain brings.

The clouds are ominous, they're foreboding, and it's almost time. The rains will come soon. Can't wait.

The Land of Disney

Also known as Disneyland!

We were surprised by Daddy during our trip last week to California. He worked a little extra so we could go to Disneyland and California Adventure after our long week of therapy. We are lucky to have such a daddy!

This was not Christian's first time there. No, he's already been there. About two and a half years ago we went while I was about 4 months pregnant with him, right before I found out I was having a boy. Then about a year and a half ago we went when he was around 6 months old.

We've certainly been on the Disney kick these last few years. Would you believe I hadn't been there since I was about 12 years old prior to the beginning of our Disney kick? Would you also believe that I only had half an interest in anything Disney during my childhood and young adult life? I mention this because there are those who are raised or raise their own kids on Disney. Not us! We repeated VHS tapes of Footloose and Grease over and over until the tape actually broke in half. We didn't have a collection of Disney classics like my cousin. We had maybe two Disney movies in our possession - The Jungle Book and Robin Hood. So I didn't really have an inbread appreciation for all things Disney.

That all changed a few years ago when we decided to go one rainy February weekend. It may truly be the happiest place on earth. I know it's gotta be the tastiest place on earth, that's for sure. I mean after you're there for a couple hours, it seem perfectly reasonable to purchase a Tinkerbell t-shirt or a Minnie Mouse backpack knowing you will never wear either one again outside the walls of Disneyland.

I love going now. I think of the next time we'll go and worry maybe we won't go for another twelve years like when I was a kid. Memories of Disney adventures are even better. Looking over pictures that captured first roller coaster rides, or a first encounter with Sleeping Beauty.

So, of course, I took pictures!

Lola modeling her new mouse ears.

Big brother, Christian, has mouse ears just like Lola's, sans the big bow and pink hues. It's also blue and says Christian.

Christian's first time on the Dumbo ride. Not impressed. But he didn't cry so that's usually a sign he's cool with it.

I love this picture. This was taken while entering into the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Christian's eyes got huge and he was so engaged with the whole thing. Talk about sensory overload. But he hung in there. He didn't even make a peep through the entire ride. I'm gonna say that one was his fave.

Not the best picture, but this is the castle lit up in purple and pink.

Lola even got a pin that says "My First Visit." She likes it.

My sleeping prince.

Until next time, Disneyland!

Lola's New Toy

The Exersaucer is perhaps my most favorite baby gear item.

I had one with Gabe almost twelve years ago. I used to put him inside the disc shaped contraption and let him sit in his Nana's garden and watch the birds, while he played with the gadgets and doo-dads that were available for the taking.

I had one for Christian we got from a friend of ours. We got it used and, man, did we use that thing. I dragged it all over the house, to every room I happen to frequent. I gave him little edible finger foods like cheerios and fruit puffs to nibble on while he navigated his selection of Exersaucer toys. His daddy would take him out to the garage and let him play in his Exersaucer while he worked on project cars and introduced Christian to his first tools. That Exersaucer saw Daddy's garage, the backyard patio, and camping in the dessert. We used and used and used that Exersaucer until the day that Christian decided he'd had enough and was frankly bored of thing. I was sad because that meant he was growing out of baby hood.

So, of course, I had wanted one for Lola. Of course, I did. She's been ready for one for about two months now and I could use it for my own sanity. She's tired of her swing, she's grown bored of her bouncy seat, she doesn't want to roll around on the play mat, she's over it! The girl wants to stand.

So what did Lola's Tia Maggie bring home today???

An Exersaucer!!!

She tasted...

She explored...

It was a success!

I know this sounds far reaching and like fuzzy nonsense but these oversized discs overflowing with toys and lights (And can I just say Gabe's didn't have a single electronic device on his, it was oldschool), these miniature baby jungle gyms are memory makers as far as my children go. Every one of my babies has jumped and played and laughed and giggled in one of these until they're tired and ready for Mommy again. Lola followed suit tonight.

Thank you, Tia Maggie!!!

Gabe

Gabe is a really cool kid. He's my first baby that is now eleven years old.

Eleven going on sixteen.

He's matured quicker than other kids his age and in his class. In fact, he's one of the younger ones in his class because he has a summer birthday. His voice dropped early, he's taller, he has peach fuzz - you get the picture.

Is he embarrassed? Not a bit. He loves it.

I don't love it. I want him to be little again. He doesn't even have to be a baby. Just younger, maybe by a few years.

This "tween" phase is really annoying. I remember being in it myself - those middle school years - and they were annoying to me then, too. Those were perhaps the hardest years of my adolescent life. I don't think they'll be quite as hard for Gabe. He's a likable kid and makes friends easily.

But it's still hard on me! The mother! Middle school years have come to haunt me again!

He hates everything except for things that are the color black, music, and video games. If you try to deviate from those three things, he gets awfully upset.

I admittedly spoiled him. I was a single mom for the first part of his life so I spoiled him. My philosophy was that he wasn't going to go without just because he only had one parent. That hasn't turned out so well because now he has this sense of entitlement and hasn't really had to work for anything. It drives me insane that I have created this in him.

Another thing I didn't count on was that he would be embarrassed of ME! His mother! I'm twenty-frickin-nine years old. I thought for sure that since I was a young parent (which he used to be embarrassed about when he was six because his friends thought his older sister was picking him up, but now he thinks that part is cool that he has the youngest parents out of all his friends) I was in the clear!

Wrong. Turns out it doesn't matter what age you are, if you are a parent, you are no longer cool. Damn, I thought I dodged that bullet.

I think the thing that has rattled me the most is that we had this bond all his life and it doesn't feel like he's very bonded to me lately.

So I'm looking for things to add some diversity to his life this summer. Things that don't have anything to do with sleeping in until noon, video games, and complaining.

He is a good boy, though. It's just a tough age for kids and parents, I guess.

Oy, we're not even in the teens yet. Say some prayers for me, please.

Coming Back

It's funny how you don't realize things weren't okay until they're okay again.

I think I may have had a little bit of PPD. Either PPD or all the feelings I maybe should have felt about Christian's accident surfaced after they'd been hushed so I could deal with other stuff like...oh, I don't know, having another baby, adjusting to a new life, mothering a preteen, trying to be at least an okay wife, and taking care of this other new baby I had and all of his special needs. I didn't really have time to feel anything nor did I want to. I still don't want to rehash it.

But something about those feelings - feelings of grief and sadness and guilt - they have a funny way of rearing their ugly heads at the most inopportune moments. Like when it's quiet and there is room to roam, in come those feelings. Ick.

I had a tough...no...uncomfortable last couple of months. Not tough, no. I know what tough is and that's too strong an adjective. It was just uncomfortable.  I felt disgruntled, a little jaded maybe.  I lost what made me who I was. That sounds so Oprah so I'll dive in. Who I am is someone who likes pretty things, who occasionally might get a pedicure just to sit in those bad ass massage chairs, who actually likes doing things with her kids, who goes out with friends for coffee, who has a date night with her husband. Someone who likes to turn dance music up really loud in the car and who forgets to take movies back to Blockbuster for weeks and forgets she also has a membership to Netflix she never uses but pays for. I'm the girl who likes to plan parties and wears a nauseating amount of pink. Why am I repeating all this Shauna-centered stuff? More to remind myself because I forgot. And for some reason I was thinking maybe I didn't deserve to be who I was anymore.

Then I started sinking back into myself again and it felt really good. But it all started with a few simple words at church. One of them being - freedom. I finally set myself free to be myself again. I don't have to be a martyr. I don't have to forever be known as a special needs mommy, a pediatric brain injury advocate. I can be other things. I'm also a mom. I'm Christian, Lola, and Gabe's mom - all of them. I'm Manny's wife and Barry and Robin's daughter, and Karen, Paloma, and Reina's friend. Why would I stop doing that? I LOVE all those roles. But I put them on hold like the only thing I was allowed to do was be a special needs parent - advocating and fighting and thrashing through this new found world.

Yes, there's a part of me that is all that. But there's so much more that I had to get a hold of. Just a simple word and a Sunday at church can really reroute someones psyche.

My most important role that I'm so excited to get back to...

Mommy to the Lo-Baby: Tricking myself into thinking she has enough hair on her head to hold a clippie. Only for a split second did this last. Ah well, someday. But she's really thrilled about the idea.

Mommy to Chrissy-Poo: I love when he sleeps like this.

And Mom (Not Mommy, he's too hard core for that) to the Gabester: It's hard to connect to a preteen or tween, if you will. The best way I find is through food. So we got our S'more on! Holla.

Yeah, we not only made them with Hershey's, but Hershey's cousin Reese's joined us for some S'more deliciousness. Jealous?

Slowly but most definitely, I'm coming back.

Vacation Hangover

I'm knee deep in dirty laundry.

The house is a mess.

There's a leaky cooler in the kitchen with Gatorades that should be put in the fridge.

I'm suffering from a vacation hangover.

This happens when I come home from a vacation and have to jump back into life so quickly that I forget that I ever went on vacation.

Did I really have a fabulous time on a sandy beach amongst loved ones and beach vendors? Did I really eat breakfast by the ocean and sit on the shoreline with Christian and introduce tide pools to Lola's toes?

That really happened, right?

I was asked about 15 times by Gabe if he could go to a friend's house today because he was already bored on his first non-vacation day of summer break. Hum drum. I changed diapers and sorted sandy bathing suits and looked down to notice my faded paper bracelet given to me by the place we stayed to identify that we were guests. It read Playa Bonita.

Did I really have to take it off? 'Cuz if I take it off that means the vacation is really over. No, really, it's over if I take off that bracelet. I actually considered not taking it off and leaving it there, faded and wrinkled, around my wrist to remind me that maybe I was still a guest at Playa Bonita. I finally conceded and got out the scissors. Ah, well.

You wouldn't know it by the end of this day that we had come from paradise. It was back to the hum drum. I woke up having to wash the last remnants of vacation off of my beach babies. I woke up to Lola who still slightly smelled of sunscreen and Christian who still had sand in his blond hair. But with morning bath water went the last of our vacation. Boo hoo. Time for laundry.

But wait! There is proof we were, in deed, on vacation! I have a little sunburn on my shoulders and surely that means we were actually on the beach soaking up sun. And there are pictures!

We were on vacation! But, alas, I'm suffering from a classic case of a vacation hangover. The only remedy is looking at the same vacation pictures again and again, reminiscing with those who were there, and maybe throughout my day, flipping the cap up on the sunscreen bottles so I can smell it all over again.

Because I adore our travels together so much I remember each vacation by always leaving something in the suitcases like a receipt from a restaurant in Mexico, an instant coffee packet and flier for scuba diving in Key West, a passport card from Disneyland, seashells from the beach. These are just some of the loose items that flutter around in my suitcases. Manny tried to remove them and I firmly told him no. Those are memories and I like to leave them there so that I always remember.

And so that when we're getting ready to make new memories, we can take the old memories with us.

Evening.

How much do I love you, evening?

Oh, so very much.

When I used to be a nine-to-fiver I couldn't wait to go home. It didn't matter if I loved my job or hated it or a little bit of both. I would sit at my desk and think about what to have for dinner, what was on TV, who got home first. Then I'd get a warm feeling. That feeling is love.

I love, love, love evening.

It is home. It's where everyone convenes at the end of a long, busy, day.

It's stories of our day, discussions of school projects, directing plans for the weekend, smelling dinner in the oven, calming babies...it's that warm feeling.

It's cleaning up after dinner (or not), plopping on the couch and watching our favorite shows together. Gabe and I laughing while looking over at Manny to see if he's laughing. Because if Manny is laughing it must be really funny.

That feeling I seriously can physically feel in the space where my heart sits.

Earlier this evening I started to feel that feeling again. But strong. Like a fire. And I remembered how I loved evenings. How could I forget? Well, I don't feel so warm and fuzzy when I'm complaining about what to make for dinner, the mess I have to clean up, and the babies tag teaming me, both needing to be held. Those happenings tend to put out my happy, little fire.

But this evening, I turned the music up and brought Lola into the kitchen with me. She sat in her bouncy seat and giggled. I made tuna noodle casserole. The big boys were gone doing big boy stuff and Christian was sleeping. And I got that moment back. I was so happy and content that I almost lit a scented candle. Yes, a scented one.

I remembered how much I love evenings.

So Why Is It Called The Bird's Nest?

I never really liked birds. I mean they were okay, but I never admired them or wanted one as a pet or anything like that. I actually saw them as kind of a pest. My mom had one when Gabe, my oldest, was about a year and a half and it used to chase him around and try to bite people. So, yeah, birds weren't my thing.

Then my second son's accident happened. There was a song by the Beatles called Blackbird that played over and over in my head. I would sing it to him while he was in the hospital.

That's when birds gained a little more respect from me. It became almost a spiritual thing.

Birds are usually associated with flying and with freedom. Something I wish for my son, Christian. I wish him freedom from his little locked up body. Freedom to move, freedom to smile.

We're also learning to fly as a family, finding freedom along the way.

I often refer to myself quite a bit as a Mama Bear and my babies as my bear cubs. But calling my new blog The Bear's Den sounded a little wilderness-ski-lodgy to me. I'm all about getting all Mama Bear on someone messing with my cubbies, don't get me wrong. But I'm not into dens. I'm much more of a nester.

And I hope I have a nice, comfy nest for my baby birds. I hope once they learn to fly and build nests of their own, they'll always fly home for a visit.

Heaven in Walmart

For Mother's Day I asked for one day where my husband would watch all the kids so I could go do whatever I wanted to do for just a few hours completely kid free.

That day was today. Happy Mother's Day to me! (Again!)

I didn't want to have my "day" on the actual Day of Mothers last Sunday because of honoring all the other mothers in our life and such so I picked a day smack dab in the middle of the week. That way I didn't have to fight traffic, fight shoppers, fight weekenders, fight anyone for happy time alone.

Does that sound horrible that I wanted to have time alone away from the kid's for my Mother's Day gift? I think it might.

But all day, every day (and through the night for that matter) I'm with the kids. If I run out to go grocery shopping or to the post office, at least one kidlet is with me. So that's why I asked for just a couple hours to do whatever I wanted.

Stop 1: McDonald's for their seductive mocha frappe crack I can't seem to get enough of. And I can't figure out why for the life of me does having a sweet coffee concoction settled in my hand during my outing makes it that much better.

Stop 2: Pedicure. This is in a nail shop in a Walmart. The couple that manages this shop manages another shop I used to frequent several times a month when I was out in the work force years ago and could afford to care about such indulgences. They did my nails and massaged my toes for my wedding day and baby showers. So I walk in and they know me but not well enough to tell them Christian is anything other than okay.

Let me just share something, the massage chairs in this little nail shop in Walmart are THE BEST massage chairs I've ever experienced. No annoying vibration masquerading as massage. Honestly, the pedicure is secondary compared to these massage chairs. Heaven, I tell you.

Happily, I got one of the most delicious pedicures I've ever had in my life! I didn't know a little piece of utopia existed in a small space of Super Walmart, but I'm happy I found it.

Stop 3: Hair. I got a hair trim. Nothing fancy. But I got to look through thick fashion magazines with ridiculous outfits and perfume samples. I smelled all the perfumes and read some of the articles amused by what I used to care about. I read silly questions like, "What makes you feel beautiful?" to celebrities more than willing to share.

Then I started to think about it. "What makes me feel beautiful?" I dunno. Makeup? That's not very deep. A few beers? Not sure that's what the article meant. What kind of question is that anyway? If you have a good answer, let me know. I digress.

See, the above thoughts were things I got to think about uninterrupted. I talked about silly stuff and read trashy, unimportant magazines. It was great. I smelled mall smells like food courts, expensive cologne, and new clothes. I listened to girls gossip and talked to the hair stylist about boyfriends and husbands. I talked to the pedicurist about the perfect pink. All mundane, but all absolutely necessary for my few hours of relaxation, free of troubles and real life conundrums.

I felt a spring in my step and renewal that this must be what getting back to normal feels like. Then I got in the minivan and drove away.

Truth be told, I missed my babies and wondered why my husband wasn't frantically calling me to tell me to hurry home because Lola wouldn't stop crying. But they got along just fine without me. Amazing what a few hours can do.

My Bird's Nest

For Mother's Day this year I decided to give myself something...a new blog!

Oh, that's exciting. Another mommy blog. Just what we all need.

I know, I know.

But, this is how I came to give myself this gift.

I've been blogging about my son, Christian's, accident since July of 2009. We have so much support for that blog and many weekly and even daily visitors. The support, comments, and prayers have been overwhelming and I'm forever grateful. We feel the love!

Coming out of the shock of this brand new life as a family with a special needs child, a family hit by tragedy, a family facing challenges beyond what we would have ever planned, something else remained.

That something was our life. We picked up the pieces and cleared away debris.  And there, rising from the dust was our little life. The mommy and the daddy and the kids and the dog. All together, all alive, and all ready to continue living.

So here we are. Here I am.

After feeling such catharsis from writing about my son's journey, I realized I was talking more and more about my journey as his mom. I started asking myself: Is this blog really about Christian's journey or my journey?

I guess it's fine if it's both of our journeys. And since he can't speak for himself, I can speak for him and tell his story and our story as a family.

But then I started wanting to write about other things. Oh, I dunno. Like the other kids I gave birth to that are just as important and loved. They also have a huge part of my heart and there are day to day things that happen that I might was to write about, but I don't feel it quite fits into Christian's blog.

There are also things I want to write about that have nothing to do with special needs or appointments or struggle. Sometimes I just want to write about a really good dinner I made (I'm not a great cook, my husband is the cook in the family, but I try really, really hard), an article I read about parenting, a long needed date I had with my husband, or my baby girl's first steps.

That doesn't mean I won't write about Christian and his accomplishments and struggles here. That's the point, The Bird's Nest is where I can write about anything I want.

Alright, so it's total self indulgence. Sue me. It's my Mother's Day gift to me.