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.