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.