Blogiversary

Today is my one year blogiversary! Party time!!! Or well it would be if I wasn't sick. Rain check? Today none of you would want to party with me, trust me on this. My only consolation is that I'm sick this week and not next. Because, sick at BlogHer is not on my list of things to do. Also, my kids are currently residing at an Aunties house, most likely being force fed cupcakes for breakfast, until I am feeling better.

Technically my first post went up on two days after I started this blog, so it doesn't look like today would be my blogiversary. But it is. I know because I wrote it down. Mostly this is because it took me two days after starting this site to decide if I was crazy for doing this again. Or crazy enough to do it again. One of those. Maybe both.

I am excited I made it an entire year honestly. This has been a rough year and there have been many times when I've questioned why I do this. Why I put myself out there to be judged? Because trust me, I have been. Many times in fact. Both publicly and privately.

In the past week, I have again wondered why I do this. Considered taking it all down after the conference. Maybe it's just part of my personality, maybe it's the depression talking, who knows? Then I read my comments and I remember why I do this. I do this, because you all are the most amazing people, no make that the most amazing friends a chick could ever hope for. When I'm having a crappy day, or am depressed, I read old comments. They never fail to make me feel better. You all have held my hand, listened to me cry and cheered me on when I didn't think I could make it. You have helped me make it through one of the hardest years of my life.

I write for me, but I blog for all of you. Next week I get to go meet a ton of you. I'm thrilled about this. I wish all of you could be there. But either way, I adore each of you who comment here. You have no idea what you've done for me this year. I luvs you all.

So yeah, happy blogiversary to me. Here's to many more.

1 year of blogging, 1 new baby, 224 posts written, countless amazing friends made - Priceless

This is where I start to get uncomfortable

I'm at the park with the kids yesterday afternoon and while the girls are taking turns pushing the baby in the swing, I decide to check in on Twitter. Yes, I am that person. The woman with her Crackberry permanently attached to her hand. Anyway, I'm reading tweets and something someone had said cracked me up and I laughed out loud.

Twitter or Facebook, this woman near me asks. I turn and notice this woman, who I hadn't even realized had sat down. Twitter I said, without thinking. But I use Facebook too.

Oh what's your Twitter name? I can follow you.

Uh, it's protected I said. We're from California and I use it to keep in touch with friends out there. Oh, okay was her answer. Then Harrison called out to me and I got up and walked away.

I lied. To a random stranger. She looked nice. She had kids. She was at the park in my neighborhood. I still lied to her.

Why?

Well that is a hard one. I am going to be dead honest here. I don't ever intend on telling my family or friends about this blog. (Yes my husband knows, but he wishes he didn't. He probably wishes what I said to her were true, that you all were old friends from California.) I don't use Facebook for realz. I mean, yes I have one. But not one that my family could find. Twitter? well the same thing there, although a few people know that I use it, but none of them seem interested in it at all. People like my mother for example could care less what Twitter is, although I have explained it to her.

I can't make friends with people in my area through blogging or Twitter and think I can keep it quiet. Or separate. My children have the biggest mouths in the world. I don't fault her at all, but Morgan is the one who mentioned my previous blog to my aunt, which caused HUGE family drama, because I was too open, too honest and she still won't speak to me.

My blog life, my online life, is separate from my life in many, many ways. I tried it the other way and it blew up in my face. People, my own step-mother won't speak to me because of it. Unless I am standing in front of her, I don't exist. My own father won't talk to me more than once a month because of it. (Well that and they are both asses.) Iit's been a few years. I don't have much family on that side and almost none of them really speak to me anymore because of the secrets they believe I shared with the world. They aren't wrong, I did. I said things I shouldn't have, because I believed I was safe. But hi, when you use your children's real names and they are not very common names, you are easy to find.

This is me. This space is my place to be me. I don't lie here. I've told you all straight out that my family and blog life are separate. This is where I can be brutally honest. More honest and open than I am in real life, I'll tell you that right now. This is where I say, I am struggling right now to maintain. I am struggling with my depression right now. I am unhappy right now. I am sad. My heart hurts.

I can say this all here and much more, because this is my space. My space to be me, without repercussions from my friends and family. Logan does not read this blog. He has asked that I not discuss his personal life too much, but I could and he wouldn't even know it. He has left this as my deal.

But now I'm going to a conference. A conference with what like 1000 other bloggers? I am starting to wonder why I am doing this. Why I want to meet you all as much as I do, when I will come home and pretend I was elsewhere. Until the Keynote thing, I thought it would be okay. I can remain anonymous if I am 1 of a 1000. It's harder to remain anonymous when you are on a keynote with 15 other bloggers. I don't have the answers. I am going to go to the conference, read my post and have a blast. But I don't know what happens when I get back and it scares me.

Is that okay? Does it bother you guys? Are you okay with me, the me you know here, if you know I will most likely never introduce you to my husband, children or friends? Is it okay that this is my thing? My one place in my life, where it's just about me? Will you still be my friends despite the fact that I'd lie to a random stranger about being on Twitter, because it keeps the peace in my life?

The lines are blurry. I've let them get blurry, because I consider you guys my friends. True, real, friends. No question about that. But the blurriness scares me.

Not complaining

Last night I wrote a post where I basically complained about everything. It felt kind of nice to write it down. Get it out, if that makes any sense. Although this morning, I'm glad I didn't post it. Not because you guys can't handle it, not because I didn't need to complain about petty nonsense last night, but mostly because this blog has become so depressing that I'm just thinking that it would have made it worse.

I'm trying. Trying to get it together. Trying to not be so pessimistic all the time. Trying to not be depressed. Trying to not be this complainy (yes, is word), whiney, pain in the ass that I have become lately.

It's not really working for me so well. But at least I'm working on it.

Instead of whining about things that really don't matter outside of my head, I thought I'd give positivity a try. See how it works for me today. No guarantees on tomorrow, but it's worth a shot today.

I love the 4th of July weekend. My husband won't be working for three whole days. (Truly, I am forgetting what the man looks like, he works so much these days.) We have BBQ's to go too, swimming to do and tons of great food to eat. I adore fireworks, now that Bailey has stopped being terrified of them.

I found the business cards I am going to get for BlogHer. They are cute and I loves them.

My excitement of BlogHer is starting to out way my fear of it.

Harrison is cute and fun and the best baby I could ever hope to have. Nine months, really is a fun, if not a bit exhausting age. Although his idea of morning being 5am, needs a bit of work.

Bailey is almost five and while it makes me sad, I see the big girl she is becoming and it's awesome. She's awesome. The funniest, most honest baby girl I could ever hope to have.

Morgan has decided that she likes clean clothes enough to help me with laundry. Have I told you she's my favorite today? She is. At least in this moment, when she's being so dam helpful. Seven is an awesome age.

I love the Internet. Well I love you guys. Yes there are haters, trolls and asshats. But real life has them too. But you guys keep me entertained on a daily basis and I adore each of you for it.

Oh one more thing, my friend, the lovely Anymommy, had a beautiful baby boy on Sunday. Nathaniel. He's big and squishy and absolutely adorable. He has red hair!!! Squee. Please go and congratulate her.

So, how'd I do? LOL. Don't need to answer that. Is okay.

The good enough mother

I have read about this whole good mother/bad mother/SAHM/WAHM/WOHM thing for weeks now on the Internet. Some of you have discussed it and beautifully, I might add. It all fascinates me, this thought of what a good mother is supposed to be. I've pretty much ignored it, because honestly, I know I am a good mom. I also know I am a bad mom. In my world you can be both.

Today, after reading Mom 101's post about type B mom's, I can't seem to get this subject out of my head. I said this in Liz's comments and it is completely true: On my best day, I am only a B- mother.

But who says that is a bad thing? What makes a mom a perfect mom? Whose opinion matters about that, except your children's? We all think we are being judged and sometimes we are. I know I've been judged, many a time. However, I'm sure I think I am being judged way more than I probably am. Maybe a B- mom isn't such a horrible thing.

We all share on the Internet what we want too. This was something that Mom 101 was saying in her post. We tell each other what we choose to tell each other. Some are more honest than others. We are given a glimpse at each others lives, because we choose to share about it in this public space. It's only part of the story really. A small part for most of us.

Let me try this honesty thing for a second.

I, for the record, have never breastfed my children. Not because I see anything wrong with it (in fact, I find it to be beautiful), but because it wasn't something I felt I could do. I was a young mother, maybe that has something to do with it, maybe not. It just wasn't something I choose to do.

I sent my daughters to daycare at seven weeks old. I worked fourteen hour days sometimes in the early years of their lives. I know what it's like to work full time and wish I was at home with my kids. I also now know what it's like to be at home all the bloody time and wish I was elsewhere. I'm not sure that I'm good at either of it honestly.

My kids watch too much TV; they eat too much junk food; I consider french toast a dinner**; my son hangs out playing with spoons and Tupperware lids on my bed, while I play on the Internet; and some days I go and buy everyone new underwear, just because I don't want to do laundry.

My kids have ridden their bikes without a helmet a time or two because I got tired of the argument. They have gotten sunburned a few times because I was dumb enough to not put sunscreen on them. We do not have a safety net around our trampoline. I have yelled at them for having meltdowns and then realized I don't remember the last time they ate. My kids are not friendly when hungry, much less logical.

Somedays I yell at them, because of nothing. I regret those days. Other times they need to be yelled at and I let it go, to try and make up for the days where I yell too much.

My seven year old has way too much knowledge of the Internet and how to use it. My almost five year old can take the parental restriction off of the cable, without even trying. They both have iPods. They know what the menus at most restaurants have on them without needing to look anymore.

My girls are the most unscheduled kids in the neighborhood. In fact the only thing they've been scheduled for this summer is swimming and last week, they told me they just wanted to be able to just swim, not learn anything. So? I took them off of the list for the next set of lessons. There is no ballet, no gymnastics and no t-ball this summer. I should do those things, I am sure, but I just can't seem to make myself sign them up, because truly, then I'd have to get out of the house and take them.

I worry about all of this and much, much more. I wonder what my kids will remember from this time period of their lives. If they will remember that I took them to Disney and the beach this summer; that we slept in, stayed up late and went to the park every few evenings to swing in the dark. Will they remember me reading Harry Potter to them each night? Will they remember Sunday mornings spent in Jammies, having wii bowling and golf tournaments? Or will they remember that this was another summer where I was short with them too often, where I cried too much, where I sent them outside to play too often.

I wonder if they spend too much time at my BFF Kate's house. I wonder if they will one day prefer her, because she is that mom. The mom who does art projects. The mom who bakes things. The mom with all the patience of a saint. I am not that mom, although I adore that she is. I am thankful for her every single day. Is it okay that my kids spend so much time with my best friend? It has to be, because that's the way it is right now.

There is no rule book. They didn't come with an instruction manual. Trust me, I looked. And who says a B- mom is not enough? Who gets to make that judgement call? Who says a C mom isn't good enough? Because lots of days, I am only a C mom. A solid C even, no plus sign attached.

Some days I think my kids are the amazing people they are despite me. Some days I think it might be in spite of me. On occasion I think, dam I am doing something right.

My girls are kind to friends, strangers, animals and especially their family. They think highly of themselves and each other. Self esteem: they both have it. Self doubt? Yes, they have that too, but a lot less then I did at their ages. They are honest, strong, brave and inquisitive. They are everything I could of hoped for in daughters and everything I hope their brother gets too.

We all have days where we think we are horrible at this parenting gig, right? Those who say other wise are lying threw their over whitened teeth.

I? Am a good mother and also a bad mother. Maybe, I am the good enough mother. But that has to be okay too.


** Okay, here is another thing. We say things on the Internet, then realize that even in a post where we are being brutally honest, we choose to fib a bit. The truth is, my dinner default idea is currently cereal. I stole the french toast thing from my lovely friend Liz (also know as @elizzieh), because it sounded better than saying my family currently lives on cereal. French toast is actually her default dinner, not mine. Liz, who I have to thank for um everything, was kind enough to read this and not yell at me about stealing her idea. In fact had I not brought it up, she is so awesome, that she may never have said a word. See? This honesty thing is hard.

For Meghan

The lovely and amazing Meghan at AMomTwoBoys has this amazing ability to be there for the for the entire Internet. If you see that something was planned in the blogging world for someone in need, she generally has her hand in it. She runs like seventeen (am possibly counting wrong) websites. She is the shit. In a good way. The best way in fact. She is sweet and funny and the kind of friend, we should all be lucky enough to have. I adore her. So today I thought I'd see if I could maybe help her in some small way.





That beautiful boy up there is Meghan's son Zach (isn't he freaking adorable? I want to eat him up), who is having surgery on both of his eyes on Monday. It is a routine surgery, I mean if you are an eye surgeon. But it is scary. Meghan is scared, as all of us would be. The thought of having someone put your 22 month old baby under to do anything to them is scary, every parent knows that. But after what happened to Maddie, Meghan (and all of us) know that nothing in life is certain. Now it's even scarier than it would have been.

I can't tell Meghan not to be scared. If I thought it would help, I'd tell her a million times, but I know it wouldn't work and it just make her want to kick me at BlogHer. I can't tell her I wouldn't be scared, because I would be. I can tell her that Zach will be fine, great even, but I can't promise her. And unfortunately because I've never actually met the woman and I live oh about 1,200 miles away, it's not like I can give her a hug and some wine and tell her it's gonna be okay.

I thought I'd do the next best thing, I'd write a whole post for her.

And maybe, just maybe, this will help in some small way. Because here's the deal: I've had this surgery. The exact same surgery that Zach is having on Monday. On both eyes.

I was three months the first time my parents took me to an eye specialist. They knew that by then, I shouldn't be looking at my nose all the dang time. That doctor, told my parents I'd never see and that I couldn't be helped. My dad was livid and called a friend of his whose dad was a surgeon, who directed them to an eye surgeon at UCLA. This guy told my parents he could help. By nine months old, I was wearing an eye patch. Little baby pirate Issa. Basically the muscles in my eyes didn't really work, or as I like to say, they were lazy and bored. The eye patch was supposed to help strengthen one eye, make it work, because it wasn't doing a darn thing, except staring at my nose all the time. The other eye was better, but not great. I wore the patch for months, but it didn't really help anything.

Then they tried glasses. The cutest little glasses anyone has ever had. I had glasses from fourteen months old, on. They thought I wouldn't keep them on, that I'd always want them off. But you know? When you can one day see after most likely not being able too, I guess you decide you kinda like that, even as a toddler.

The glasses helped, but it wasn't a long term solution. They had to do surgery. Back then, which was in 1983, they waited until you were three to do this surgery. The theory was, maybe your eye muscles would suddenly learn to work in that time frame. Which sounds funny to me now, but whatever. So I was about three years old and a week when I had the surgery.

I remember it. Not the surgery obviously, but the before and after. I remember walking into the hospital with my parents. I remember putting on a little gown; drinking some grape tasting syrup and watching some Wiley E. Coyote on TV. Then I remember being pissed off at my mom because she wouldn't give me any juice. That was after. That's it, that's all I remember. Well that and getting to pick out a stuffed animal in the gift shop on the way out. Oh and needing to wear sunglasses any time I was outside for a few weeks afterwards.

To me it was simple and no big deal. That's not however what my mom would say. She was scared, as any mother would be. But you know, I was three.

Without the surgery as a child, I am sure I would not be able to see very well. I have been told this by every single eye specialist I have seen as an adult. I would not be able to drive, see the words on this computer screen or be able to tell you each line, freckle and dimple on my children's faces. That surgery changed my life. One guy called it a miracle that I could see at all.

Meghan, I know this doesn't really help you. It doesn't take away the fear. But I can't do that. You know I would if I could. The only thing that will do that, is it being over and you taking him home. This I know.

Also for you, I am putting up pictures. Pictures of me as a child. The before and after shots. Just so you can see the difference. A few show how bad my right eye was. A couple of my rad glasses, when I was fifteen months old and one from a few years after so you can see how straight my eyes were/are. Ignore the large 80's glasses in the last one. My mother swears I picked them out myself. After the surgery I didn't have to wear glasses until I was seven years old. But my vision is bad as well as the muscles being bad and I've worn glasses every since. I don't really know any different, so it's not a big deal to me. Most of the time, you can't see any difference in my eyes, except that my right eyelid is a tiny bit lower than the left. Also, when I am extremly tired, my right eye still gets a bit lazy and looks at my nose.

But just know my friend, that my heart and prayers will be with you until it's done and you are taking Zach home on Monday after the surgery. In fact, this post will stay up here until that time as well. For you and for Zach.

FYI - All photos of me were scanned out of a scrapbook my mom made. Quality is iffy. The worse eye one is the second pic. Click on it for a close up. Truly it was bad.

The photos of Zach were stolen, with permission, from Meghan.

For Mike

Today's post is for Mike Spohr. Happy Father's Day. Mike my heart is with you and Heather everyday, but especially today. Hugs, Issa


Sometimes, the best we can do is share a person’s experience and let them know we have their back. That while we may not how they feel, we recognize that there are days that are just going to suck beyond the telling of it.

So today we celebrate firsts. Just a very few of Maddie’s firsts from the Spohr family flickr photostream:

First time being held by daddy

First time being held by mommy

Chillin’ after the first bath

First Christmas

First Sunshine, First Car Ride

First nap when a totally embarrassing picture of Mike was taken

First Baseball Game

(Which was probably after Mad’s first trip to a BAR.)


We celebrate all the joyous firsts with you and stand guard over you for all the firsts to come.

The Women of Room 704.

BlogHer freakout #1

There's this thing that I'm going to in a few weeks. BlogHer. Maybe you've heard of it? Might ring a bell? (For those of you not going, I am sorry but this post is all about it. I've been there, I've wanted to go twice previously. I get how it can be to listen to it all the time. Please forgive me though, because I need to talk about this.)

So um, yeah, I am going to be part of the Community Keynote at the conference. A post that I wrote was submitted by the lovely and talented Stacey. I told her she could submit it when she asked, because I honestly didn't think it would get chosen. I know that sounds bad, but it's true. I have no pre-conceived notions about my writing. I know it's not the best. It's just me, raw and un-cut.

However my post did get chosen. I am absolutely honored by this. I can not even explain how honored and thrilled I am. To be a part of something like this is just beyond me. But I am going to be part of this. I am going to get up there and read my post to the two five gulp hundreds of people who could possibly be in the room.

Can you feel my fear over the screen?

I am terrified. I have no doubts that I can do it. That's not the problem. I may talk to fast and sweat a bit, but I am positive I can get through it. But I'm still scared shitless. That's a lot of freaking people, yo. Serious. Some of the blogging greats will be reading during this keynote. People who I adore, people who are extremely great writers. (I did hire a professional hand holder, a drink giver and possibly a body guard. Won't they be sad when they realize, I pay in Jelly Beans.) I don't know that I measure up.

This came up after I realized that I was already nervous about the conference in general. Nervous being a mild word. Nightmares. I'm having BlogHer nightmares. Going to this conference is so far out of my comfort zone, I can not even begin to tell you.

I've been doing this blogging gig, off and on since 2005. But I've never gone to a conference. I've literally only met four blogger. I don't tell people that I blog. I won't tell people when I get back. My family and friends think I am going on a girls weekend. That is just the way it is.

So I'm scared. I don't know what to expect. I've heard all the stories, the rumors and seen all the posts for years. But reality is different.

I'm hoping that some of you who have gone before can help me out on a few small questions I have. Might put my mind at ease a bit. Anyone of you who is new to this too, maybe we can be buddies? Having buddies is always better than wandering around by yourself. Right?

Ok, here goes nothing.

1. Does it matter if I wear jeans and flip-flops the entire time? I keep hearing people discuss dresses and such, but that's just not something I'm into. But I don't want to be the only one looking like her wardrobe sucks.

2. Business cards? Is this like a must? Are you doing it?

3. How many of you really think you'll go to the Community Keynote?

4. Am I the only one scared shitless?

5. If I hide in a closet, will one of you bring me drinks?

I'll leave it at this for now. I'm working on another post, one that I stole from Undomestic Diva, on what you should know about me before we meet in person. Maybe you should know that I am a totally idea thief. Nah, you all knew that already.

Okay, halp, please.

Disneyland here we come

Seeing how we are going to Disneyland (among other places) for the weekend, I thought I'd do a small post for the lovely Amazing Greis who tagged me with a meme. Really, what's the fun of one meme in a week, when you can do two? Wait, don't answer that.

Plus, I have about nine zillion things to do today, since we leave around 5pm tonight and I shouldn't be on here at all.

The 6x6 meme:

1) Go to your photo files
2) Pick the sixth folder
3) Pick the 6th photo
4) Write a story about the photo
5) Tag six people (I won't tag people, but feel free to do it. Let me know and I'll come take a look next week.)

This is it. My sixth pic, in my sixth folder. Story, eh? That seems like a lot of work. But of the probably 90 pictures I have of this boy from that same day, I adore this one the most. His name is Sebastian Chase and he's my cousin's first child. The picture is from last October, and he was about 10 months old. He's just the sweetest thing. So inquisitive and fun. Lucky for me, I get to see him (and his newborny sister Savanna) on Saturday. (Yes, two in 18 months.)


I hope you all have a great weekend. I'll talk to you guys next week.

Why it bothers me

You write a post about silly nonsense, the first real post in a month and get told that you are a sheep and should kill yourself. By a person with no name, but none the less, some person who felt that was the right thing to say.

As bloggers, we are supposed to not care about this. We should get used to it. You have enough hits to your site, you are bound to get some trolls. We are supposed to harden our heart and not let the stupid comments bother us. As a seasoned writer in a public forum, I am supposed to just let this roll off my back. It doesn’t matter, it’s just some asshat troll. Delete and ignore. We’ve even come up with the blogging terminology to describe these people; the people who attack in comments, the people with no names.

But it does hurt and it does sting. Even after all these years of doing this, it bothers me. Intellectually it doesn't bother me. But the heart and the brain don't' always feel the same way. You just don't say that to someone. That is something that I can't just brush off. The, you should kill yourself comment. The rest of it can be ignored, but that one stings. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I had a friend who did kill himself. In some ways it bothers me more when someone attacks a friend of mine, than when they attack me. I am always willing to defend a friend and luckily I didn't have to say anything yesterday, as all of you were kind enough to defend me.

After the multiple comments and then the attacks on all of my friends, it almost seemed funny in some way. This person who so wanted to be known as the troll of the day. It seemed less personal after that, which was nice. But that one comment sits under my skin and eats at me. Because I wonder why someone would say such hateful things to a stranger. I wonder what I said to provoke him. Did my talking about Disneyland or my kids last day of school, provoke such a hateful response? Am I just an easy target?

It's not me. I've been told that two dozen times, by people I adore. I know they are right, yet I still feel responsible.

I think in some way, they must be jealous. Jealous of our families, jealous of our friendships, jealous that they have no name. That must be really sad for them, to have no name. I doubt they’d walk up to a stranger on the street and spew such hatred, as they are apt to do online. I wonder what makes someone feel that this is okay? That the words they type are any different than the words they say aloud. Words have power, whether you type or say them. Maybe they don’t care, maybe I am such a horrible person and I deserve it. However, I doubt it, because I’ve never in real life, had someone attack me like this. You want to know why? Because I am a nice human being. I am kind to others, even people who don’t deserve it. I say please and thank you. I donate money and time to help the less fortunate. I don't tailgate, nor flip off strangers who cut me off in traffic. I've never taken a thing in this world that did not belong to me. I am a hard worker and a responsible human being. I take good care of my children. I am a good person.

But they don’t see that. They don’t seem to care to see that. They don't care that telling a depressed person to kill themselves is just plain wrong. He doesn't care, because it doesn't affect his life.

It bothers me, this lack of caring. The ability to spew filth and not care what you’ve put into the world. It makes me wonder about the world. And I don’t like that feeling.

This person, who taunted the blog world yesterday, doesn't care about people. Doesn't care about people's feelings or emotions. Most likely it was a ploy for attention. There have been others before and there will be more after. Eventually they move on, because truly, why would you continue to read blogs written by parents, if you hate parents and children? (And hi, don't you have parents, weren't you once a child?)

It hurts me as much as it does, not really because of the 23 words this person said, but because I am still fragile. I am the first person to admit, I’ve had a hard ass month, which has come after a hard ass eight months, following a rough couple of years. I have my good moments and my not so good moments. Yesterday was the first time in a month when I hadn’t been depressed and this is what I get. Yesterday, by the way, was the four week mark. I lost the baby four weeks ago, last night.

I have been depressed and trying to be okay (and doing a dam good job of it) for a month. I’m fragile and I can’t handle this without talking about. I can’t ignore it like I should probably do. I can’t just let it go.

Which is why I'm writing this. Not because I want to give this person more attention. I have deleted and will continue to delete all of his comments. I am not going to link to his site, nor will I ever click on it again.

I am writing this, because I have to. I have to say all of this. I have to write that this isn't okay. That I am not just some random stranger behind a computer screen. I am a person with feelings. I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend and dog owner. I am a good person.

I am taking a stand. I am saying to the world, to all the trolls out there, that this has gone on long enough. Go find a life and stay the hell out of mine. Leave my friends alone. No one cares what you have to say. Shoo.

Guest post: my 200th post, written by Mrs. Chicken

Today's guest post is by the lovely Mrs. Chicken. Because of what this post about, my intro is below it. After you read it, you'll understand why.


I've spent the past month or so tied up in knots about my blog. Should I keep it going? Shut it down? Open it to my family?

It's so stupid, all this angst about a series of virtual pages, a life imagined in the ether. I am not Mrs. Chicken; I am a living, human being with facets more varied and strange than I could ever share by tapping out a series of words strung together. Do you know me? Yes and no. Do I know you?

No. And yes.

Issa and I crossed paths last summer, when I was startled—terrified, really—out of my ambivalence about my second pregnancy. My OB decided I needed an iron infusion, administered directly into my veins with an IV. Later, I found out that this risky procedure is attempted only in very dire situations, and only in the hospital.

Only in the hospital, because it can kill you if you have an allergic reaction.

I had a reaction; not quite full anaphlaxsis, but close. I never stopped breathing, but I did black out and wake up to two Epi pens surging through my system, body seized with painful contractions, as frantic nurses and my midwife struggled for several long, life-altering seconds to locate the heartbeat of my 37-week old baby.

The babyman. Babyman was planned, expected, wanted. But that didn't stop me from gnawing on the idea of him like a dog with a bone. It didn't stop me from endlessly questioning how I would manage to love him, with a heart already so full of adoration for the little girl who stole my soul lo these four and a half years ago.

But that day, I realized how much my heart wanted him. How important and real and deep my love for him was, even as he lay hidden inside my inhospitable womb.

Issa read my recounting of those 30 minutes, and suddenly, the two of us were bonded. I changed her life, she tells me. That experience of mine allowed the ice floes inside her own heart to break free, giving way to the warm mother-love she has for her own son.

Issa, you see, experienced loss.

Issa feared the love. She feared loving her sweet baby curled up inside her, lest he be taken from her. She's suffered heartbreak and loss and she was brittle.

But Issa was not broken. And neither was I. But sometimes it takes a shock to break you free from the fear, and we both got a shock that fateful July afternoon.

And so, Issa and I are bonded. When my son was born, I thought of Issa. It sounds impossible, disingenuous. But I did. And I knew that shortly thereafter, she would experience the overwhelming love that I felt as I pressed my lips to my son's warm, freshly minted face.

A few nights ago, Issa and I chatted online about the strange wonderfulness of this imaginary world we share, and as we signed off, I wondered if I would ever meet this young woman who has become my friend in the strangest, most unimaginable way possible.

I might not ever lay eyes on Issa. But she and I share something difficult, if not impossible to articulate.

I think of Issa, and of all the other mothers and fathers out there in this vast universe, and I think of how I am changed because of them. How I love more deeply, share more openly, weep more copiously, laugh more uproariously, because of a series of words strung together.

Because of stories.

And because of Issa, and Heather and Mike and Tanis and Kristen and Binky and all the rest too numerous to name, I will continue to share my own tales. Because you just don't know when your life will bump up against someone else's, and change everything.


I can't really remember when I found Mrs. Chickens site. I think there is a possibility I read her a bit before I quit blogging, but I'm not positive. Who knows? It doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of life. What I know is that when I first started reading her blog last summer, we became connected in a way that most people in the "real" world wouldn't understand. In a way that some of you, might not even understand. I don't think I can do it justice, so I'm going to ask you to read THIS if you'd like to know a bit more. It's a post that I wrote, the one where I realized how amazing this new friend of mine was. It's a bit of a harsh post, because it discusses the last time I lost a baby. But that day last July, where Mrs. Chicken almost lost her Babyman, was the day I realized I could and did love mine. That he'd already taken over my heart, I just didn't believe it yet. This woman, who I'd not met had changed my view on my life, my son's life. In one moment, she changed my life. Strange? Maybe. But it is true. I hadn't been blogging again for very long last summer. I was still in the, share silly stories, not reality with the blogging world. I hadn't found my voice yet. But that day, I choose to be real with all of you, or whomever of you were reading back then. I hadn't said yet, that I wasn't sure I could love Harrison. I hadn't told the story of my loss, or my breakdown after it. I hadn't yet decided that I really wanted to do this again, this crazy blogging life. That day, I knew I was in, fully in. That day, I realized that I wanted to be apart of this community again. In some ways, I wish I'd never taken a break. But my experience is different this time around, my friends are different, I am different.

This woman, this beautiful woman, who I may never meet, is someone who I am honored to call my friend. It's a strange community we have here. Having people guest post and write such brilliant heartfelt things has really shown me how important all of you are too me. I am still finding my words again, but I am getting there. I will be back, I promise. You can't get rid of me now.

Guest Post: Where real and imaginary blend together

Insta-mom is today's guest poster. Which makes me so happy. I am really loving these guest posters. I mean I loved them all before, but I'm loving this semi-break. I am feeling the urge to start writing again, so there will be more posts from me in the next few weeks, mingled with the last few guest posts.

Insta-mom managed to put into words what I have been wanting to say for awhile. Which really, makes it so much easier for me. Because hi, she's a teacher and has a way of getting to a point when she writes, which I tend to not be able to do. I tend to be in the, see if you can find the point of this post because I surely can't, camp.

A lot of you have your Internet life and your real life mingle. You do play dates, you go to every conference imaginable, your family and friends know about your blog. Maybe a few of your friends in real life, blog too. Mine don't, no one knows except for Logan and my BFF Kate and I'd like to keep it that way. They're not telling anyone. Most days, they pretend they don't know. It really has nothing to do with any of you. It's not that I feel any different about you than I do my real life friends. For me this is just the way it is. But I, like Insta-mom am seeing the lines being blurred. In some respects it scares me. In others, it seems like it's not a big deal at all. Like it's the natural thing. I care too much about all of you to worry about it anymore. I fought it so hard with my last blog and in the end I had to stop blogging because of it. This time, I'm just not willing to do that. Do my children and husband remain separate from my online friends, yes. They do, that is Logan's number one issue and I am okay with it. (To him you are all the invisible people in the computer.) But too me? No, it's just not that black and white anymore. I do this for me. To have something that is all mine. When you are friends with the same people your entire life, you each have a role to play. A role you know, a role that I am entirely comfortable with. Our lives our so intermingled that every story I tell has them in it in some way. Our kids are all the same age and it doesn't look like it will be any different for them. I love this about my life. However, blogging is just for me and I love that too. It's my thing that no one else does, that no one else is interested in. It's my deal.

Anyway, I am honored to have Insta-mom share in my space today. (See at first I had no idea what to say, then the rambling happened.)

At my mom’s house on Mother’s Day, my sister-in-law was looking through the World’s Most Influential People issue of Time Magazine. When she got to the page about the founders of Twitter, she declared, “I still don’t even understand what Twitter is.”

I didn’t offer anything by way of explanation as I sat there on the couch next to her, my Blackberry intentionally left at home so I wouldn’t sneak to the bathroom too often to read my Twitter feed.

Those of you reading this who do Twitter probably totally understood why I did that; those of you who don’t quite possibly think I’m a hopeless loser.

And that’s my point. So many people don’t “get” the relationships those of us who have Internet lives develop with one another. I’ve heard people talk about blogs and social networking sites with that air of contempt in their voice. Those things are for social outcasts, recluses, people whose skin is oddly colored because most of the light they get in a day come from the glow of their LCD screen.

I only told two people I know “in real life” about my blog. Another found out quite by accident. But that is the extent that my two worlds overlap. I like it that way. You see, in real life, I am a bit of a recluse. I tend to resist social situations that might involve large groups of people. I try to branch out, but I don’t do well overcoming my fears—the fear of rejection, ridicule, exclusion. In real life, I am self-conscious and insecure.

There is safety in the Internet. People don’t have to read your blog or follow you on Twitter. If they don’t want to know you, they won’t. They don’t laugh at the worn out pair of shoes you wore because they were the only ones you could find. They don’t judge that you haven’t washed your hair because you just can’t bring yourself to exert that much effort. And if they tell you they don’t like you, the sting can wear off more quickly because in many ways, they are not “real” to you.

So I have created for myself these neatly separated worlds: the “real” one, where I am what I know I am; and the Internet one, where I am who I wish I could be. I am open and confident and social. But these worlds stay separated. I am happy when life is neatly compartmentalized. For so long, I’ve needed them separated.

But several times recently, those two worlds collided. And they collided in ways that I can’t ignore. So the lines have to bleed and become fuzzy. I have had to come to terms with the idea that these bloggers I read, these people I tweet with, are not just ephemeral beings elsewhere in the universe who know me in a way that even people I am related to do not. They are actual flesh-and-blood friendships. Friendships grown in a different part of my self than the “real” friendships I already have. They are people who know me in a more honest way than anyone who actually “knows” me.

The power of those relationships has come crashing down on me in the last several months. You don’t realize how invested you become in someone’s story until that story includes pain—pain that you feel as acutely as anyone not experiencing it in the first person can. You are forced to accept these relationships into your life, the real one, not just the invisible one. All the strings of the two worlds become tangled, knotted, inseparable.

But offering friendship and consolation to people you have grown to know over the Internet is much more complicated. You can’t stop by with a basket of muffins and a box of tissues when you are in California and your friend is 1000 miles away. And even when geography doesn’t impede your outstretched heart, how do you offer your love and concern to someone who, in spite of being part of your every day life, you’ve never actually met?

Maybe I have trouble giving people the benefit of the doubt, but because these Internet relationships are so much different, I don’t trust that people who don’t have them will always understand the depth of the friendships. I can’t rely on them understand how you can hurt for someone you’ve never seen.

And I won’t ask them to understand how these invisible relationships can actually make you a better person, a better friend, in real life, too. Because when you can’t stop for a cup of coffee or offer a hug you are forced to find other ways to show that you care.

You begin to understand that just a simple “I’m thinking of you” can carry a well of emotion with it. You find other ways to be generous. Those acts are enough because they are all you can give. And they help you realize that the best you can give, even if it’s just a few words to ease a burden, will always be enough.

Guest post: One step forward, three steps back

Today's guest post is from Kari at I left my heart at preschool. I intended on posting this last night, but I couldn't think of what to say in this intro. I want to tell you how sweet and kind Kari is, because it's true. That she is a good writer and friend. I want to tell you how adorable her girls are; how much prettier her blog is than mine and how I can't wait to drink some wine with her at BlogHer this summer.

Mostly though, I want to just let her words speak for her. I think that is possibly the best thing to do. Please, please support this lovely friend of mine, because I think she could use some kindness right now.

Thanks, Issa

When Issa asked me to write a guest post, I was more than happy to help her out. Because what she is going through, how she just isn’t inspired to write a lot lately, I get it. I’ve actually been feeling the same way myself lately. The main reason I’ve personally been ignoring my blog lately, is because there’s something that I’ve wanted to write about for a long time now, it’s just been too jumbled up in my mind to come out as a coherent post. Also because it’s not something I’m comfortable posting on my own blog. Too many family and co-workers read my blog, and I’m not ready to get too naked in front of them at this point. So I guess I’m also taking this guest post as an opportunity to get naked in Issa’s backyard instead…thanks Issa!

My marriage sucks.

We’ve never had what you’d call an easy relationship, but the past few years especially, I feel like for every step forward we take, we end up taking a few steps backwards shortly after. To start at the very beginning would make this post the length of a novel…my husband and I have been married for eleven years, and have known each other for eighteen years in total. So I’ll start a few years after we were married. We hit a turning point in our marriage, where we easily could have split up before starting a family together – but ended up staying together. Sometimes I wonder if I stayed partially out of guilt. For quite a while before that point, when things were going badly in our relationship, I withdrew – almost entirely. But I felt like I had invested so much of my life into this relationship, with a man that I loved dearly – that I owed us both a chance to focus completely on making it work. And we did. We went to counseling, we decided to move closer to our families and we started our lives over again, so to speak. When things were solid in our marriage, we decided to start a family together.

We struggled every now and then, but we were able to keep working through our issues. There was, however, a strange undercurrent in our relationship that kept pulling us back to seemingly the same problems. So about a year ago, we decided to go to counseling again. I got a lot out of our counseling sessions, and I thought we grew as a couple because of them. I continued going on my own for a while after our couple sessions were over, which made a huge difference for me personally. Then, not too long after counseling, we were arguing over something that I cannot even remember – when he told me that he was unhappy in our relationship solely because I am overweight. According to him, this was the one thing that everything else hinged on, and the one thing that has kept him from being happy ever since we were married – so for the past ten years.

I was broken. I’m not even going to go into whether or not I feel that I am overweight – or the history of my weight in the time of our marriage – because I think it’s irrelevant. I was broken by the fact that something external was his entire basis for happiness with me. I was torn between wondering if I would do more damage to my kids by leaving, or by staying with someone who puts that much weight in weight. Pun intended.

I spent months being angry, and putting on even more weight – probably as my “F you” to him – I had decided that this was his problem, not mine. Eventually, I made peace with it. I finally told him how hurt I was. He told me about his hurt. I listened. He listened. We both agreed that we were essentially staying together for the kids. We both agreed that it wasn’t good for them or for us, to be unhappy together in our marriage. We both agreed that we’re not ready to give up. We both agreed that we have no idea how to make it better.

I put a lot of thought into how to make things better. He was just about to leave for a week long business trip, when I told him about one idea that I had. We would both write down five things that were really important to us, and the other person would try their best to do those things. Neither of us actually took pen to paper, but knowing at least one thing that is apparently THE most important thing to him, I set out to lose weight. In attempting to understand him, I was also able to feel more loving and accepting towards him. I wrote him a long letter and put it in his suitcase. He called me the day after he landed and told me it was the best card I’d ever given him. Finally, I felt like we were taking some steps forward.

It’s been hard keeping up my personal motivation, because I feel like since then, he has not acknowledged anything that I’ve done to try to make things better for us. I also feel like he has not been putting in any effort from his side. Maybe he has, and I haven’t seen it, just as he hasn’t seen any of my efforts.

Tonight, we got into another fight about our different parenting styles. He seems just as angry and unhappy as the day he first told me about how unhappy he really was, if not more. He said something about how there’s no point talking about anything, because nothing will ever change. I said if we can’t continue to talk about parenting, then what is the point of being together. I feel like the kids are better off, if we just parent them completely separately. He said he thinks that is what we are doing right now.

Three steps back. I wonder how many steps backwards are left, before we fall off the cliff. I feel like we’re so close, I can’t see how we can come back to safety.

I keep thinking about a plaque that a friend gave me recently. It says, “Faith is daring the soul to go, where the eyes cannot see.” I do have Faith. I’ve never lost it. I dare my heart and my mind, to keep going, even though I cannot see what is in front of me.

Guest Post: When two worlds colide

Today's Guest is from Stacey at AnyMommy. Stacey, for those of you who have never been to her site, is capable of making me (and most anybody) laugh and cry in the same sentence. (Read below, or read any of her posts and you will understand.) Also, she wins the best Tweet award for the month: "Most embar Seattle moment: Waiter: Ma'am, 4 u, a coke? sprite? Me: No, I'd like huge top shelf margarita. Blank look. Me: Is the bar closed?" For those of you who don't know her, she is like 32 million weeks pregnant.

She's a beautiful writer and friend. I tell her that she's a great writer, because she is, all the time. My only compliant about her is she posts really early in the morning and I NEVER wake up early enough to get any points. Because yes, her posts have points too. I keep thinking if I tell her enough times what a great writer she is, she might float me a free couple of points. But so far, it ain't workin.

But this post below is awesome and I'm blessed to be able to share it with you all. I have a post coming next week. With real words and all that jazz. I have more guests post coming too, but I am feeling the urge to write. Please be patient with me, while I find myself again. I hope you guys enjoy these guest posts, because I am loving them.


Different Worlds

She walks toward me quickly, with a huge smile, and hugs me tightly, "Oh, I knew you'd be here. I've been reading your blog. I think it's wonderful that you're walking for Maddie."

I am thrown off balance, stiff and awkward in my disorientation. The field is swept by a constant cold wind, but bright with sunshine. The purple balloons tied to my triple stroller dance crazily. My kids happily eat free doughnuts provided by the March of Dimes, their cheeks sticky and chapped red by the wind. She turns to them, her warmth and enthusiasm prick at my heart. "And here are Ess and Gee and Cue," she rattles off their names without hesitation. "They are gorgeous!"

"Thank you. It's great to see you here." I don't know her name and my brain is in a tail-spin panic. I should know it, we aren't friends exactly, but our kids went to the same co-op school in different years. We've chatted a lot at book club meetings. Also, she's lovely and I really enjoy talking to her. I should know her name in such a way that asking is not an option. It's more than just being poor at names, or being a social ditz, it's that some where deep down I feel I should know her the way she knows me, that I've failed some how.

I know she has a daughter a little older than my three-year-olds. I know her little girl was born prematurely and struggled to live for weeks. I can't remember her daughter's name either. She told the whole story at a quiet restaurant table with just three or four of us left after a book club meeting. That was maybe six months ago and I haven't seen her since.

She has seen me, though, here in my other world, where the mirror sometimes only lets people look in at me, as though I sit under a barren light at an interrogation table, gazing at my own reflection while those on the outside watch my movements for clues.

"I loved your last post, the one where you think about Cue at the pool while you're rocking him. It touched my heart."

"Thank you so much," I answer. "I love writing that blog, it means a lot to me that people read it." I want to say so much more, I want my three restless children and the windy field to melt away for a few minutes. I want to take her hands and lead her to a little table and buy her a coffee. I want to ask her, tell me, please tell me, what do you think about when you rock your little girl to sleep? But, the walk is about to start and the rest of my team is waving at me from the other side of the open space and all three of my kids are asking me something and someone is asking her a question because she wears a volunteer t-shirt. So, I give her another quick hug and surreptitiously wipe the strange, inappropriate tears from my eyes.

"See you later."

Guest Post: Toddlers Rock

Today's guest post is by the lovely PsychMamma. I am kinda thrilled that I managed to trick her into writing for me, seeing how she doesn't really blog anymore. She Tweets, thankfully, because I'd miss her if she didn't, but she doesn't really blog anymore. She also is constantly kicking my butt in Scrabble, but we don't talk about that. This is basically something she wrote for her little girl, J, and was kind enough to share it with us. I have to say, it totally made me miss my girls being so little. It's strange how different a year makes, because really Bailey is only four and a half. But it is different; they grow so freaking fast.


Tomorrows

(A journal entry for my three-year-old daughter)

Hey pumpkin!

Today was a most wonderful day with you. I have to admit that many of these days are not-so-wonderful. You seem to have saved the "Terrible Two" phase for when you turned three. Most days, you're busy testing boundaries (and my patience), shouting "NO!" and being in time out. I know that it's developmentally normal and that it's just a phase, but sometimes my sanity survives minute-by-minute.

Today was NOT one of those days. We woke up to a rainy day, and I was feeling lazy. Yesterday, I accomplished EVERYTHING from my "to-do" list for the day, so I was feeling triumphant. I decided that all the house things and work things could wait another day, and somehow managed to not even think about them. We had a great time playing together. We made a tent in the living room out of a sheet, the couch and a dining room chair and played in it for a long time. For a while, it was a tent, and then it magically transformed into a pirate ship (your idea)! Have I mentioned how much I love your imagination these days?? It amazes and amuses me without end. We prepared food for jungle animals on safari and for ponies on our pirate ship, and you made me some special tea. We read a couple stories, sang lullabies to babies and tucked them in to sleep. We took a walk to Venezuela, pushing a baby and two bottles in a stroller, and pulling a puppy pull-toy along behind us. We snuggled while watching Charlie & Lola together, which we both absolutely and completely adore, and I loved hearing you giggle whenever Lola giggled. It made me giggle to. We played with buttons for a long time - one of your favorite things to do. We talked about the colors, textures and shapes, sorted them into bowls and found the tiny ones that fit in the teapot spout, then strung them on a strand of dental floss. You love the flower shaped buttons best. After a while, we made a picture for Daddy by gluing buttons onto cardstock. Your declared that your picture was a cow with a flower (even though it looked absolutely NOTHING like either), and you were so proud of it when we were done. You were also completely amazed by glue. It was the first project we ever did with glue (Yes, I've been terrified of the possible repercussions) and when the picture dried, you couldn't believe that the buttons stuck! You declared it wonderful magic, and then asked if we could take the buttons off again.

Your phrase of the day was "C'MON! Work with me here!" and I have NO idea where you heard it. Neither your daddy or I say it, but I'm sure you picked it up from a library movie or something you overheard someone else say. Your memory constantly amazes me. I've learned not to question you unless I'm prepared to apologize, because you're very rarely wrong about things you remember. Although, weirdly, if it's something I WANT you to remember or find ("J, WHERE is your other shoe?") you mysteriously have no recollection.

You woke up from your nap on the wrong side of the crib (Yep - you're still in a crib, and will be for as long as possible), but happily snuggled with me in the rocking chair for almost twenty minutes. Because that rarely happens anymore, I treasure anytime it DOES. I can't believe how big you're getting and how the space on my lap is getting filled up. Your head easily rests on my shoulder when your knees are on my lap now, and I remember so well the days when you snuggled up against me with your head on my chest and your feet on my belly. I know that a huge part of me will be incredibly sad when these snuggling days are over. You'll be to big and too proud for that. But, I also know that new wonders will be waiting for me as I watch you bloom and grow at every new stage. This parenting thing is so bittersweet. I'm so proud of your every accomplishment, and I want you to learn new things and to become more independent. At the same time, I know that very independence means you'll need ME a little bit less, and that the snuggles will be fewer and farther apart.

Daddy and I had a date night tonight. We need those now and then. It's that sanity thing again - someday you'll understand. You love your babysitter, and are usually so excited when I tell you that she's coming. This morning, when I told you she was coming you got mopey, though. I asked you why you were sad, and you said, "Because you will go away. And I don't like it when you go away." My heart melted and I reminded you that I always come back and that I would be here when you're sleeping and when you wake up in the morning. Your little face lit up, and you said, "And we can play again? You will play with me tomorrow?"

For as many days as you let me, Pumpkin. For as many weeks as you ask me to. Until the years when you're busy with friends and I become the embarrassing mom. I'll take all the tomorrows I can until then, and I'll store them up in my heart.

I love you, Sweetie. Always.

Guest Post: The MIL version

Note from Issa: I've been blessed with lovely friends who have taken pity on me and my messy heart right now and have obliged with a few guest posts. Please be kind to them, as they are doing me a HUGE favor and I have no way of repaying them. Unless any of them takes sour Jelly Beans as payment? Ladies? Anyway, today's guest poster is going to be anonymous, because her MIL lurks on her blog.

This is an anonymous guest post, written by someone with sadness in her heart and a Mother-in-Law that chronically lurks on her own blog. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts...

On Mother's Day it came to hit me, my mother-in-law hasn't seen my children in over two years. TWO YEARS. My youngest is only two and a half, which means you don't need to be a genius to do the math, she's non-existent in their lives. As I grow older and wiser, I realize you can't force someone into your life even if it's a family member.

But I wonder when it's going to hit my children as well. Why doesn't Grandma come visit us?

Unfortunately my MIL likes to spend her travel time on things she likes doing, rather then visiting her grandchildren. You see my MIL isn't a knitter or crafter or bingo player, my MIL is a chronic gambler. Even though we live about 2,500 miles apart, she'll fly right over our house to a better destination Las Vegas. You know because when she travels to Vegas, she gets "free" rooms. We charge a high premium for our guest room, quality time with the grandchildren. I guess it's too much for her to handle.

We've tried to have the conversations, we've heard the promises of a visit in the winter, no a visit in the summer. But alas the years are passing and visiting us is low on the priority list. And yes, we are partially to blame because we haven't made the visit to see her or her husband that has never met our youngest child. Saying that blows my mind.

I just feel like being an adult and traveling with out little children in tow is not too much to ask of someone that loves and cares about you. Now for us, hopping on a plane or two with layovers, with our children is much more of a process. We are going to make the trip this fall, but I don't quite know how to accept that she doesn't want to be a part of our lives. I guess we don't provide the rush of a pull on a slot machine or the promise of the next big win. We just like to have quality time around the dinner table and create lasting memories.

Time to focus on the family members that do love us, love visiting us and creating memories. Although it sure is hard to let go when it's your husband's own mother that doesn't love you the same way.

Guest post #2 - Alissa

Alissa, from Life's Little Adventures, is one of the first friends I made in the blog world. She's also one of the first people I looked up when I started this blog. When she isn't chasing after her sons, Nick and Drew, she is busy cutting up dead animals (serious, it's her job...or something like that) and taking beautiful photos that make me tell her she should be a professional photographer. I’ve read her posts ever since I started checking out this lovely blogosphere, and she never fails to inspire me. I’d feel lucky to have Alissa as a friend and even more luck that she said that she'd do this guest post for me.


OK, from what I understand Issa is writing little intros about all of her guest bloggers, so I shouldn’t have to introduce myself. But, just in case, I’m Alissa, from Life’s Little Adventures. I’ve known Issa online for a few years now…we lost touch there for a bit but I am so happy to have found her again. She’s fantastic, isn’t she?

Anyway, she put out a request for guest bloggers, and without even thinking I volunteered. That was awhile back, and it suddenly occurred to me that I’d best get on the ball and write something! And then I started thinking Hey! Why in the world did I agree to be a guest blogger? I’m hard-pressed to write anything on my own blog these days that’s not whiny and annoying…what makes me think I can do better for Issa?

And then I decided…I’d let my boys write the post. I figured I’d ask them for advice for Issa on raising her new baby boy, seeing as she’s got two girls and just now has been introduced to the marvel that is baby boys. So, here we go:

Me: Boys, tell me some things that are important to know when taking care of a baby boy.

Nicky: Feed it a lot!

Drew: Boys are tougher than girls.

Nicky: He needs to keep short hair. Only girls should have long hair.

Nicky: Always poke it down when you’re changing his diaper.

Drew: Yeah! And, be sure not to dress him in pink. Pink is girly.

Drew: Boys are very cool. Remember to be nice to him.

Nicky: And don’t forget to tell him you love him lots!

Drew: How old is the baby boy?

Me: A couple of months…

Drew: Can he walk yet?

Me: Oh, no.

Nicky: Well, remember that when he can walk he’ll be wild and crazy!

So, Issa, while you’re off enjoying a wonderful vacation alone in Hawaii with your darling hubby, we’ll hold down the fort here. And it appears that, should you ever need another babysitter, my boys are more than capable of taking care of your little guy.

Random thoughts, the Issa needs some sleep edition

-Seriously I do. Need sleep. Like four days worth of sleep. I haven't slept well in at least a week. Well, being my normal, not a good sleeper well. But it's bad right now. I have been going to bed late, laying there for hours and then being woken up early, by the most chewable baby in the world. He is forgiven for his early waking time schedule, because honestly he sleeps so well that I can't complain. Also, see the chewable thing above.

-Last night was the first Insta-Mom book club meeting. We read Revolutionary Road. You know the one they just made a movie out of? With Leo and Kate? As I was told last night, they weren't on a sinking boat. There were no icebergs. Which I would have known, had I read more than 25 pages of the book. I've never been a part of a real book club, but this one rocks. There is room for more of you, anyone can join. I am pretty sure the most we talked about books, in the two and a half hour chat, was when we were suggesting books for next time. My vote of the Ya-Ya's was shot down. Which makes sense, seeing how I only suggested it because I had already read the book and seen the movie. Like I said, anyone can join in...reading the book isn't mandatory.

-I won an award. See, isn't it pretty?

Kari at I left my Heart at Preschool gave it too me. Last week maybe? I am bad at memes, I rarely do them. But for Kari, I will. It's the honest scrap award. The word scrap is probably more applicable these days than honest, but I'll give it a go. I'm supposed to list ten honest things about me and then pass it on.

1. I only eat bananas if they are still green at the top. Any brown spot makes me gag. I throw away more bananas than is right.
2. I despise the words, popular bloggers. Even more than that, I despise the meaning behind it. A blogger is still a blogger, still a person, no matter how many followers they have.
3. I don't like drinks without ice in them. Water, anything really, either needs to be ice cold or served with ice. I am that asshat that the french hate.
4. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. But I am thinking I will figure it out one of these days.
5. I go through almost a full pack of gum a day. I chew it for about five minutes and then throw it out. The thought of my breath smelling, freaks me out.
6. I have a very, very great sense of smell. Other peoples breath freaks me out.
7. I have toooooo many people in my Google reader. I can not keep up. I can't delete people, because it hurts me to do that, so a lot of times, I read every third post of someones. I feel bad about this, but it's the best I can do.
8. I am very clumsy. I hit walls, kick chairs and slam my hand in doors ever single day. Luckily, I don't bruise easily or people would wonder about my husband.
9. Coming back to blogging was the best decision I could have made.
10. Sometimes I take pictures of my kids, because I really like the outfit they have on.

I'm not so good at the passing it on part of memes. Just know, I think you all are awesome. But I'm giving this one to Stacey at Anymommy, partly because she is an honest writer, but mostly because I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Walk for babies

Most of you won't know this, because it's been so long that I rarely discuss it, but Morgan was born a month early. Her due date was January 10, 2002. When my water broke on December 7th, 2001, I kinda lost my shit. As we rushed to the hospital, I imagined all of the horrible things that could possibly be wrong with my tiny baby and I just hoped over and over again, that somehow she'd be okay. She was okay. A tiny peanut of a thing, but she was just perfect. I guess she just wanted to do things her way...which is absolutely no different than the way she's been for the past seven and half years.

We got lucky, this we know. I am thankful every day, when I hear about what others have gone through, that our baby was healthy; that she was only born a month early and not two or three.

Not everyone is so lucky. We all know people. Friends, family, blogging buddies, whose kids needed help early on. Some were born way to early, some born on time, but they all needed medical intervention. Babies who weren't supposed to make it, but did because of the miracle that is our medical society.

Years ago, a friend of my mothers had a baby boy who was born seven weeks early. He lived until his due date and then passed away. They didn't know then what they know now. Maybe had he been born today, he'd be alive. No way to know for sure, but it's definitely a possibility.

A lot of you probably read The Spohrs Are Multiplying. If not, you really should be, because Heather is a freaking crack up. Even funnier than her blog, are her Tweets. The girl regularly makes me shoot wine through my nose. Heather's little baby girl Maddie was born early. Seriously early. And while she has some lung issues, she's come a long way. You only have to look at her (and oh hey, you can, see below) to know she's a miracle baby. Don't you just kinda want to squish her? Maybe even buy her a pony?

Heather and her husband Mike are raising money for March of Dimes, by participating in a walk for babies in April. Because of Maddie and also because they seem to be nice people in general, they are dedicated to raising money for March of Dimes. To help babies like Maddie everywhere. They are really close to their goal, but I'd love for all of us to maybe help them exceed it. Even ten dollars would help. March of Dimes is a phenomenal charity that helps support parents of preemies, preemie babies and in general is trying to make it where all babies are born healthy. It's a great cause.

For Maddie, I am not telling you about how I am dying of Strep throat right now. (Possibly for Maura as well, so she doesn't throw a shoe at my head from California.) For Maddie, I am not telling you how after childbirth, this is the most painful thing I've even gone through. For Maddie, I did not post last night when I'd had a vicoden and some wine. Which really is good for all of humanity. I'm also not telling you about how I cried at 2am when Morgan came to me and said her throat hurt.

This post is for Maddie.

Addictions

There seems to be a little meme going around. The addiction meme. Stacey did it and Maura did it. I haven't really been tagged for it, but I thought I'd do it too, since I'm a joiner. The addiction meme can be a little scary. I'm not sure I can limit my list and I'm realizing I have a lot of addictions. Lucky for me, none of them are illegal.

1. Starbucks. This one is kinda obvious, since I talk about coffee all the time. One venti, non-fat Mocha with whipped cream is my drug of choice. This is my true love. I can't seem to go without it. Even when pregnant, I wasn't able to give it up. I tried decaf, but I just couldn't do it. So I went with a regular one, just a small. I don't drink caffeine throughout my day, not generally at least, but I need one of these every morning.

2. Chapstick. My new obsession is from Origins. I love the Burt Bees shimmery ones as well and the regular ChapStick brand ones. The thing is, I have dozens of the darn things. I have three sitting in my car cup holder. I have at least six in a drawer in my kitchen. Lets see, I have four in my purse at the moment. I don't go anywhere without chapstick.

3. My kids cheeks. I love to kiss them. I pretend to eat them. I say dozens of times a week, come her and let mama eat your cheeks. They all let me. It will be a sad, sad day in Issas Crazy World, when I am no longer allowed to eat little chunky cheeks.

4. Music. I am addicted to music. You will never find my house quiet. Logan and I turn music on the second we wake up and we fall asleep to it. I have some form of music on all day, whether I'm at home or in the car. Our computer probably died because of the amount of music we had sitting on there. As my dad says, you don't need three weeks worth of music on one computer. My kids have CD players in their rooms and both of the girls have their own iPod Shuffles for when we go on trips or they need some down time. Without music, I feel naked. I can't explain it, that's just how I feel.

5. Blogging. I am very addicted to blogging. Somehow, I think I'm not alone in this one.

That's all you are getting today. Anyone care to join in?

Paying it forward

Three years ago I started a blog, called Issas World. (Now that I think about it, the name of this site: not so inventive.) I'd been reading blogs for a few months and had made semi-friends with a few of the lovely people whose sites I stalked daily. A couple of them convinced me to start my own site. One of them was Matthew, whose blog is called ChildsPlayx2. It's called times two, because he has twins. Two beautiful twins: SweetPea and Monk, whose lives I've been blessed to witness for three years. They've grown from these teeny little butter bean babies to adorable, intelligent, funny little three year olds. I've always loved reading the beautiful, heartfelt, eloquent letters that Matthew writes to his children. (Maybe I should steal some and put them in my kids baby books. Kidding. Sort of.)

Three weeks ago, Matthew and the twins lives were changed forever. The rug was very swiftly pulled from under their feet. It's not my place to go into details, as it's his personal business. However, I will say, those little kids have an amazing father who will continue to do a great job raising them. I know they will turn out to be phenomenal people, no matter what happens, because they have him.

Now here comes the paying it forward thing. Matthew is an executive director of a YMCA in San Diego. His job is to help people; too help kids and families in need. Along with all of the programs that all YMCA's do, (i.e. sports, teen groups, summer programs), they also provide childcare for low income families. Every year in February, Matthew organizes some sort of a fundraiser to raise money for his YMCA, because they don't turn anyone away for not being able to pay. This helps make it where they can continue to help out families who desperately need assistance. I've heard him mention it for a few years now. However, this year, because of his current family situation, Matthew is behind in his fundraising goals. He has sent out an email and posted on his blog, asking for help.

He is in the process of setting up an Internet auction for a few weeks from today. The auction is for the blog world. He's asking for anything we might be willing to donate that could be auctioned off. (Artwork, signed books, trips; are just a few ideas he listed.) All money made from the auction will go directly to the YMCA where Matthew works. Any donated item will be listed with your name and a link will be added to your blog. Any monetary donation made, is tax deductible and you will receive a letter on YMCA letterhead acknowledging your gift. The letter will have the Tax ID number on it as well. There are some items listed on his site that have already been donated, a few of which I plan on trying to bid on. A cruise for two? Dude, I am so there.

I know this economy sucks. I know people are just struggling to make it. I know everyone is asking for money. But I've also seen quite a few people talk about wanting to do something, although not knowing what. Something to try and help the world. Basically what I'm asking you for is help. Help for a friend of mine who is doing his very best to help the world.

Matthew spends his days trying to help kids and families in his community and his nights and weekends trying to help his kids be okay, to deal with what happened to his family a few weeks ago. Please help by paying it forward to a very deserving cause. I have nothing to donate, I've racked my brain, but I've come up empty. I can donate money and bid during the auction, this I am capable of doing and will do. But I thought I'd put this out there, to see if more people can help. To see if maybe one of you has something to donate, or even would just be willing to bid, when the time comes. Please, for me, at least think about it. Thank you.

PS. If you would like to just donate, I have the link for his YMCA.