My Mom is Super Mom

With Mother’s Day on the horizon I was thinking a lot about what I have been through personally when it comes to my son.  We have definitely had our battles.   But he is a little fighter and I have no qualms about admitting that we have it good.  There could be so many worse things to have to deal with.  And this lead me to thinking about my mom.  And all she has been through as a mother.

My mom, became a mom young.  When you are pregnant, you have all these ideas about how your child will be raised and what they will achieve.  I cannot imagine being that young and being told that your child will need to have open heart surgery.  I have seen my son through tonsils and adenoids being taken out, and a few other small surgeries and that was bad enough.  Can you imagine having to take your young child to a hospital and watch nurses take them away knowing they will be operating on your child’s heart?  This was before they made a small insertion, this was when they cut you open down your chest.  Can you imagine the dread you would feel?

The relief she must have felt when I started doing better.  I started growing.  I thought about all the stuff I did even knowing I had a heart murmur.  I played sports all the way through high school.  Ballet, bowling, baseball, soccer.  I went on roller coasters and ran the stupid mile in gym.  If there’s anything that could have come out of it is they should have said I couldn’t run the mile, but I’m just now thinking of this–stupid me.  Back to my mom.  She never stopped me.  She never told me I couldn’t.  But I’m sure she worried about it.  I would have.

Getting the usual tonsils and adenoids out.  Then tubes in the ears too many times to count.  Having the skin under my tongue clipped because I was tongue tied.  Being so active I was constantly breaking, spraining, or hurting something.  Just constant issues.

What about as that child gets older and you know something is wrong health wise but you can’t put your finger on it?  You run them from doctor to doctor trying to figure it out.  All while working and driving them to all those sports and outings with friends, while still working.  And you never get the answer you are looking for.

Until one day you do.  And it’s a rare disease that can cause blindness.  What would you do if your child had to take strong medicine every day for the rest of their lives?  What if the only way to stop the medicine was to have brain surgery?  We went on living our lives and just taking medicine.  At the same time my mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

Then one day getting more bad news. Listening to your daughter bawl into the phone as she says that her nuero surgeon told her she had to have surgery.  After ten years of having the disease and taking medicine.  Having the nurses roll your child away for another major surgery.  That must have been so hard.  Can you imagine what that must have felt like as a parent?

What about the aftermath of that surgery?  Taking care of your grandson and daughter as you have your own medical issues going on.  Driving her everywhere until she is allowed to drive again.  Taking her to appointments because something else may have gone wrong at the surgery and waiting it out to find out what was happening.

It’s hard sometimes to put yourself in another person’s shoes.  It’s easy to think about how something affects you.  But when I think about all my mom has been through as a mother, to me, alone, it is crazy.  This doesn’t include her own issues, my brother, or my son.  My mom has had a hard life and she just keeps pushing through with the hand she is dealt.  My mom is Super Mom ❤


Growing Country

I have grown to love the country.  There are certainly things I miss about the suburbs and the city.  But there is something to country lifestyle.

I remember moving in and driving past all the produce stands and being appalled that they would leave money jars, or even their produce for that matter, without worrying about it being stolen.  I love those little produce stands.  Or buying peaches in a brown lunch bag, picked from the tree that morning, from the family down the street.  I love that you can go berry picking and bring home some fresh fruit.  And I love that the farmer’s markets are always full of all kinds of things from produce, to honey they have collected themselves.

That often many people can leave their cars, houses and businesses unlocked without a problem.  That the biggest thing that has happened here in a while was they changed the “welcome” sign with the stats for sports.  The biggest things you have to worry about is the speeding traffic in your neighborhood.  That our neighbor gladly takes the battery out of his lawn mower and puts it in ours when it died, going out and buying a new one for himself.  That every Halloween all the businesses make a scarecrow for the annual contest.

I love the stillness.  The quiet.  Watching the water bugs dance across the surface on the creek in our back yard.  Swinging in a hammock and reading in the calmness that just is.  That I can, without fail, every morning see the bunny that has made our backyard it’s home.  Watching the sky change colors mornings and nights.  Seeing it clearly without much interruption of buildings breaking up the beauty of it.  The stars at night gleaming in a way many haven’t seen because the lights of the city dim their shine.  That nature just exists.  Not needing anyone to plant or have areas sectioned off for a little bit of it to grow.  Hearing the birds call first thing in the morning, welcoming you to a new day.

My Sensational Son SPD stories

Your Text Can Wait

April 19, 2010 was one of the worst days of my life.  It opened my eyes to a lot.  I laid in the hospital bed without a scratch on me.  Sure my back and neck hurt, but other than that, I felt fine.  But it didn’t matter.

I can still picture you.  Crying over your precious car.  Not bothering to come over and check on me, or the woman you sent me hurdling into.  Only the other woman and the officer asked how I was.  “I’m pregnant” I said quietly to the officer.  He asked if I wanted an ambulance.  Did I?  No, I can’t even afford it.  I’m just gonna go.  I look back and you are still upset as your car is being towed.  And all I can think is, you selfish bitch.

I remember being stopped in traffic on Southfield.  That the light was green but because of the construction we were at a stand still.  I remember reaching down for my Tim Horton’s Ice Cap, the only thing I was able hold down at the time.  I remember looking in the rear-view mirror as I did and braced for what was clearly about to happen.  With your phone in your hand eyes clearly on it as the light from your screen left a blue haze on your face.  I’m trapped, I can’t move.  I’m honking to try and get your attention, making people angry thinking that I’m honking at the traffic.  Watching you try to brake, but it was too late.

Then the impact, and the second impact.  You hit me and I was sent flying into the woman in front of me.  I remember thinking that I was kind of far away from the car in front of me considering it was bumper to bumper traffic.  That maybe I won’t hit it.  But no such luck.  I slammed into her just as you slammed into me.  You never came to talk to us.  The woman in front of me informed me that I hit her so hard her wig flew off.  That’s always the part that I talk about, making light of it.  But it wasn’t light.  It wasn’t funny.  It was terrifying.

“I’m pregnant,” I quietly said to the officer.  It was the first time I really felt it.  The first time I had really connected with it.   I was just about 9 weeks pregnant.  I had just found 2 weeks before.  And I was scared.  Just a couple people knew.  I was embarrassed and ashamed at 19 years old.  My mom said she would support me in whatever decision I would make, but I had to make it for myself.  Tears in my eyes, heart in my chest.  “I’m pregnant,” I quietly said to the officer, admitting it out loud, being the only time it felt real.

He made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal but asked if I wanted an ambulance.  I didn’t.  I was fine.  Right?  And I drove to campus.  I went to a few classes.  I went and spent time with my usual crew in the cafeteria, still in shock.  I called my mom again.  Should I go to the hospital?  “I would” she says.  So I leave school and drive myself to the hospital.  She meets me there.

I laid in the hospital bed, without a scratch on me.  Sure my back and neck hurt, but other than that, I felt fine.  But it didn’t matter.  Tears in my eyes as they do the ultra sound.  As I watch my baby dance across the screen for the first time.  “It’s okay” I’m thinking.  But no, not so fast.  I’m crushed as they tell me that it doesn’t mean anything.  That it can still die.  That injuries can still happen.  That I can still have a miscarriage.  And I think about you crying over your car as they tell me, the same way you would tell someone what you want from a restaurant, that if my baby dies they would do a procedure and take it out in chunks.  “Chunks” was what I was told.  I spend 7 hours in the hospital and sent home with several weeks, at least, of bed rest.

I decided in the hospital, when there was a possibility of my choice being taken away, that I had to get real.  There was no way I could give up my baby.  I don’t know why I even pretended like I could.  Adoption or abortion, it didn’t matter.  I decided then and there that baby was mine regardless of how anyone else felt about it.  Don’t pat yourself on the back for that.  I would have eventually come to the same decision.  It just came much faster.

That baby, is a boy named Keegan.  He brings such light to my life.  The sun rises on his face.  He is so smart, handsome, and sweet.  But sometimes I wonder, if your selfish act is the reason his brain is different.  His sensory issues and possible autism, could that be because of the trauma to his early developing brain? Were you the reason that he was a two vessel cord baby? Did the other vessel tear during that accident?  We weren’t even aware until quite a ways on.  Were you the reason he was small?  Or the reason that his legs were short?  Or the reason the amniotic fluid wasn’t fantastic.  Was that you?  I guess we will never know.

What would I say to you if I got the chance?  What would I ask you?  What was on your phone that was worth risking lives over?  Some Facebook post?  A text?  Were you talking and holding your phone down looking at it instead of holding it up to your cheek?  What was the deal?  What was so exciting?  That’s all I want to know.

What did your text say?



What I have learned from the business owner that loves his job

Seeing someone have such passion for their job in today’s world is truly amazing.  People seem numb to the world, just going through the motions.  So when you come across someone that is truly passionate about what they do for a living, it is inspiring.

It is even more eye opening when that passionate person owns their own store.  Of course I am proud of those that have their own businesses and are online.  But it is common these days and so it is a little bit different when you see someone with a physical space for their passion.  Office, store, or whatever that space may be.  I think kids need to have more access to people like this.  To see what it looks like to work for yourself.  To know it isn’t uncommon.  That corporate jobs aren’t the natural road to success.  That you don’t have to follow the step by step plan pre-laid out by society.  You can deviate from that path.  And if you have a passion, you should forge your own way.

I have many friends, family, and acquaintances that have started their own companies.  I am fortunate enough to be around people of this mindset.  But recently, I have started a new job at a flower shop and it has touched me in a different way.  It is a mom and pop type shop.  I can’t get over the quaint cuteness of this rustic place.  With fairy garden items dressing the shelves, and bonsai trees growing in the covered, heated greenhouse.  The Koi in the pond that like to be petted.  The fairy gardens dazzling little spaces for inspiration.  The planters and the flower arrangements just add to the charm.

I love that the owner just gets to do things how he wants.  It isn’t just a buttoned up business in there.  There isn’t a dress code.  Our time cards are index cards.  The schedule is amazing closing 5 p.m. or earlier.  And though I feel completely at peace in this little home away from home, it is the owner that really sharpened my sense of what I want to do.

This man loves his job.  I mean, he LOVES his job.  Not because he makes a bunch of money, or that he was told he should do this, or for any other reason except his passion for it.  He did it for himself.  He tailored the job he wanted, to suit him.  He wakes up at 6 a.m. and comes into work long before anyone else gets there at 9 a.m.  He will tell you goodbye a few minutes before closing but tell you he’s going to change so he can dig up one of the trees in the garden to put in a pot.  He really does without a doubt love his job.  And that has made me realize what I want.

I want to be able to tell the corporate world to kiss my ass.  That if I ever have a lucrative enough business that I would need to expand, I would still want it to be run less like a corporation.  Less of the rules, memos and planograms all the time.  More freedom.  I want my employees to be able to come to work and not have to stand in front of their closet trying to find something that fits the dress code while being reminded how their job stamps out their individuality.  I’m not sure when I became this small town girl.  I always wanted a prestigious New York job working for some fancy company.  But for a while, that’s all I knew.  Because everyone constantly warns of the dangers of opening your own business, beating the excitement out of you.  Here’s a secret: we know the dangers, we just decided to try anyway.

I plan on starting my own company.  I have for a while.  Seeing my new boss just completely immersing himself in the love for his job, has ignited that in me.  Many friends are starting to do their own thing.  I think people are realizing that it sucks to do a job you are just content with that has a ceiling on how much you are going to be able to earn in that position.  And I think people know that starting your own company is how you can do something you love and make and unlimited amount of money if done right.  I needed to see more than anything, that people can start their own company and completely care less about the money, because they just love it so much.  That is the level of happiness and comfort I am trying to achieve.  That is the level of happiness I am going for.  And I have seen it at this store, with this man and his love for his bonsai trees and all things gardening.

Poems about Life

Smoke and Mirrors

It’s quite amazing

How people go on believing the facade.

The mask put on.

You just accept it

Hoping they will accept yours too.

Masks painted and intricate

With lines that curl and intertwine into each other.

Telling a story, but not the real one,

Not the full one.

Not the one that is you.

A story more acceptable to the world,

Easier to swallow.

Less humiliating, more intriguing.

Less struggle, more fun.

Taking in the beauty of the masks

Not ready for the truth.

Not realizing that if you only turned your face toward the eyes

Instead of focusing on the paint

You would know what real beauty is.

You would know the truth.

You would know the pain.

The sadness

The happiness

The content

The emptiness.

If you really wanted to see

You would know the story living on their lips

Waiting to be told

Without ever having to speak.

I see, you.