A Bloggy Review

One of Mama Kat's Writing Prompts for today was to pick a favorite post from each month of 2011. WAIT...before you skip this post, hang on one second. I have lots of new followers and there are some posts that I love, that really tell a lot about me. If you started following this year, keep reading. I included synopses so you can see if any of them pique your interest. Do me a big favor and let me know if you read any of them?

In January, I wrote about one of my favorite speech therapy moments that reminds me why I do what I do. Go here to read "Three Little Sounds, One Huge Difference."

In February, I wrote a post that, looking back on it, makes me a little guilty, seeing how far I've fallen off the workout wagon. But remembering the most psycho trainer ever makes me laugh. Go here to read "Miss Nelson, The Bodybuilder."

In March, I wrote my very favorite post about my all-time favorite interaction between two kids at school. Go here to read "The Seven Sweetest Words."

In April, I talked about my least favorite part of my job. And although I hate the topic of standardized testing, I'm determined to get the word out there again and possibly shock you all with the ridiculousness of it. Go here to read "It's Time Again for My Annual Academically-Based Rant."

In May, I discussed a lesson I taught L with a little help from a popular children's board game. Go here to read "Thank You, Milton Bradley."

In June, I wrote a tribute to the child who inspires me most. I write a lot about L, but this is my favorite because I think I finally articulated my feelings about him as they really are. Go here to read "A Tribute to L."

In July, I got to show off some awesome nursing pics that my bestie Laura took for me. They totally deserve a spot in this post. Go here to read "Blessed to be Free."

I can't choose between my two favorite August posts so feel free to choose for me. Go here to read about why I love my students who are the biggest troublemakers in "I Heart Hellions." And here to read my letter to G on his first birthday.

In September, I wrote a post about one of those big life-changing moments, that included friendship, meanness, death, and a big life lesson. Go here to read "A Life Lesson Remembered."

In October, I wrote about extended breastfeeding. Nuff said. Here is "My Lactation Proclamation."

In November, I talked a lot about my faith. I have two posts that I'm proud of. The first is explaining just how a friend who didn't give up on me got me started on my faith journey in the first place. Go here to read "Five Hundred and Twenty Six Days." And the second post was about a bump in the road of that journey, and how a four-year-old got me back on track. Go here to read "Detours."

And in December, I wrote a post that got me lots of comments and e-mails. Apparently it struck a few nerves in my readers. Go here to read "Notice Without Judging."

Major props to you if you even read the summaries. Namaste.

Writer's Workshop: That Time I Had a Stalker

I'm participating in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop today. Who doesn't like a good stalker story?

The Police said it best when they said, “Every breath you take/And every move you make/Every bond you break, every step you take/I’ll be watching you”. Write about a time you believed someone was watching you.

My first job was at The Original Cookie Company at our local mall. (It was my first of many mall jobs. Many, many, many mall jobs.) I was 16 and probably looked about 14. I loved being a cookie girl. It was especially fun because a.) I got all the cookies and soda I wanted, b.) we illegally traded cookies for Haribo bears and Pretzel Time pretzels with our neighboring stores and c.) it wasn't an actual store so there were ample opportunities for flirting with mall patrons.

Reason C was a biggie. We would stand at the counter, smile at people walking by, and offer free samples.

One man who was nice-looking, yet at the time, seemed so OLD, but in hindsight was probably younger than I am now, (sigh) came by with his wife one day. They bought the discounted bag of day-old cookies and when his wife wasn't looking, he surreptitiously winked at me.

Giggling, I went back to decorating the heart-shaped cookie cake, and thought nothing of the exchange. After all, flirting with strangers was basically part of the job.

The next time I worked, the man came back, alone. He made small talk with me and bought another bag of cookies. Although I was young and naive, I felt a little uncomfortable with the questions the man asked me. I answered him when he asked how old I was, and whether I had a boyfriend, but when he asked when my next shift was, something clicked.

"Like, we don't know our schedule yet. My manager, uh, hasn't given it to us," I stammered, hoping he'd buy my answer.

He smiled and walked away, and I silently prayed I'd never see him again.

Until the next shift. Sure enough, he showed up, asking what time I got off work and what my plans were.

This time, I lied, telling him that my dad was picking me up that night, and I was working the next night. As soon as he left, I ran back to my manager to explain what had been happening. As I was closing that night, she insisted on escorting me to my car, and made me promise not to walk out to my car alone again. Feeling as though I needed to constantly look over my shoulder made me a nervous wreck.

When I showed up at work a few days later, my manager reported that the creep had indeed showed up when he expected me to be at work. Ew.

My job had lost a bit of its luster. Flirting with cute guys wasn't nearly as fun, since I was constantly watching for my "stalker," as I had dubbed him.

A few shifts went by and I hadn't seen him. I started to let my guard down. Then, one night, I saw him, walking my way, giving me a slimy smile. We locked eyes, and I started shaking. I did an about-face and rushed in the back, telling my manager that he was at the counter.

She calmly walked out. I stood, trembling, staring at the ovens and buckets of icing. A few minutes later, she walked back, furious.

"He bought one bite-size cookie and left," she informed me. (No one ever bought a single bite-size cookie. They were sold by the pound.) "He looked PISSED," she told me.

Interestingly enough, he never came back, although my coworkers insisted on escorting me to my car until I quit that job.

Looking back, I am so grateful that I trusted my instincts. I can't imagine what would have happened had I been so flattered that an older, attractive man showed interest in me and responded to his advances.

Then again, with my luck, I probably totally missed my one shot at a sugar daddy. That chick with him was probably his cousin.

You win some, you lose some.

Writer's Workshop: A Tribute to L

One of Mama Kat's writing prompts for today was to write about a child who inspires you. I could write a book on this, each chapter about a different student. From my adorable third grader with Cerebral Palsy who told me he's lucky to be able to speak; to my student with Asperger Syndrome who went WAY out of his comfort zone to initiate conversation at recess after practicing with me, to, well, I could go on and on and on.

But today, I'm talking about my L.




If you've read my blog for any amount of time, you know at least a little about my sweet four-year-old L. You know he has several food allergies on top of a new undiagnosed stomach issue. (By the way, thank you to those of you who commented on my last post...you've given me so many "light bulb" moments, and if you had your email attached to your profile...hint hint...I'd have contacted you directly.)

But this kid inspires me on a daily basis. I'm constantly amazed by his old soul and wisdom.

A couple of weeks ago, we were leaving one morning to go to the library. He enthusiastically remarked, "What a beautiful day!" When I responded that it looked awfully gray and rainy to me, he explained, "Mommy, rainy days can be beautiful too. Fwowers need the rain to grow, you know."




The next week, after church, people were writing prayers on pieces of cloth and attaching them to a giant cross outside. I asked L if he wanted to take part, and he agreed. I asked what prayer he wanted to write on his cloth, and without hesitation, he answered, "Dear God, thank you for helping us." As I wrote it, he nodded and said, "That's all you really gotta say." Amen, L. Amen.





I try to stay really positive about his food allergies in front of him, but these newest tummy troubles got me down the other afternoon. I was talking to B about making the appointment with the pediatric GI, and I became teary. L climbed up on my lap and patted me on the back. Quite seriously, he said, "Wisten, Mommy. I can handle this. Don't worry about me."

And? He can. He doesn't even cry when he throws up anymore, which I find equal parts awesome and upsetting. He never complains about his food allergies, even when his special take-home snack bag he receives after Vacation Bible School includes goldfish and chocolate chip cookies, which he can't eat and used to be his favorite snack. He encourages other people to eat things in front of him that he can't have, explaining that it's okay because he feels better now.

This kid is FOUR years old.



The cool thing though, is that he is still a little kid. He loves talking about poop and stinky feet; he watches Curious George with a passion; he giggles at silly things all day long.

But his heart. Oh, his heart. When we read stories when the characters get upset, his big green eyes fill up along with them. When we witnessed people get baptized at church this month, he snuggled up on my lap and teared up with me. While I worry about the amount that he cries and how it will affect him socially, I also know that his sensitivity is his best feature.



But my favorite thing about my little inspiration is the way he protects me. Just this morning, as we got out of the car to walk him into Vacation Bible School, he stepped in front of me. "Stop, Mommy," he said sternly. I looked down, and he put his little hand up. "Hold my hand. I gotta keep you safe. It's my job."

L loves life with every fiber of his being. He feels things with everything he has. He is starting to be aware of things that are and aren't important, and deals with some difficulties in a way that I hope I can in my lifetime. To say he inspires me is an understatement. What I did to deserve him is beyond me.

Writer's Workshop: Smile, Darn Ya, Smile!

Today I am participating in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. One of her prompts this week was to name ten things that make me smile when I'm not happy. Here goes nothing...

1. A kiss from L. The other day, when I was crying over his allergies, he continued approaching me to give me kisses, and I couldn't help but smile through my tears. Believe it or not, even at three, sometimes he is stingy with his kisses, so when I get one without asking, it always makes me smile.

2. A tall non-fat decaf frappucino (either coffee or mocha flavored) with light whip from Starbucks. Preferably bought with a gift card, but beggars can't be choosers.

3. Comments on my blog. Don't act like you don't agree with this one.

4. Any present whatsoever. I love gifts, and it doesn't have to be anything expensive. If someone gives me a box of candy, telling me they thought of me when they saw it, it makes my day. Elizabeth made me the cutest pendant with my boys' initials stamped on it last week, and it thrilled me to no end.

5. Finding something I had lost. Thanks to ADD and pregnancy brain, I am constant losing things. Both B and L are awesome finders of my lost items, and that always makes me happy.

6. Anything sweet. When I'm pregnant, my sweet tooth turns into a mouthful of sweet teeth and I crave it all....Swedish Fish, chocolate, ice cream, Tootsie Rolls...you name it.

7. Seeing my husband do anything around the house. He cooks, vacuums, and does the laundry regularly and I know I'm pretty darn lucky to have him. If I'm having a really bad day, he makes dinner AND my plate and that makes me a little giddy. If I could just teach him to put his dishes in the dishwasher....

8. Winning a blog giveaway. I've never ever been lucky until I joined the blogosphere...since then, I've won several giveaways. It never gets less thrilling.

9. Having my toenails painted. While I'd love but can't afford a weekly full pedicure, my hairstylist paints my toenails for me for an extremely reasonable price whenever I ask, and seeing my toes looking pretty literally puts a smile on my face. I realize it's very un-granola of me, but I can't help it.

10. Driving in the car, hearing "Hey Soul Sister" come on the radio, seeing his face light up, and listening to our voices blend with Train as we belt it out. There is no greater therapy in life. Trust me on this one.

What makes you smile?

Writer's Workshop....New Year's Resolutions

I have a confession to make. I think New Year's Eve is totally overrated. Always have, always will. Maybe it's my love of sleep and the fact that I plain don't want to stay up till midnight, especially now that the first trimester exhaustion has set in. Oh, who am I kidding, I've been tired since L was born!

However.

I do love me some New Year's Resolutions. Believe it or not, I usually actually follow them.

And today when Mama Kat, who I also love, used listing your New Year's Resolutions as a writing prompt for her Writer's Workshop, I decided to do just that. I figure if I put them in writing, I'll have an even better chance of sticking with them. Since one of these in particular is going to be extra hard to do, I figure I could use all the help I can get.

1. (aka the above-mentioned difficult one) I will limit my laptop time. Sometimes I get sucked in, between Facebook and e-mail and blogger and stupid Twitter. I realize that Lo is growing up right before my eyes and I'll regret spending time online when I could have been spending it with him. I want to only be on my laptop when he's sleeping. However, I might have to give myself a break if he and Daddy are watching Harry Potter for the 2397583rd time.

2. I will brush L's teeth twice a day, religiously. We usually get around to brushing them once a day, but I admit, not always. (Please don't judge me.) I also need to teach him to spit so that he can use big-boy toothpaste. Last night I was laughing till I cried, watching him swallow then "spit," which was more like blowing raspberries all over my bathroom. I love that kid.

3. I will be more affectionate to B. One of my good friends and her husband got a gem from a marriage counselor that you should greet your spouse at the door enthusiastically. I don't do that. For some reason, ever since giving birth to L, I've been less affectionate and I don't know why. In 2010, preggo and all, this will change.

4. I will practice my yoga/meditation/prayerful quiet time at least once a week. My sister-in-law is lending me her prenatal yoga DVD, so I don't have an excuse. It might cut into that laptop-while-L-is-napping time, but I will do it.

So here's to a happy 2010. And if nothing else, may it be healthier. Namaste!

"The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray." -O. Wilde

Mama Kat had a great prompt this week on her Writer's Workshop, asking us to describe "the cross that we bear." She suggested we talk about the personality trait that works both for and against us, and that we still embrace. Easy!

It should come as no surprise to you (or anyone who has met me, even briefly) that lately, my kid has been driving me cuh-razy. When he gets mad, he gets so mad that he hits me. When he's sad, he sobs....until, too often, he pukes. When he's happy, he's almost manic. He's just so darn emotional.


He's so me.


The other day I was explaining this revelation to B, saying, "When I was a kid, I was pretty chaotic too."


B's response..."When you were a kid, huh?"

All I could do was laugh.

Today, our school counselor told me that she told a parent that the Kleenex box in the conference room was empty because I've been coming to a lot of meetings lately. It's true. When the parents cry, I cry. When I am pregnant, I bawl. I get so angry at certain conservative radio talk show hosts that I've been known to yell back at the radio.

The upside is that I get to feel butterflies in my stomach when I think of anything remotely exciting. I smile big cheesy grins when I'm happy. When I laugh, everyone in my hallway at work can hear me.

I feel. I'm passionate. Everything is a huge deal to me. While I take offense to someone calling me a drama queen, I know I'm dramatic. (Yes, there's a huge difference, thankyouverymuch.)


I got an e-mail from a parent of one of "my kids" this week telling me that for the first time ever, his first-grade daughter told him a story (The Three Bears, no less) and it was the most she's ever said to him at once. My heart absolutely sang with joy.

It's scary because manic depression does run in my family and it's one of my greatest fears. I've talked to several counselors about it and they all agree that I am not bipolar. However, I am certain that those genes play a part in my big emotions.


I read an article in this month's Parents magazine that put a few of my fears to rest. It explained that kids like L, and well, me, "live their life big, and their passion means they'll go out into the world with determination and enthusiasm."

Remind me of this the next time I post about having to deal with a meltdown.

Mine or L's.

Strong enough for a man, but not for dog doo.

Every week, Mama Kat, who is possibly the most hilarious girl in the blogosphere, hosts a "Writer's Workshop" with some fun prompts. This week, one caught my eye: "Describe the most destructive thing your pet has done."

Immediately, a story came to mind. You might remember me posting about my beloved dog (who we still refer to as our first baby), Marley.

Marley might have been the most loved and spoiled dog ever.

See?

He was an 110-pound massive American Bulldog who sadly died from a heart attack at 18 months, about two weeks after Logan was born.




Like the book and movie (which I still refuse to see, trouble seemed to find Marley.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Four years ago December 22, I woke up happy...it was my birthday! (I'm one of those annoying people who LOVES my birthday and I don't mind that it means I'm getting older. In fact, if you ask me how old I am, odds are it will take me a few minutes to figure it out.)


I had to go to work that day, and like every other weekday from August-May, I was rushing around my house, trying to get ready. I showered, got dressed, dried my hair, slapped on some makeup, threw it in the drawer, swiped on some deodorant, set it down, put my American Bulldog puppy, Marley, in his kennel, and rushed out the door.


After work, I came into our house, giddy about my birthday celebration that night. We were going out to dinner with my mom, and I had just enough time to get home, let Marley out, and get freshened up. Three steps into the house, I stopped short.


The smell was overpowering. It was the unmistakeable odor of dog poop.

Marley was still fairly young at that time, but he was housebroken. With great trepidation, I headed back to our bedroom, where Marley's kennel was housed.


There. Was. Poop. Everywhere.


It looked like Marley had put his sweet little white butt up to the kennel and shat straight out. There was poop on the walls. On the kennel. On the carpet. Under the kennel. And all over Marley.

I literally burst into tears, upset that there was no way that I would make the dinner reservation and for goodness sakes, this was my birthday!!!

Then I saw it. My deodorant that, in an ADD-haze, I had carelessly left on top of the kennel. It was no longer on top of the kennel, but instead, inside the kennel. That is, what was left of it. Marley had eaten about 90% of the deodorant and the container. Evidently, deodorant does not digest well, as I noticed it was mixed with Marley's birthday gift to me. Unfortunately, it didn't help the smell one bit.

I called my mom, in tears, to explain that I wasn't going to be able to make the dinner. I hauled Marley into the shower and after washing him off (as well as the poopy tracks leading to the shower), I tackled the kennel. By the time B arrived home, I was gulping big, fat, pity-party tears as I cleaned the kennel. And the walls. And the carpet. I was covered in the poo-deodorant mix by this time, too.

B took pity on me and took over cleaning while I tried to call the vet to find out just how poisonous deodorant was. They were closed, but directed me to a Poison Control for Dogs number that cost some ungodly amount of money. After hemming and hawing, I decided to take my chances and simply do my research google-style.

The good news was that Marley lived. The better news was that I was able to celebrate my birthday dinner.

The craziest part of the story is that still to this day, I think about my Marley and all the trouble that found him and miss him terribly.

...and he voted for Obama, too.

I love Mama Kat's blog, but never have participated in her "writer's workshops." Until now. When I saw that one of the prompt choices this week was to write about your grandpa, I was thrilled.

Strong.

Determined.

Courageous.

Feisty.

My grandpa is all of these things. Simply put, he's my hero. I don't know anyone else who's lived through as much as he has. Considering the fact that he'll be 94 this year, that may not come as a complete surprise, but the laundry list of just the illnesses he's conquered is awe-inspiring. Bladder cancer. Prostate cancer. Two brain tumors. Hundreds of skin cancers. Several mini-strokes.

And he still gets up, every single day, with a smile on his face. He rides his exercise bike 2 and 1/2 miles religiously, even if he just had a mini stroke the night before.

Inspirational is an understatement.

He is always positive. And I am convinced that is what has gotten him so far. "What're you gonna do?" he always says when anything negative happens. And I strive to be just like him.

He is a big believer in preparedness...as he explains, "Better to have and not need, than to need and not have."

He was into going green before it was popular. "No waste," is his motto. He has had compost piles and recycled for years and years. Unfortunately, we've at times had to convince him that sometimes throwing away food is necessary...you can't always cut out the bad parts.

His sense of humor never fails. "I need that like I need another hole in my head," he laughs, pointing to his scars from his brain tumors.

He loves to laugh and communicate with his loved ones. When his tumors left him just about deaf, it was heartbreaking to watch him at family functions. Although he was too stubborn to let me teach him enough sign language to get by, he and I have our own signs for "I love you"....pointing to our eye, crossing our hands over our heart, and pointing to the other person (and adding two fingers for "too").

He tells everyone that at 93, he will not use his walker because "walkers are for old people." And as much as it drives us crazy and makes us worry, I can't help but admire his grit and his belief that age truly is more than a number.

There are hundreds of wonderful stories I could tell about my grandpa's character, but my favorite is one that happened about 20 years ago. His next-door neighbor was fighting with his girlfriend. My grandpa was sitting outside, gardening, and heard the argument quickly become more heated. When it started to become physical, my 70-something year-old badass grandpa hopped the fence, ready to defend the girl. Fortunately, someone else had called the police, and when he heard the sirens, he hopped back into his yard.

I love my Grandpa Vito with all my heart. I am so fortunate to have such an incredible role model in my life.